The Quarry of Life

Darkly hid beneath the quarry,
Masons, many a true block lies;
Hands must shape and hands must cany
Ere the stone the Master prize.
Seek for it, -measure it,
Fashion it, -polish it!
Then tte Overseer will prize.

What tbough shapeless, rough, and heavy,
Think ye God His work will lose?
Raise the block with strength He gave ye:
Fit it for the Master's use.
Seek for it,-measure it,
Fashion it,-polish it!
Then the Overseer will use.

'Twas for this our Fathers banded,
Through life's quarries they did roam,
Falthful-hearted, skillful-handed,
Bearing many a true block home.
Noticing,-measuring,
Fashioning,-polishing!
For their glorious Temple-home.