Poetry Archives

Each day I live I thank the Lord
          I do the work I love;
And in it find a rich reward,
          All price and praise above.
For few may do the work they love,
          The fond unique employ,
That fits them as a hand a glove,
          And gives them joy.

Oh gentlefolk, do you and you
          Who toil for daily hire,
Consider that the job you do
          Is to your heart’s desire?
Aye, though you are to it resigned,
          And will no duty shirk,
Oh do you in your private mind
          Adore your work?

Twice happy man whose job is joy,
          Whose hand and heart combine,
In brave and excellent employ
          As radiantly as mine!
But oh the weary, dreary day,
          The wear and tear and irk
Of countless souls who cannot say:
          ‘I love my work.’