When Earth's last picture is painted <br />And the tubes are twisted and dried <br />When the oldest colors have faded <br />And the youngest critic has died <br />We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it <br />Lie down for an aeon or two <br />'Till the Master of all good workmen <br />Shall put us to work anew <br />And those that were good shall be happy <br />They'll sit in a golden chair <br />They'll splash at a ten league canvas <br />With brushes of comet's hair <br />They'll find real saints to draw from <br />Magdalene, Peter, and Paul <br />They'll work for an age at a sitting <br />And never be tired at all. <br />And only the Master shall praise us. <br />And only the Master shall blame. <br />And no one will work for the money. <br />No one will work for the fame. <br />But each for the joy of the working, <br />And each, in his separate star, <br />Will draw the thing as he sees it. <br />For the God of things as they are!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-earth-s-last-picture-is-painted/
