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.

Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious
stones, wood, hay, stubble;
Every man's work read more

Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious
stones, wood, hay, stubble;
Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall
declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire
shall try every man's work of what sort it is.

I am gradually approaching the period in my life when work comes
first. . . . No longer diverted read more

I am gradually approaching the period in my life when work comes
first. . . . No longer diverted by other emotions, I work the way
a cow grazes.

"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."

"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."

I never did anything by accident, nor did any of my inventions come by accident; they came by work.

I never did anything by accident, nor did any of my inventions come by accident; they came by work.

Tho' we earn our bread, Tom,
By the dirty pen,
What we can we will be,
read more

Tho' we earn our bread, Tom,
By the dirty pen,
What we can we will be,
Honest Englishmen.
Do the work that's nearest
Though it's dull at whiles,
Helping, when we meet them,
Lame dogs over stiles.

By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out read more

By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary--or a stool
To tumble over and vex you . . . curse that stool!
Or else at best, a cushion where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this . . . that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.

Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed.

Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed.

Joy to the Toiler!--him that tills
The fields with Plenty crowned;
Him with the woodman's axe that read more

Joy to the Toiler!--him that tills
The fields with Plenty crowned;
Him with the woodman's axe that thrills
The wilderness profound.