"In all labor there is profit, but idle
talk leads only to poverty."
(Proverbs 14:23)
Work, work, my boy, be not afraid;
Look labor boldly in the face;
Take up the hammer or the spade,
And blush not for your humble place.
There's glory in the shuttle's song;
There's triumph in the anvil's stroke;
There's merit in the brave and strong
Who dig the mine or fell the oak.
The wind disturbs the sleeping lake,
And bids it ripple pure and fresh;
It moves the green boughs till they make
Grand music in their leafy mesh.
And so the active breath of life
Should still our dull and sluggard wills;
For are we not created rife
With health, that stagnant torpor kills?
I doubt if he who lolls his head
Where idleness and plenty meet,
Enjoys his pillow or his bread
As those who earn the meals they eat.
And a man is never half so blest
As when the busy day is spent
So as to make his evening rest
A holiday of glad content.
"Labor"
Eliza Cook
(1817-1889)
English poet, writer, and editor
of "Eliza Cook's Journal"
Image courtesy/National Portrait Gallery
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