Many years ago – a noteworthy French Poet wrote this piece:

“Bring me,” quoth one, “a trowel, quickly, quick!”

   One brings him up a hammer.  “Hew this brick,”

   Another bids; and then they cleave a tree;

  “Make fast this rope,” and then they let it flee.

   One calls for planks, another mortar lacks;

   They bear the first a stone, the last an axe.

   One would have spikes, and him a spade they give;

   Another asks a saw, and gets a sieve.

   Thus crossly crost, they prate and point in vain:

   What one hath made another mars again.

    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

   These masons then, seeing the storm arrived

   Of God’s just wrath, all weak and heart-deprived,

   Forsake their purpose, and, like frantic fools,

   Scatter their stuff and tumble over their tools.                            

DU BARTAS. – Babylon.

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