THE BUILDERS

 

                THE BUILDERS

            “The Builders” is a poem written by the American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow who was born on 27 February 1807 and died on 24 March 1882 of peritonitis, a disease that causes belly pain and bloating or a feeling of fullness in the abdomen.

              In educational circles, Longfellow is a famous poet for his short, inspirational poems like The Excelsior, Village Blacksmith and The Psalm of Life. According to Arthur Compton-Rickett ,the author of A History of English Literature the first insistent impression conveyed to us by Longfellow’s verse is its skilful and delicate elegance ; and his briefer pieces throughout his long career ripple  with graceful fancies.  

            The main idea of the poem “The Builders” which is quoted below is that the world is very old. It has been built by many builders who have played their specific role in its continuous evolutionary progress. As has been said by a critic the poem highlights the importance of individuals who are willing to stand for truth and honor, make sacrifices, and endure a hardship for the nation’s progress.

            Commenting on this poem a British naval historian and author Cyril Northcote Parkinson (1909-1993) said: The world is one vast building and human beings its architects. We should all make our contribution, however humble, to the building of a clean and beautiful edifice.

            The full poem reads as follows:

 All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

                                                *******

G.R.Kanwal

21 July 2025