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The Carpenter (Poem)

That evening, when the carpenter swept out
The fragment shavings from the workshop floor
And placed the tools in order and shut to
And barred, for the last time, the humble door,
And, going on his way to save the world,
Turned from the laborer’s lot for evermore,
I wonder—was he glad?

That morning, when the carpenter walked forth
From Joseph’s doorway in the glimmering light,
And bade his loving mother long farewell,
And, through the rose—shot skies with dawning bright,
Saw glooming the dark shadow of the cross,
Yet, seeing, set his feet toward Calvary’s height,
I wonder—was he sad?

Ah! when the carpenter went on his way
He thought not for himself of good or ill,
One was his path, through shop, or thronging men
Craving his help, e’en to the cross-crowned hill;
In toiling, healing, teaching, suffering—all,
His joy, his life, to do the good God’s will;
So earth and heaven are glad!

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Alice Ranlett

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