<h2><SPAN name="page70"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE WORKER AND THE WORK</h2>
<p class="poetry">In what I do I note the marring flaw,<br/>
The imperfections of the work I see;<br/>
Nor am I one who rather <i>do</i> than <i>be</i>,<br/>
Since its reversal is Creation’s law.</p>
<p class="poetry">Nay, since there lies a better and a worse,<br/>
A lesser and a larger, in men’s view,<br/>
I would be better than the thing I do,<br/>
As God is greater than His universe.</p>
<p class="poetry">He shaped Himself before He shaped one
world:<br/>
A million eons, toiling day and night,<br/>
He built Himself to majesty and might,<br/>
Before the planets into space were hurled.</p>
<p class="poetry">And when Creation’s early work was
done,<br/>
What crude beginnings out of chaos came—<br/>
A formless nebula, a wavering flame,<br/>
An errant comet, a voracious sun.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page71"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
71</span>And, still unable to perfect His plan,<br/>
What awful creatures at His touch found birth—<br/>
Those protoplasmic monsters of the earth,<br/>
That owned the world before He fashioned Man.</p>
<p class="poetry">And now, behold the poor unfinished state<br/>
Of this, His latest masterpiece! Then why,<br/>
Seeing the flaws in my own work, should I<br/>
Be troubled that no voice proclaims it great?</p>
<p class="poetry">Before me lie the cycling rounds of years;<br/>
With this small earth will die the thing I do:<br/>
The thing I am, goes journeying onward through<br/>
A million lives, upon a million spheres.</p>
<p class="poetry">My work I build, as best I can and may,<br/>
Knowing all mortal effort ends in dust.<br/>
I build myself, not as I may, but must,<br/>
Knowing, or good, or ill, that self must stay.</p>
<p class="poetry">Along the ages, out, and on, afar,<br/>
Its journey leads, and must perforce be made.<br/>
Likewise its choice, with things of shame and shade,<br/>
Or up the path of light, from star to star.</p>
<p class="poetry">When all these solar systems shall disperse,<br/>
Perchance this labour, and this self-control,<br/>
May find reward; and my completed soul<br/>
Will fling in space, a little universe.</p>
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