All nature, and the soul of the unseen, Hands of old heroes reached from out the past, Spirits of life in this full-glorious day, The sky, the earth, the ocean gratulant, These bring the worker's table, and set forth High nutriment upon it. How he fares, Angles to wait upon him, and the robe Of all enrichment wrapping him about! Beside a sewer in a clanging street The banquet may be set, or in a mine Beneath a black and crumbling mile of rock, Or 'mid the stubble of a harvest field Under a blistering sun, or in the calm Of some great library, or on the sea Amid the crashing terror of the storm. None see it but the worker; none but he Can taste the wondrous viands; he alone Is conscious of the splendid ministrants. But he, -- ah! well he knows it; revels there In joys a king would sell his realm to buy, In pride and hope and firm accomplishment. Many have sat before him at that board And many will come after, royal men, The head and front of godlike humankind, And he is one among them! As he feasts At that illustrious table, how inane, How petty, imbecile, and profitless Are other meats, though borne in soft, white arms, Or proffered by the hands of half the world! |