of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Seaside and the Fireside
are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.
us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.