Smith and craftsman pausing, youth and smiling lass, Trader, man and master, stood to see them pass, With a bonnet lifted, and "God bless him!"

," the poet saith), Which is the craftsman-soul's design, Its majesty supreme in death.

No worke it seem'd of earthly craftsmans wit, But rather wrought by his owne industry That thunder-dartes for Iove his syre doth fit.