SCULPTURING.
Roses die on earnest faces, Lines and pallor take their places. Useful hands are seldom pretty, Honest lips are rarely witty. Ears that hear high mandates ringing, Are but dull to pleasure’s singing. Vigils dun the eye of beauty, Eorms are bent by loads of duty— Can these types, so faulty, seem Worthy of the Sculptor’s dream? Aye, He recognises truly All of hidden worth, and duly Cuts the rough outline away (This the work we deem decay). Lines of strength He carves intently. Then more carefully and gently Final grace He keeps supplying— And we falsely call it dying. Lovingly He views the whole, Naming it The Priceless Soul.
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Bibliographic details
White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 270, 18 December 1917, Page 11
Word Count
111SCULPTURING. White Ribbon, Volume 23, Issue 270, 18 December 1917, Page 11
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