There the workman saw his labour taking form and bearing fruit,
  Like a tree with splendid branches rising from a humble root.

  Looking at the distant city, temples, houses, domes, and towers,
  Felix cried in exultation:  “All that mighty work is ours.

  “Every toiler in the quarry, every builder on the shore,
  Every chopper in the palm-grove, every raftsman at the oar,

  “Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod,
  All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of God,

  “March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare: 
  Honest toil is holy service; faithful work is praise and prayer.”

While he bore the heat and burden Felix felt the sense of rest
Flowing softly like a fountain, deep within his weary breast;

Felt the brotherhood of labour, rising round him like a tide,
Overflow his heart and join him to the workers at his side.

Oft he cheered them with his singing at the breaking of the light,
Told them tales of Christ at noonday, taught them words of prayer at
night.

Once he bent above a comrade fainting in the mid-day heat,
Sheltered him with woven palm-leaves, gave him water, cool and sweet.

Then it seemed, for one swift moment, secret radiance filled the place;
Underneath the green palm-branches flashed a look of Jesus’ face.

Once again, a raftsman, slipping, plunged beneath the stream and sank;
Swiftly Felix leaped to rescue, caught him, drew him toward the bank—­

  Battling with the cruel river, using all his strength to save—­
  Did he dream? or was there One beside him walking on the wave?

  Now at last the work was ended, grove deserted, quarry stilled;
  Felix journeyed to the city that his hands had helped to build.

  In the darkness of the temple, at the closing hour of day,
  As of old he sought the altar, as of old he knelt to pray: 

  “Hear me, O Thou hidden Master!  Thou hast sent a word to me;
  It is written—­Thy commandment—­I have kept it faithfully.

  “Thou hast bid me leave the visions of the solitary life,
  Bear my part in human labour, take my share in human strife.

  “I have done Thy bidding, Master; raised the rock and felled the tree,
  Swung the axe and plied the hammer, working every day for Thee.

  “Once it seemed I saw Thy presence through the bending palm-leaves gleam;
  Once upon the flowing water—­Nay, I know not; ’twas a dream!

  “This I know:  Thou hast been near me:  more than this I dare not ask. 
  Though I see Thee not, I love Thee.  Let me do Thy humblest task!”

  Through the dimness of the temple slowly dawned a mystic light;
  There the Master stood in glory, manifest to mortal sight: 

  Hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that bore the print of care;
  Hands of power, divinely tender; brow of light, divinely fair.