SparklingOctopus

I wandered round thy grave, noble Erwin, and searched for thy tombstone, to have revealed to me ‘anno domini 1318 xvi Kal. Feb. obht Magister Ervinius, Gubernator Fabricae Ecclesiae Argentinensis’ [the year of our lord 1318, 17 January, died Master Erwin, director of the fabric of the church of Strasbourg]. And I could not find it, and none of thy countrymen could show it me, that my veneration might be poured out at the holy place; and I was deeply sad in my soul; and my heart, younger, warmer, more innocent, better than now, vowed thee a memorial so soon as I attained the quiet enjoyment of my possessions — of marble or of sandstone as I might afford. Yet why needst memorial! Thou hast set up to thyself one most glorious. And if the ants crawl round and care not for they name, thou sharest the destiny of that architect who piled mountains into the clouds. It has been granted to few to create a Babel-thought within their souls, whole and great, and by necessity beautiful to the smallest part, like the trees of God. To fewer it has been granted to meet a thousand proffered hands to carve out the rock-ground, to charm steep cliffs thereon, and then dying, to say to their sons ‘I abide with you in the works of my spirit: complete to the clouds that which is begun.’