GREAT Lapidary, fix upon Thy mill
This sordid earth ! Wipe off the mould of green,
The writhing life, vermicular, obscene,
The slime of sea, the scurf of town and hill.
Then grind, O Lapidary ! Labor still ;
Polish the lifeless, primal granite clean,
Till, mirrored true, shines from its heart serene
The undistorted image of Thy will.
And then? — Wouldst Thou Thyself be still the same?
Would God be God if lacking even me ? —
Nay ! Here I shout my challenge into space :
Thou dar’st not lose, fronting Time’s lonely face,
One monad cell that thrills its life to Thee,
One gem of love that sparkles back Thy flame !
William Samuel Johnson.