The Builder By Willard Wattles

The Builder

By Willard Wattles

Smoothing a cypress beam

With a scarred hand,

I saw a carpenter

In a far land.

Down past the flat roofs

Poured the white sun;

But still he bent his back,

The patient one.

And I paused surprised

In that queer place

To find an old man

With a haunting face.

"Who art thou, carpenter,

Of the bowed head;

And what buildest thou?"

"Heaven," he said.