Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
My New-cut Ashlar
M
Where crimson-blank the windows flare.
By my own work before the night,
Great Overseer, I make my prayer.
Thy Hand compelled it, Master, Thine—
Where I have failed to meet Thy Thought
I know, through Thee, the blame was mine.
The bitter paths wherein I stray—
Thou knowest Who hast made the Fire,
Thou knowest Who hast made the Clay.
Bring’st Eden to the craftsman’s brain—
Godlike to muse o’er his own Trade
And manlike stand with God again!
In that dread Temple of Thy worth.
It is enough that, through Thy Grace,
I saw nought common on Thy Earth.
Oh whatsoe’er may spoil or speed.
Help me to need no aid from men
That I may help such men as need!