MY NEW-CUT ASHLAR
My New-Cut ashlar takes the light Where crimson-blank the windows flare. By my own work before the night, Great Overseer, I make my prayer.
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If there be good in that I wrought Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine-- Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.
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The depth and dream of my desire, The bitter paths wherein I stray-- Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire, Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.
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Who, lest all thought of Eden fade, Bring'st Eden to the craftsman's brain-- Godlike to muse o'er his own Trade And manlike stand with God again!
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One stone the more swings into place In that dread Temple of Thy worth.
It is enough that, through Thy Grace, I saw nought common on Thy Earth.
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Take not that vision from my ken-- Oh whatsoe'er may spoil or speed. Help me to need no aid from men That I may help such men as need!
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By Brother Rudyard Kipling
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