From a plan by the wisest of Sages Was built a magnificent arch Over a path where, for ages, Multitudes silently march. They come from the valleys of sorrow, And cities that are of the past, They are seeking a glorious morrow, Their shadows before them are cast. They seek a city far away— A city on a hill— The weary footsteps may not stay, Nor toiling hands be still; For they all faithfully obey The Master's word and will. Each one among that multitude, With hope, though oft in tears, Has toiled in quarries strange and rude For many weary years. But now each one whose work is done, With liberated hands, Ascends the hill where brightly still The Holy City stands, To which is brought the ashlars wrought In many distant lands. And so each day the fabric grows More beautiful and high, Beneath the Master Architect— The all beholding eye. So let each one perform his share, Brothers who labor all, That perfect ashlars, we may bear A place in that high wall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE RING AND THE CASTLE by AMY LOWELL THE DOLL BELIEVERS by CLARENCE MAJOR THE HEART'S RETURN by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: THE JURY DELIBERATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |