With what thou gavest me, O Master, <br />I have wrought. <br />Such chances, such abilities, <br />To see the end was not for my poor eyes, <br />Thine was the impulse, thine the forming thought. <br /> <br />Ah, I have wrought, <br />And these sad hands have right to tell their story, <br />It was no hard up striving after glory, <br />Catching and losing, gaining and failing, <br />Raging me back at the world's raucous railing. <br />Simply and humbly from stone and from wood, <br />Wrought I the things that to thee might seem good. <br /> <br />If they are little, ah God! but the cost, <br />Who but thou knowest the all that is lost! <br />If they are few, is the workmanship true? <br />Try them and weigh me, whate'er be my due!<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/equipment-2/
