We think all day the things that count Are wages, profits -- some amount We make or earn, or stow away; Then sinks the sun, then ends the day, Then once again we homeward turn -- And how we hope the candles burn! We dream all day of honor, fame, We think that praise, applause, acclaim, Are worth the winning; then the light Dies down the west, and comes the night; We homeward turn -- and, at the end, Oh, how we hope we find a friend! Gold, honor, these we seek in life; The press of crowds, the hurt of strife, We bravely bear; then shadows fall, And then we hunger, after all, For just a house, and just a chair Beside a fire, and welcome there. |