Poem September 1, 1956 Issue

THE CRAFTSMAN'S CREED

I hold with none who thinks not work a boon,
Vouchsafed to man that he may aid his kind
With offerings from his chisel, wheel or loom
Fashioned with loving hand and loving mind.
All of the fine traditions and the skill
Come from my elders all the long time down
Are mine to use, to raise our craft's renown,
And mine to teach again with reverent will.

Thus do I live to serve, though least for pay,
With fingers which are masters of the tool
And eyes which light to see the patterns play
As they unfold obedient to each rule
Of our dear Art. So all my craft is praise
To God—at once part homage and part song.
My work's my prayer, I sing the whole day long
As Faith and Beauty shape the form I raise.