When Earth’s last picture is painted and the tubes are 
        twisted and dried,	
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest 
        critic has died,	
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—lie 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 shall sit 
        in a golden chair;	       
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes 
        of comets’ hair.	
They shall find real saints to draw from—Magdalene, 
        Peter, and Paul;	
They shall 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 shall work for money, and no one shall 
        work for fame,	        
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his 
        separate star,	
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of 
        Things as They are!	

 
 = Richard Titus