A Builder builded a temple,
He wrought it with grace and skill;
Pillars and groins and arches
All fashioned to work his will.
Men said, as they saw its beauty,
“It shall never know decay;
Great is thy skill O Builder!
Thy fame shall endure for aye.”
A Teacher builded a temple
With loving and infinite care,
Planning each arch with patience,
Laying each stone with a prayer.
None praised her unceasing efforts,
None knew of her wonderous plan,
For the temple the teacher builded
Was unseen by the eyes of man.
Gone is the Builder’s temple,
Crumpled into the dust;
Low lies each stately pillar,
Food for consuming rust.
But the temple the Teacher builded
Will last while the ages roll,
For that beautiful unseen temple
Was a child’s immortal soul.
Am I a Builder?
I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town.
With a ho-heave-ho and a lusty yell,
They swung a beam and the sides fell.
I asked the foreman, “Are these men skilled
And the kind you would hire, if you had to build?”
And he gave me a laugh and said, “No indeed,
Just common labor is all I need.
I can easily wreck in a day or two
What other builders have taken a year to do.”
And I thought to myself as I went my way,
“Which of these roles have I tried to play?”
Am I a builder that works with care,
Measuring life by the rule and square.
Am I shaping my deeds to a well made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker who walks the town,
Content with the labor of tearing down.”
— Author Unknown