Building

RUTH D. SMITH

I builded me an house.
Much worldly wisdom formed its base;
Its massive walls were held in place
By trust in self and pride of power:
Ambition crowned its lofty tower.

And so I built. It far outstripped
The first mark set for height of it.
My pride increased. I thought to show
My brother that he built too slow
And carefully. My house would stand
A thing of beauty in the land,
My handiwork! I turned to look,
But as I turned, the building shook;
I saw its massive walls give way;
It crumbled like a thing of clay.
I bowed my head. Beneath the sky
That domed my house, dust mounted high!
My loss was more than I could bear;
My anger rose, then, in despair
I cried aloud, It is not just
For years to harvest ruin, rust!

A silence followed. Suddenly
The master Builder questioned me:
The house, why did it fall? what feat
Has made the ruin so complete?

I looked about: I could not see.
What caused such hopeless tragedy?
He answered, Look within! Then came
The reason, it was now too plain:
I built for self; pride blinded me
And ruled my hand. I did not see
The weakness of the masonry.
My sin was great; could I repay
My debt? A strong hand gently lay
On my hot brow. He did not blame,
But called, as friend to friend, my name.

Again I build. Perhaps this time
It may be a much slower climb,
But joy abounds within! I know
That building means to love; to grow
To fit the perfect whole; to let
The will of the great Architect
Be done: He knows no boundary,
But measures for eternity.

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