The Jest

Oh this strange world!
Each man secure in his folly-
Or his wisdom denied not its expression.
Each man left free to mould his god
Unto his own desire,
But ah, the sorry trade!
Were I to tell thee, that at each morrow,
Were man allowed to look upon
His fashioning, few would there be
Who sat looking far into the vasts-
Awed with the task, while their hands
Plead to express what He is unto them.
Yea, and many there be, who looking
Upon the image of their god,
Would see a faulty image of themselves,-
This be the jest!