Through grind and toil there grows the art to please.
A wish of distant hope must move from thought;
From thought the word to deed in full release,
Imprints itself upon the world, is caught.
The sculptor’s eye can see the shape unformed,
Alive in marble block, then chiseled free.
For Nature’s art in pattern we adore:
The hidden face in clouds emerge we see--
My Lord who stood alone, but then was Three,
Whose Word is Will and art of God With Us,
A breathing art of selfhood that is free,
To live and work and weave in Nature’s trust;
For God is life and I through Life am form,
My works to imitate in thanks are born.