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WHEN Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes

are twisted and dried, When the oldest colours have faded, and the

youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—lie

down for an aon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us

to work anew!

And those that were good shall be happy: they

shall sit in a golden chair; They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with

brushes of comets' hair ; They shall find real saints to draw from—Mag

dalene, Peter, and Paul; They shall 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 shall work for money, and no one

shall work for fame; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in

his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of

Things as They Are!

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