Huddled masses, He hears each cry,
As you lie wallowing in dust and earth,
Surrounded by the sounds of pain
Compounded with the clanging hammer strikes.

Piece by piece you are chipped away,
Broken from the heavy mountain holding you,
Gathered in
From the only home you have ever known.

The hills echo with your distress
As rough edges are chiseled and polished,
Smooth and more smooth you become with each passing day,
Until it happens:

The work is finished.
You come to rest in your new home,
Where there is peace and a place for you,
And all is quiet.

In building the temple, only blocks finished at the quarry were used, and no hammer, chisel or any other iron tool was heard at the temple site while it was being built.
1 Kings 6:7