Would mortal eyes had less of skill to see Imperfect threads which mar the finest cloth -- A knot -- a rupture which betrays the moth -- The faded spot where colors disagree. Are kindly words not often due from me? Right well I know, if workers keep their troth, Such marks will disappear -- as ocean's froth. The final Judge will give no harsh decree. And when at last the garment has been made, If every stitch is not a perfect one, The Great Designer's love will overlook The awkward tricks the fragile needle played; Remembering what faithful work was done -- Appreciating all the care we took. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SUNDAY UP THE RIVER: 15 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) THE SHIP STARTING by WALT WHITMAN TWO OF A KIND by WALTER TALLMADGE ARNDT HATED by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |