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.