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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 aon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us
to work anew!
And those that were good shall be happy: they
shall sit in a golden chair; They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with
brushes of comets' hair; They shall find real saints to draw from—Mag
dalene, Peter, and Paul; They shall 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 shall work for money, and no one
shall work for fame; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in
his separate star, Shall draw the thing as he sees It for the God of
Things as They Are!