Till I compass the dream that is in my heart,
And perfect the vaster plan."
And still the craftsman over his craft,
In the vague white light of dawn,
With God's calm will for his burning will,
While the mountain day comes on,
Yearning, wind-swift, indolent, wild,
Toils with those shadowy two,—
The faltering restless hand of Hack,
And the tireless hand of Hew.