The Sculptor-Boy

By W. C. Doane

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor-boy,
With his marble block before him;
And his face lit up with a smile of joy
As ah angel-dream passed o’er him.
He carved that dream on the yielding stone
With many a sharp incision;
In Heaven’s own light the sculptor shone –
He had caught that angel-vision.

Sculptors of life are we as we stand
With our lives uncarved before us,
Waiting the hour, when, at God’s command,
Our life-dream passes o’er us.
Let us carve it, then, on the shielding stone.
With many a sharp incision;
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own –
Our lives, that angel-vision.

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