When I reflect how small a space I fill

When I reflect how small a space I fill
In this great teeming world of labourers,
How little I can do with strongest will,
How marred that little by most hateful blurs, —
The fancy overwhelms me, and deters
My soul from putting forth so poor a skill:
Let me be counted with those worshippers
Who lie before God's altar, and are still.
But then I think (for healthier moments come)
This power of will, this natural force of hand, —
What do they mean, if working be not wise?
Forbear to weigh thy work, O soul! Arise
And join thee to that nobler sturdier band
Whose worship is not idle, fruitless, dumb.