The gull shall whistle in his wake, the blind wave break in fire.
He shall fulfill God's utmost will, read more

The gull shall whistle in his wake, the blind wave break in fire.
He shall fulfill God's utmost will, unknowing His desire,
And he shall see old planets pass and alien stars arise,
And give the gale his reckless sail in shadow of new skies.
Strong lust of gear shall drive him out and hunger arm his hand,
To wring his food from a desert nude, his foothold from the sand.

Work thou for pleasure--paint or sing or carve
The thing thou lovest, though the body starve--
Who read more

Work thou for pleasure--paint or sing or carve
The thing thou lovest, though the body starve--
Who works for glory misses oft the goal;
Who works for money coins his very soul.
Work for the work's sake, then, and it may be
That these things shall be added unto thee.

I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and
ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, read more

I have had my labor for my travail; ill-thought-on of her, and
ill-thought-on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks
for my labor.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for
hours. I love to keep read more

I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for
hours. I love to keep it by me: the idea of getting rid of it
nearly breaks my heart.

Sometimes our work feels small and insignificant. But remember, a small ripple can gain momentum and build a current so read more

Sometimes our work feels small and insignificant. But remember, a small ripple can gain momentum and build a current so strong that is insurmountable.

The world is filled with willing people; some willing to work, the rest willing to let them.

The world is filled with willing people; some willing to work, the rest willing to let them.

Too long, that some may rest,
Tired millions toil unblest.

Too long, that some may rest,
Tired millions toil unblest.

When Darby saw the setting sun
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank read more

When Darby saw the setting sun
He swung his scythe, and home he run,
Sat down, drank off his quart and said,
"My work is done, I'll go to bed."
"My work is done!" retorted Joan,
"My work is done! Your constant tone,
But hapless woman ne'er can say
'My work is done' till judgment day."