Master, to do great work for thee, my hand
⁠Is far too weak! Thou givest what may suit
⁠Some little chips to cut with care minute,
Or tint, or grave, or polish. Others stand
Before their quarried marble, fair and grand,
⁠And make a life-work of the great design
⁠Which thou hast traced; or, many-skilled, combine
To build vast temples, gloriously planned,
Yet take the tiny stones which I have wrought
⁠Just one by one, as they were given by thee,
Not knowing what came next in thy wise thought.
Set each stone by thy master-hand of grace,
⁠Form the mosaic as thou wilt for me,
And in thy temple-pavement give it place.