You that with your ancient hands make
delicate form in matter wake
do not gaze the heights in fear
nor taint your craft with arduous tears,

for this your talent is the flair
that dwells with God not in prayer,
It is of faith the golden rod
that is but one with the Lord.

In the stillness of this shed drawn
to the making of gold and dawn,
Crafter of the heavenly skill,
use the endless chisel, your will!

With your tired hands on warm wood,
And your fancy on the quiet moon,
Carve in one the shapes most fair
that the other brings in silver air.

Crafter, in the night you endure
with the semblance most pure
but now the tender sun will rise
to witness your own sacrifice

Keep working Crafter of the nights!
For all humanity’s delights
are for your silent hands to make
from your intimate virgin clay.

Keep working Crafter of the nights!
Don’t turn away your saddened eyes
And see how in soft wood your art
uncovers the shapes of God’s craft.

Keep working Crafter in the night…