Master Carver

How slow the forming—

how hard some blows—

But I, the stone, must come to know

In my own person, my own soul,

Thy will, Thy purpose here below.

O Master, now I plead to Thee,

Cut off my roughness, form my face,

Refine my feelings, make of me

A fit reflection of Thy grace.

Yea, haste the day when I may kneel

Before Thee and great Elohim,

Accepted, peaceful in Thy home,

At last like Thee, each grain of stone.