 | Leaves of life |  |
110
‘WHATEVER THY HAND FINDETH. . .’
Red, red the sunset flames behind
The black, black elms and hedges,
All through the noon no least leaf stirred,
But crickets hummed and beetles whirred—
Now comes a breath of fresh, sweet wind
From silent pools and sedges.
The black, black elms and hedges,
All through the noon no least leaf stirred,
But crickets hummed and beetles whirred—
Now comes a breath of fresh, sweet wind
From silent pools and sedges.
All through hot noon the reapers stand
And toil, with jests and laughter,
Beneath the blazing skies that burn.
Then, laughing still, they homeward turn
By threes and fours; and hand in hand
Go two that linger after.
And toil, with jests and laughter,
Beneath the blazing skies that burn.
Then, laughing still, they homeward turn
By threes and fours; and hand in hand
Go two that linger after.
111
And here we linger hand in hand,
And watch the blackening shadows.
Had we been born to reap and sow,
To wake when swallows stir, and go
Forth in chill dawn to plough the land,
Or mow the misty meadows,
And watch the blackening shadows.
Had we been born to reap and sow,
To wake when swallows stir, and go
Forth in chill dawn to plough the land,
Or mow the misty meadows,
Had that been nobler? Love of mine,
We still had only striven,
As now we strive, to do our best,
To do good work and earn good rest,—
All work that's human is divine,
All life, lived well, makes heaven!
We still had only striven,
As now we strive, to do our best,
To do good work and earn good rest,—
All work that's human is divine,
All life, lived well, makes heaven!
| Leaves of life | |