And turns to useful things—go tell to fools,
Was fashioned in the factory of God.
Go build your ships, go build your lofty dome,
Your granite temple, that through time endures,
Your humble cot, or that proud pile of Rome,
His arm has toiled there in advance of yours.
He made the flowers your learned florists scan,
And crystallized the atoms of each gem,
Ennobled labor in great nature’s plan,
And made it virtue’s brightest diadem.