When Earth's last picture is painted,
and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colors have faded
and the youngest critic has died.
We shall rest and faith we shall need it,
lie down for and eon or two,
until the master of all good workmen,
shall set us to work a new.
And those that were good will be happy,
they will sit in a golden chair,
and splash at a ten league canvas,
with brushes of comets hair.
They will have real saints to draw from,
Magdalene, Peter and Paul,
and work at an age at a sitting
and never be tired at all.
And only the master shall praise them,
and only the master shall blame
and no one will work for money
and no one will work for fame.
But each for the joy of working
and each in his separate star,
shall paint the things as they see them
for the God of things as they are.
Kipling |
