p. 28 | LABOR by Caroline F. Orne

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Nov 13, 1893

LABOR.

By Caroline F. Orne

[These lines, by Caroline F. Orne, were suggested by the simple incident of an industrious wood sawyer’s reply to a man who told him that his was a hard work: “Yes, it is hard, to be sure; but it is harder to do nothing,” was his answer.]

Ho, ye who at the anvil toil, And strike the sounding blow, Where, from the burning iron's breast, The sparks fly to and fro, While answering to the hammer's ring, And fire's intenser glow— Oh, while ye feel 'tis hard to toil And sweat the long day through, Remember, it is harder still To have no work to do!

Ho, ye who till the stubborn soil, Whose hard hands guide the plow, Who bend beneath the summer sun, With burning cheek and brow— Ye deem the curse still clings to earth From olden time till now; But, while ye feel 'tis hard to toil And labor all day through, Remember, it is harder still To have no work to do!

Ho, ye who plow the sea's blue field, Who ride the restless wave, Beneath whose gallant vessel's keel There lies a yawning grave, Around whose bark the wint'ry winds Like fiends of fury wave— Oh, while ye feel 'tis hard to toil And labor long hours through, Remember, it is harder still To have no work to do!

Ho, ye upon whose fevered cheeks The hectic glow is bright, Whose mental toil wears out the day, And half the weary night, Who labor for the souls of men, Champions of truth and right— Although ye feel your toil is hard, Even with this glorious view, Remember, it is harder still To have no work to do!

Ho, all who labor, all who strive! Ye wield a lofty power; Do with your might, do with your strength, Fill every golden hour. The glorious privilege to do Is man's most noble dower. Oh, to your birthright and yourselves, To your own souls be true! A weary, wretched life is theirs Who have no work to do.