by Rudyard Kipling
When Earth 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 down for an aeon or two
'Till the master of all good workmen
Shall put us to work anew
And those that were good shall be happy
They'll sit sit in a golden chair
They'll splash at a ten league canvas
With brushes of comets 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 the money
no one will work for the fame.
But each for the joy of the working,
And each, in his separate star,
Will draw the thing as he sees it
For the God of things as they are.
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