Labor Done

From the German by Samuel Atkins Eliot From “Song of the Bell” LET us with care observe What from our strength, yet weakness, springs; For he respect can ne’er deserve Who hands alone to labor brings. ’T is only this which honors man; His mind with heavenly fire was warmed, That he with deepest thought might scan The work which his own hand has formed.* * * * * Cheerful in the forest gloom, The wanderer turns his weary steps To his loved, though lowly home. Bleating flocks draw near the fold; And the herds, Wide-horned, and smooth, slow-pacing come Lowing from the hill, The accustomed stall to fill. Heavy rolls Along the wagon, Richly loaded. On the sheaves, With gayest leaves They form the wreath; And the youthful reapers dance Upon the heath. Street and market all are quiet, And round each domestic light Gathers now a circle fond, While shuts the creaking city-gate. Darkness hovers O’er the earth. Safety still each sleeper covers As the light, That the deeps of crime discovers; For wakes the law’s protecting might. Holy Order! rich with all The gifts of Heaven, that best we call,— Freedom, peace, and equal laws,— Of common good the happy cause! She the savage man has taught What the arts of life have wrought; Changed the rude hut to comfort, splendor, And filled fierce hearts with feelings tender And yet a dearer bond she wove,— Our home, our country, taught to love. A thousand active hands, combined For mutual aid, with zealous heart, In well apportioned labor find Their power increasing with their art. Master and workmen all agree, Under sweet Freedom’s holy care, And each content in his degree, Warns every scorner to beware. Labor is the poor man’s pride,— Success by toil alone is won. Kings glory in possessions wide,— We glory in our work well done.