The Art of magic, Crafter’s joy,
From Nature’s passion takes its part,
The spirit’s talents to employ,
And celebrates the gifted heart.
Yet purest Art, the Crafter’s flame,
Allowed to blaze without control,
Much like the fires of Hell, can maim,
Can char the kindler to the soul.
Science of magic, Crafter’s pride,
Calls laws of Nature to its aid,
And, using reason as its guide,
Treads patterned paths by logic laid.
Yet strictest Science, Crafter’s rule,
Can claim emotion as its price,
And intellect, if kept too cool,
Might wither feeling with its ice.
Holding but one, the Crafter’s bane,
Works contrary to Nature’s way.
Unbalanced strivings, all in vain,
Bring darkness to midsummer’s day.
Yet blending both, the Crafter’s goal,
Achieves the harmony required
To form from parts a balanced whole
And spells both reasoned and inspired.