Classic Poem

In the still air the music lies unheard;
— In the rough marble beauty hides unseen:
To wake the music and the beauty needs
— The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.

Great Master, touch us with thy skilful 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, O our God and Lord!