All hail to thee as homeward thou dost bend Thy steps at eventide,—thou son of toil, Who dost not greatly fear thine hands to soil If heart be pure, and thou thy years canst lend To useful tasks to which there doth attend A competence; and feel, meantime, recoil A priceless good,—one purely personal— Upon thee at thy work: (these God doth send As thy reward). Then bravely hie thee home Where, next to God, live those who know thee best; Thy little ones around thy knees will come, And, tired to-night, thou shalt be long caressed; So when the morning sun 'gins climb the hill, Again thou wilt go forth thy place to fill. |