IN the still lute the music lies unheard ;
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen :
To make the music and the beauty, needs
The Master's touch, the Sculptor's chisel keen.

Great Master, touch us with Thy skillful hand ;
Let not the music that is in us die !
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let,
Hidden and lost, Thy form within us lie !

Spare not the stroke! do with us as Thou wilt !
Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred ;
Complete Thy purpose, that we may become
Thy perfect image, Thou our God and Lord !