All labour gained new dignity Since He who all creation made Toiled with His hands for daily bread Right manfully. No work is commonplace, if all Be done as unto Him alone; Life's simplest toil to Him is known Who knoweth all. Each smallest common thing He makes Serves Him with its minutest part; Man only with his wandering heart His way forsakes. His service is life's highest joy, It yields fair fruit a hundred fold. Be this our prayer -- "Not fame, nor gold, But -- Thine employ!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE SOUR READER by ROBERT HERRICK TO A MATTABASSETT (A CONNECTICUT INDIAN) by WALTER BARDECK RHODE ISLAND by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE CLUE by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES SONG by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 3. THE OTHER HALF-ROME by ROBERT BROWNING FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO THOMAS MOORE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |