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138

BUILDING

I sat before Fate's ebbing tide
With my life's buildings near at hand,
And thought, how planned in marble pride
Was that which crumbled in the sand.
While the soul's Master-architect
Held me to reason and reflect.
“Oh! Master, I have wrought so ill
Would heaven I had not wrought at all!
So petty my devising skill,
My measures so unjust and small.”
“But didst thou build for God?” said He.
“Then doth God's building stand for thee.”