In the still air the music
lies unheard;
In the rough marble beauty
hides unseen.
To make the music and the
beauty, needs
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 ever die!
Great Sculptor, hew and polish
us; not let,
Hidden and lost, they form
within us lie!
Spare not the stroke! Do with
us as thou wilt!
Let there be naught
unfinished, broken, marred;
Complete thy purpose, that we
may become
Thy perfect image, thou our
God and Lord!
