By Rudyard Kipling.
| When earth's last picture is painted And the tubes are twisted and dried When the oldest colours have faded And the youngest critic has died. We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it Lie down for an aeon or two 'Till the Master of all good work Shall put us to work anew. And those that were good shall be happy They'll sit in a golden chair They'll splash at a ten-league canvas With brushes of comet's hair, They'll find real saints to draw from, Magdalene, Peter, and Paul. They'll work for an age at a sitting And never be tired at all. And only the Master shall praise us, And only the Master shall blame And no one will work for the money And no one will work for the fame But each for the joy of the working, And each, in his separate star Will draw the thing as he sees it For the God of things as they are! |
The above Poem is a favourite of Muriel Jackson, Leeds, Yorkshire.
I suggested to her that Mr Kipling is better at baking cakes then he is in the realms of theology. Heaven will be better than that. See John 14:1-3.