IN  the still lute the music lies unheard;

In the rough marble beauty hides unseen:

To make the music and the beauty, needs

The Master’s touch, the Sculptor’s chisel keen.

Great Master, touch us with Thy skillful hand;

 Let not the music that is in us die!

Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let,

Hidden and lost, Thy form within us lie!

Spare not the stroke! do with us as Thou wilt!

 Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;

Complete Thy purpose, that we may become

Thy perfect image, Thou our God and Lord!

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