SONNETS AND SONGS

As in some workshop where the hammers ring And bare-armed artizans toil, blow on blow, To make each, crude, imperfect member grow To the completed plan, rise thou, and fling Aside all doubt and languor; strive to bring The deed up to its best; in gladness go Undaunted; have full confidence; and know Thou and thy God can perfect everything!

Throughout the busy day He works with us And knows that we are tired; He hears and feels The grind of every cog, the plaint, the fuss, The purr of pinions in the thousand wheels That whir forever down the endless walls, Where, as we toil, His light perpetual falls.