XLV The Song of Work
Many Phases and Many Examples
Music.
In every leaf and flower
The pulse of music beats,
And works the changes hour by hour,
In those divine retreats.
Alike in star and clod
One melody resides,
Which is the working will of God,
Beyond all power besides.
It is by angels heard,
By all of lower birth,
The silent music of the Word
Who works in heaven and earth.
For music order is
To which all work belongs,
And in this wondrous world of His
Work is the song of songs.
Divine Workers.
The Father hitherto,
And his Eternal Son
Work, work, and still have work to do
With each successive sun.
O bow the heart in awe,
And work as with the Lord,
Who, with his everlasting law,
Works on in sweet accord.
Work is the law of love
Which rules the world below,
Which rules the brighter world above,
Through which, like God, we grow.
And this and every day
The work of love is rest
In which our sorrows steal away,
Which cares may not infest.
The Will of God.
With heart as strong as fate,
Brave worker, girt and shod,
Adore! and know that naught is great
Except the will of God.
O sweet, sweet light of day,
Through which such wonders run,
Thou ownest, in thy glorious sway,
Allegiance to the sun.
And thou, O human will,
As wondrous as the light,
Cans’t thou thy little trust fulfill
Save through Another’s might?
With heart to conquer fate,
Brave worker, girt and shod,
Work on! and know that he is great
Who does the will of God.
“Laborare est Orare.”
To labor is to pray,
As some dear saint has said,
And with this truth for many a day
Have I been comforted.
The Lord has made me bold
When I have labored most,
And with his gifts so manifold,
Has given the Holy Ghost
When I have idle been
Until the sun went down,
Mine eyes, so dim, have never seen
His bright, prophetic crown.
O, praise the Lord for work
Which maketh time so fleet,
In which accusers never lurk,
Whose end is very sweet.
Birds of Grace.
O little birds of grace,
To-day ye sweetly sing,
Yea, make my heart your nesting-place,
And all your gladness bring.
When ye are in my heart,
How swiftly pass the days!
The fears and doubts of life depart,
And leave their room to praise.
My work I find as play,
And all day long rejoice;
But, if I linger on my way,
I hear this warning voice:
With fervor work and pray,
And let not coldness come,
Or birds of grace will fly away
To seek a warmer home.
Duty.
O work that Duty shows
Through her revealing light!
It is in thee my bosom glows
With infinite delight!
The shadows flee away
Like mist before the sun;
And thy achievement seems to say,
The will of God is done!
Ah, what if Duty seem
A mistress cold and stern!
Can he who owns her rule supreme
From her caresses turn?
O work that Duty shows
In light so fair and clear,
Whoever thy completion knows
Is ‘minded heaven is near!
Moses.
In Pharaoh’s dazzling court
No work did Moses find
That could heroic life support
And fill his heart and mind.
Beneath their grievous task
Did not his kindred groan?
And a great voice above him ask,
“Dost thou thy brethren own?”
The work which Duty meant
At length he found and did,
And built a grander monument
Than any pyramid.
Sometimes his eyes were dim,
All signs he could not spell;
Yet he endured as seeing Him
Who is invisible.
Discoverers.
In search of greener shores
The Northmen braved the seas
And reached, those faith-illumined rowers,
Our dear Hesperides.
And when Oblivion
Swept all their work away,
And left for faith to feed upon
But shadows lean and gray,
Columbus dreamed the dream
Which fired a southern clime
And hailed a world—O toil supreme!—
As from the womb of Time.
God’s dauntless witnesses
For toil invincible,
They gazed across uncharted seas
On the invisible.
God’s Order.
In gazing into heaven
In idle ecstacy,
What progress make ye to the haven
Where ye at length would be?
In heaven-appointed work
The sure ascension lies.
O, never yet did drone or shirk
Make headway to the skies.
Who in his heart rebels
Has never ears to hear
The morning and the evening bells
On yonder shores so clear.
For work communion is
With God’s one order here,
And all the secret melodies
Which fill our lives with cheer.
David.
In action day by day
King David’s manhood grew,
A character to live for aye,
It was so strong and true.
Hordes of misrule became
As stubble to the fire,
Till songs of praise like leaping flame
Burst from his sacred lyre.
He grappled with all rude
And unpropitious things:
A garden from the solitude
Smiled to the King of kings.
And fiercer yet the strife
With mighty foes within,
Who stormed the fortress of his life
And triumphed in his sin.
Good out of Evil.
True David halted not
When sin had cast him down,
Upon his royal life a blot,
Death reaching for his crown.
His work was but half done;
A man of action still,
He struggled in the gloaming sun
To do his Maker’s will;
Till in the golden light
Great words began to shine:
In sorrow is exalting might,
Repentance is divine.
And now the shepherd king
We count the human sire
Of One who turns our hungering
Into achieved desire.
Elijah.
Elijah, through the night
Which shrouded Israel
In toiling, groping for the light,
Foretold Immanuel.
And in heroic trust
That night would yield to day—
His imperfections thick as dust
Along the desert way;
His bold, rebuking cry
Heard in the wilderness.
Till from the chariot of the sky
His mantle fell to bless—
The stern, half-savage seer
Became a prophecy
Of gladness and the Golden Year,
In all high minstrelsy.
Aelemaehus the Monk.
How well he wrought who stood
Against an ancient wrong,
And left the spangles of his blood
To light the sky of song!
A gladiatorial show,
And eighty thousand men
For savage pastime all aglow—
O marvel there and then!
An unknown monk, his life
Defenseless, interposed,
Forbade the old barbaric strife—
The red arena closed!
That unrecovered rout!
Those fire-shafts from the Sun!
O Telemaque! who, who shall doubt
Thy Master’s will was done?
Washington.
The deeds of Washington
Were lit with patriot flame;
A crown for Liberty he won,
And won undying fame.
He heard his country’s cry,
He heard her bugle-call,
’Twas sweet to live for her, or die;
Her cause was all in all.
He heard the psalm of peace,
He sought again the plow;
O civic toil, canst thou increase
The laurels for his brow?
As with a father’s hand
He led the infant state;
Colossus of his native land,
He still is growing great.
Lincoln.
God placed on Lincoln’s brow
A sad, majestic crown;
All enmity is friendship now,
And martyrdom renown.
A mighty-hearted man,
He toiled at Freedom’s side,
And lived, as only heroes can,
The truth in which he died.
Like Moses, eyes so dim,
All signs he could not spell;
Yet he endured, as seeing Him
Who is invisible.
His life was under One
“Who made and loveth all;”
And when his mighty work was done,
How grand his coronal!
Garfield.
Of Garfield’s finished days,
So fair and all too few,
Destruction, which at noon-day strays,
Could not the work undo.
O martyr prostrate, calm,
I learn anew that pain
Achieves, as God’s subduing psalm,
What else were all in vain!
Like Samson in his death,
With mightiest labor rife,
The moments of thy halting breath
Were grandest of thy life.
And now, amid the gloom
Which pierces mortal years,
There shines a star above thy tomb
To smile away our tears.
Not Too Near.
O workers brave and true,
Whose lives are full of song,
I dare not take too near a view,
Lest I should do you wrong.
I only look to see
The marks of sacrifice,
The heraldry of sympathy,
Which can alone suffice.
For nothing else is great,
However proudly won,
Or has the light to indicate
The will of God is done.
Ah, who would judge what fire
Will surely burn away!
And ask not, What doth God require
At the Eternal Day?
“Stonewall” Jackson.
God somehow owns the creeds
That seem so much amiss,
What time they bear heroic deeds
Above analysis.
How, in his burning zeal,
Did Stonewall breast his fate,
Converted to his country’s weal
With fame beyond debate!
Sincere and strong of heart,
In very truth he thought
His ensign signaled duty’s part;
And as he thought he fought.
And truth baptized in blood,
As many a time before,
Gave honor to his soldierhood,
Though trailed the flag he bore.
Work Its Own Reward
O worker with the Lord,
To crown thee with success,
Believe thy work its own reward,
Let self be less and less.
In all things be sincere,
Afraid not of the light,
A prophet of the Golden Year
In simply doing right.
And be content to serve,
A little one of God,
In loyalty without reserve,
A hero armored, shod.
Or this dear life of thine,
Of every charm bereft,
Will crumble in the fire divine,
Naught, naught but ashes left.
Now and Here
O not to-morrow or afar,
Thy work is now and here;
Thy bosom holds the fairest star—
Dost see it shining clear?
The nearest things are great,
Remotest very small,
To him with eyes to penetrate
The silent coronal.
So deep the basis lies
Of life’s great pyramid,
That out of reach of common eyes
Prophetic work is hid.
His reign for which we pray,
His kingdom undefiled,
Whose scepter shall not pass away,
Is in a little child.
A Little Child
Come hither, little child,
And bring thy heart to me;
Thou art the true and unbeguiled,
So full of melody.
The presence of a child
Has taught me more of heaven,
And more my heart has reconciled
Than Greece’s immortal Seven.
For when I sometimes think
That life is void of song,
Before a little child I sink
And own that I am wrong.
And lo my heart grows bright
That was so dark and drear,
Till in the tender morning light
I find the Lord is near.
The Divine Presence
O, when the Lord is near,
The rainbow banners wave;
The star I follow shineth clear,
I am no more a slave.
As if to honor Him,
My work is true and free;
And flowing to the shining brim,
The cup of heaven I see.
I marvel not that song
Should be employment there
In which the innumerable throng
Their palms of triumph bear;
Or that the choral strife
And golden harps express
The stirring labors of the life
Of peace and righteousness.
Death in Life
The song of work, I know,
Has here its minor tone;
And in its ever-changing flow,
Death, death in life is known.
Discordant notes, alas!
So often cleave the air
And smite the music as they pass,
And leave their poison there.
And oft, ah me! from some
Wild region of the heart
Will startling intimations come,
And peace at once depart.
With open foes without,
And secret foes within,
His heart must needs be brave and stout
That would life’s battle win.
Evil
In the great wilderness
Through which I hold my way,
Is there no refuge from distress,
Where foes are kept at bay?
Saint Anthony of old
Could not from evil flee;
The desert cave was found to hold
His mortal enemy.
And knew untiring Paul
The world’s relentless scorn;
While in his flesh, amid it all,
He bore another thorn.
Our common lot is cast
In a great camp of pain!
Until the night be over-past,
Some foe will yet remain.
With His Foes
The king of beasts was dead—
By an old hero slain;
Did dreams of honey for his bread
Dance through the hero’s brain?
Or did he chafe at this:
That pain is everywhere?
Down, down, thou fabled right to bliss,
Life is to do and bear!
Beguiled, enslaved, made blind,
Yet unsubdued in will,
He kept the old heroic mind
To serve his country still.
And in recovered might
Pulled the tall pillars down,
Died with his foes—that was his right—
And built his great renown.
For His Foes
Devotion all supreme
Throbs in the mighty psalm
Of One who filled our highest dream
And poured His healing balm;
Who worlds inherited
And yet renounced them all;
Who had not where to lay His head
And drank the cup of gall;
Who emptied of His power
Became the foremost man—
Calm at the great prophetic hour
Through which God’s purpose ran;
Who in the darkest fight
Imagination knows,
Saluted Thee, Eternal Light,
And died as for His foes.
The Master
The Master many a day
In pain and darkness wrought:
Through death to life He held His way,
All lands the glory caught.
And He unlocked the gain
Shut up in grievous loss,
And made the stairs to heaven as plain
As His uplifted cross—
The stairs of pain and woe
In all the work on earth,
Up which the patient toilers go
To their eternal birth.
O Master, Master mine,
I read the legend now,
To work and suffer is divine,
All radiant on Thy brow.
Life in Death
Strong children of decay,
Ye live by perishing:
To-morrow thrives on dead to-day,
And joy on suffering.
The labor of your hearts,
Like that of brain and hands,
Shall be for gain in other marts,
For bread in other lands.
And will ye now despond
Amid consuming toil,
When there is hope and joy beyond
Which death can not despoil?
Herein all comfort is:
In usefulness and zeal,
The Lord announces who are His
And gives eternal weal.
Sacrifice
Through stern and ruthless years
Beyond the ken of man,
All filled with ruin, pain, and tears,
Has God worked out His plan.
Change on the heels of change,
Like blood-hounds in the chase,
Has swept the earth in tireless range,
Spangled with heavenly grace.
At last the mystery
Of the great Cross of Christ,
Red with a world-wide agony,
The God-Man sacrificed;
And from the Sacrifice
The seven great notes of Peace,
Which pierce the clouds beneath all skies
Till pain and sorrow cease.
The Mind of Christ
Into the surging world,
Upon thy lips His word,
And in thy hand His flag unfurled,
Go, soldier of the Lord;
Like Him who came from far
To toil for our release,
And framed the startling notes of war
Out of the psalm of peace.
And all the recompense
Which thou wilt ever need,
Shall kindle in the throbbing sense
Of this life-laden creed:
Grace has for him sufficed
Who has St. Michael’s heart,
The fullness of the mind of Christ,
To do a hero’s part.
Sympathy.
The Master we revere,
Who bled on Calvary,
To fill us with heroic cheer,
Abides eternally.
From His ascended heights
Above the pain and ruth,
To all His servants He delights
To come in grace and truth.
His presence is so dear,
His face so brave and fair,
That all our heavy burdens here
He somehow seems to share.
Copartner in our work,
He every pain beguiles;
How can the fear of failure lurk
In that on which He smiles!
Love for Love.
Master, far Thy dear sake
I bear my anguish now,
And in Thy blessed cross partake
Whose sign is on my brow.
For Thy dear sake I toil
Who didst so toil for me;
O more than balm, or wine, or oil,
The cheer that comes from Thee.
For Thy dear sake I live
A servant unto all,
And know that Thou wilt surely give
Thyself as coronal.
For Thy dear sake I watch
And keep my flag unfurled,
Until her golden gleam I catch,
Sweet evening of the world.
Conclusion,
True worker with the Lord,
He labors not for hire;
Co-partner in the sure reward,
What can he more desire?
Sometimes his eyes are dim,
All signs he can not spell;
Yet he endures as seeing Him
Who is invisible.
The work he ought is bliss,
The highest thing to crave;
And all his life is found in this
Memorial for his grave:
A worker with the Lord,
He sought no other name,
And found therein enough reward,
Enough, enough of fame.