Let me but do my work from day to day, In field or forest, at the desk or loom, In roaring market-place, or tranquil room; Let me but find it in my heart to say, When vagrant wishes beckon me astray— “This is my work; my blessing, not my doom; Of all who live, I am the one by whom This work can best be done, in the right way.” Then shall I see it not too great, nor small, To suit my spirit and to prove my powers; Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours, And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall At eventide, to play and love and rest, Because I know for me my work is best.
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Poems of Sentiment: VI. Labor and Rest