Work and Profession

When I went to the Bar as a very young man (Said I to myself, said I).

Stick close to your desks and never go to sea, And you all may be Rulers of the Queen’s Navee!

When I was a lad I served a term As office boy to an Attorney’s firm. I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor And I polished up the handle of the big front door. I polished up that handle so carefullee That now I am the Ruler of the Queen’s Navee!

Blessed are the horny hands of toil!

Oh let us love our occupations, Bless the squire and his relations, Live upon our daily rations, And always know our proper stations.

Build me straight, O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel.

His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate’er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.

Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night’s repose.

Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith a mighty man is he With large and sinewy hands. And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime. And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.

To rise at six, to dine at ten, To sup at six, to sleep at ten, Makes a man live for ten times ten.

Men of England, wherefore plow For the lords who lay ye low?

A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure—critics all are ready-made.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down?

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair— The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing— And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, And Hope without an object cannot live.

Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.

The deed is everything, the glory nothing.

How happy he who crowns in shades like these, A youth of labor with an age of ease.

For just experience tells; in every soil, That those that think must govern those that toil.

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor.

For we that live to please must please to live.