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Rudyard Kipling - A Dedication
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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.
 
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 is mine.
 
One instant`s toil to Thee denied
 Stands all Eternity`s offence,
Of that I did with Thee to guide
 To Thee, through Thee, be excellence.
 
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.
 
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!
 
One stone the more swings to her place
 In that dread Temple of Thy Worth —
It is enough that through Thy grace
 I saw naught common on Thy earth.
 
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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