HEART of the People! Working men! Marrow and nerve of human powers; Who on your sturdy back sustain Through streaming Time this world of ours; Hold by that title, -- which proclaims, That ye are undismayed and strong, Accomplishing whatever aims May to the sons of earth belong. Yet not on ye alone depend These offices, or burthens fall; Labour for some or other end Is Lord and master of us all. The high-born youth from downy bed Must meet the morn with horse and hound, While Industry for daily bread Pursues afresh his wonted round. With all his pomp of pleasure, He Is but your working comrade now, And shouts and winds his horn, as ye Might whistle by the loom or plough; In vain for him has wealth the use Of warm repose and careless joy, -- When, as ye labour to produce, He strives, as active to destroy. But who is this with wasted frame, Sad sign of vigour overwrought? What toil can this new victim claim? Pleasure, for Pleasure's sake besought. How men would mock her flaunting shows, Her golden promise, if they knew What weary work she is to those Who have no better work to do! And He who still and silent sits In closed room or shady nook, And seems to nurse his idle wits With folded arms or open book: -- To things now working in @3that@1 mind, Your children's children well may owe Blessings that Hope has ne'er defined Till from his busy thoughts they flow. Thus all must work -- with head or hand, For self or others, good or ill; Life is ordained to bear, like land, Some fruit, be fallow as it will: Evil has force itself to sow Where we deny the healthy seed, -- And all our choice is this, -- to grow Pasture and grain or noisome weed. Then in content possess your hearts, Unenvious of each other's lot, -- For those which seem the easiest parts Have travail which ye reckon not: And He is bravest, happiest, best, Who, from the task within his span, Earns for himself his evening rest And an increase of good for man. |