The Master's Touch

In the still air the music lies unheard;
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen;
To wake the music and the beauty need
The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.

Great Master, touch us with thy skilful 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 nought unfinish'd, broken, marr'd;
Complete thy purpose, that we may become
Thy perfect image, O our God and Lord.