Labor Song

Ah!  Little they know of true happiness, they whom satiety fills,

Who, flung on the rich breast of luxury, eat of the rankness that kills.

Ah! little they know of the blessedness toll-purchased slumber enjoys

Who, stretched on the hard rack of indolence, taste of the sleep that destroys;

Nothing to hope for, or labor for; nothing to sign for or gain;

Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like, bosom and brain;

Nothing to break life’s monotony, rippling it o’er with its breath:

Nothing but dullness and lethargy, weariness, sorry and death!

 

But blessed that child of humanity, happiest man among men,

Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, with rudder or ploughshare or pen

Laboreth ever and ever with hope through the morning of life,

Winning home and its darling divinities, –love-worshipped children and wife.

Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly, the sharp chisel rings,

and the heart of the toiler has throbbings that stir not the bosom of kings, —

He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his race,

Who nerveth his arm for life’s combat, but looks the strong world in the face

–Denis Florence McCarthy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello everyone,

I am going to see some of the grandchildren for the holiday. I hope you enjoy this post. It was fun to put together for you all. I will have pictures when I return and will look forward to reading your posts.

 

I wish you all fun, safety and a happy heart.

Namaste,

Barbara