You may delve down to rock for your foundation piers, <br />You may go with your steel to the sky <br />You may purchase the best of the thought of the years, <br />And the finest of workmanship buy. <br />You may line with the rarest of marble each hall, <br />And with gold you may tint it; but then <br />It is only a building if it, after all, <br />Isn't filled with the spirit of men. <br /> <br />You may put up a structure of brick and of stone, <br />Such as never was put up before; <br />Place there the costliest woods that are grown, <br />And carve every pillar and door. <br />You may fill it with splendors of quarry and mine, <br />With the glories of brush and of pen — <br />But it's only a building, though ever so fine, <br />If it hasn't the spirit of men. <br /> <br />You may build such structure that lightning can't harm, <br />Or one that an earthquake can't raze; <br />You may build it of granite, and boast that its charm <br />Shall last to the end of all days. <br />But you might as well never have builded at all, <br />Never cleared off the bog and the fen, <br />If, after it's finished, its sheltering wall <br />Doesn't stand for the spirit of men. <br /> <br />For it isn't the marble, nor is it the stone <br />Nor is it the columns of steel, <br />By which is the worth of an edifice known; <br />But it's something that's living and real.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-temple-what-makes-it-of-worth/
