WHEN EARTH'S LAST PICTURE IS PAINTED
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 an eon or two
'Til the Master of all good workmen
Shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy.
They'll sit in a golden chair.
They'll splash at a ten league canvas
With brushes of comet's hair.
They'll find real saints to draw from,
Magdalene, Peter, and Paul.
They'll 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 will work for money.
And no one will work for fame.
But each for the joy of working,
And each, in his separate star,
Will draw the thing as he sees it
For the God of things as they are.