"Here at the easel, the brushes at hand,
Each for a time, is permitted to stand,
White was the canvas when we first began,
Ready to paint the picture of man.

Now we splash the pigments about,
Knowing the reds and the blues must give out:
Soon we must turn to the dull hues and the gray,
And paint the sorrows that darken the way.

Let me when trouble is mine to portray,
Dip with good courage, my brush in the gray,
After sadness and sorrow, let there be
Something of faith for my children to see.

Oh let me paint, not in anger or hate,
Grant me patience to work and to wait,
Make me an artist, though humble my style,
And let my life's work be something worthwhile."

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