Work, and thou wilt bless the day Ere the toil be done; They that work not, can not pray, Can not feel the sun. God is living, working still, All things work and move; Work, or lose the power to will, Lose the power to love.
Is not true leisure One with true toil?
Rest is not quitting The busy career, Rest is the fitting Of self to one's sphere.
'T is the brook's motion, Clear without strife, Fleeing to ocean After its life.
'T is loving and serving The Highest and Best! 'T is onwards! unswerving, And that is true rest.
Work, and thou wilt bless the day Ere the toil be done; They that work not, can not pray, Can not feel the sun. God is living, working still, All things work and move; Work, or lose the power to will, Lose the power to love.