You work that you may keep pace with
the earth and the soul of the earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons,
and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty
and proud submission towards the infinite.
When you work you are a flute through
whose heart the whispering of the hours
turns to music.
Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent,
When all else sings together in unison?
Always you have been told that work is
a curse and labor a misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work you fulfil
a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you
when the dream was born,
And in keeping yourself with labor you
are in truth loving life,
And to love life's labor is to be intimate
with life's innermost secret.