C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Builders

THERE are who wish to build their houses strong,

Yet of the earth material they will take;

And hope the brick within the fire burnt long

A lasting home for them and theirs will make.

And one, who thought him wiser than the rest,

Of the rough granite hewed his dwelling proud;

And all who passed this eagle’s lofty nest

Praised his secure retreat from tempest loud.

But one I knew who sought him out no wood,

No brick, no stone, though as the others born;

And those who passed where waiting still he stood,

Made light of him and laughed his hopes to scorn.

And time went by, and he was waiting still;

No house had he, and seemed to need one less:

He felt that waiting yet his Master’s will

Was the best shelter in this wilderness.

And I beheld the rich man and the wise,

When lapsing years fell heavy on each shed,

As one by one they fled in lowly guise

To his poor hut for refuge and for bread.