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 eon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen
Shall set us to work anew.
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 eon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen
Shall set us to work anew.
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