Classic Poem

[I]

. . . . to the King.
Thou art the wall-stone the workers rejected
Of old from the work. It befits Thee well
That Thou shouldest be Head of the Great Hall,
Locking together the long walls,
The flint unbroken, in firm embrace,
That ever on earth the eyes of all
May look with wonder on the Lord of glory.
 With cunning skill display Thy craft
Triumphant, Righteous, and quickly raise
Wall against wall. The work has need
That the Craftsman come, the King Himself;
That He then rebuild what now is broken,
The house under roof. He wrought the body,
The limbs, of clay; now the Lord of life
From their foes must rescue this wretched host,
The woeful from dread, as He oft has done.