HIGH on the granite wall the builders, toiling, 

Heaved up the massive blocks and slabs to place, 

With swart and steaming brows and straining sinews, 

Under the summer's blaze. 

And higher yet, amid the chills of autumn, 

Tier upon tier and arch on arch arose; 

And still crept upward, coldly, wearily, 

'Mid winter's sifting snows. 

From stage to stage upsprings the master-builder, 

Instructing, cheering, chiding, here and there; 

Scanning with scrutiny severe and rigid, 

Each lusty laborer's share. 

Anon his voice to those most distant shouting, 

Through the hoarse trumpet makes his orders swell; 

Or utters words like these to rouse and hearten: 

"Build well, my men, build well! 

"The ropes are strong, and new and sound the pulleys; 

The derrick's beams are equal to the strain; 

Unerring are the level, line, and plummet; 

Let naught be done in vain! 

"Build that these Walls to coming generations 

Your skill, your strength, your faithfulness shall tell; 

That all may say, as storms and centuries test them, 

The men of old built well!"' 

And ever thus speaks the Great Master Builder 

To us, where'er our "journey-work" may be: 

Whate'er the toil, the season, or the structure, 

Build well—build worthily!" 

S. H. Browne.