"What can I do for the Master?"
I said in sadness one day;
"I should work much better and faster,
For life is fleeting away."
I thought of the poor, marred tissue,
Wrought for his critical eye;
And I prayed for a fairer issue,
Of the shuttle yet to fly.
Tears dimmed my eyes, and fell thicker,
But I needed, for avail,
A faith that should burn and not flicker,
A love that should never fail.
"What shall I do for the Master?"
Again to myself I said;
"I must use much better and faster
The rest of life s precious thread."
And a small, wan child now waited,
For my aid, outside the door,
Like a fluttering bird, belated,
And finding its nest no more.
Then shortly, a dusky figure
Peered in, on my startled sight;
And he asked, with sad, pleading gesture,
For the Way, the Truth, the Light.
But ere I applied my lesson,
Lo! down the old shaded street,
(Did I dream?) a vast procession
Came onward, with weary feet.
I could never paint it truly,
With skilfulest painter's brush,
Or portray the dark shadows duly,
I saw in that twilight's hush.
What a mass of upturned faces,
So wild, and haggard, and low;
Bearing plainly the fearful traces
Of sin, and disease, and woe!
Ah me! how it swelled and lengthened!
"Will it never end?" I said;
But at eve it was only strengthened,
And I heard its heavy tread.
"See, here is work!" said the Master,
"Think you it can bear delay?
Yes, rise and work better and faster,
The rest of life's fleeting day."
"Inasmuch as for these ye labor,
I accept it as to me;
In thy poor and thy needy neighbor,
Thy Lord, and thy Master see!"
Then I rose, and wrought in life's tissue,
Some fair, bright colors for these;
And light and joy was the issue,
As my Lord I sought to please.
And I said, "O dearest Master,
Strengthen thy laborer's hands,
To work the better and faster,
Heeding Thy blesséd commands."