Dannecker, the yeoman sculptor,
In a vision the Christ face caught;
Then he seized his faithful chisel,
And year by year he wrought,
And to fashion that face ideal
Gave all his time and skill,
That a work of God so hallowed
Might his loving hands fulfil;
For he would that all the people
Might behold that wondrous face,
So “altogether lovely,”
So full of matchless grace.
At last—yet still reluctant—
He called a little maid,
“Whom have I here?” he questioned.
“O, some great man!” she said.
He knew by the maiden’s answer
That holier touch than yet
His skill must find, and a tenderer Christ;
Then, with weeping and regret,
Dannecker took his chisel
And patiently wrought on
Until in awe he whispered
Exultingly, “It is done.”
And again he called the maiden;
She answered reverently,
“It is, ‘Suffer the little children,’
It is Jesus that I see.”
With such sorrow and compassion
That wondrous face was sealed
That each man saw his Saviour,
Each read God’s heart revealed.
The suffering saw His pity;
The burdened found release;
The sinful felt His pardoning love,
And the troubled, rest and peace.
Then Dannecker, the artist,
Did his faithful chisel stay,
No longer of mind to sculpture
From models of earthly clay;
Nor image the most enchanting
Could tempt his matchless skill,
Since a work of God so hallowed
Did his faithful hands fulfil.