To the heights where crystal planets roll
Their choral anthems, and heaven’s wide arch
Is thrilled with the music of their march;
And the faithless shades flew backward, dim
From the wondrous light that lived in him—
Thus spake the carver—his words were few,
Simple and meek, but he felt them true—
“I labor by day, I labor by night,
The Master ordered, the work is right:
Pray that He strengthen my feeble good;