On work.
Then a plowman said,
Speak to us of work.
And he answered saying,
Your work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the worth.
On work.
Then a plowman said,
Speak to us of work.
And he answered saying,
Your 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 our lives procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.
When you work you are a flute through whose heart is whispering of the hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a read,
Dumb and silent when all else sings together in union.
Always you have been told that work is a curse and labor of misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work you fulfill a part of earth for this dream assigned to you.
When that dream was born.
And in keeping yourself with labor.
You are in truth loving life and to love life through labor is to be intimate with the lives in most secret.
But if you in your pain cold birth and affection,
And the support of the flesh occurs written upon your brow,
Then I answer that not,
But the sweat of your brow shell wash away that which is written.
You have been told also that life is darkness,
And in your awareness,
Your echo.
What was said by the weary.
And I say that life is indeed darkness,
Save when there is urge,
And all urges blind save when there is a knowledge and all knowledge is Wayne save when there is work and all work is empty say when there is love.
And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself,
And to one another,
And to God.
And what is it to work with love.
It is to wave the clothes with threads drawn from your heart,
Even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection,
Even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy.
Even if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
It is to chart all things you fashion with the breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.
Often I've heard you say,
As if speaking in sleep.
He who works in marble and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone is nobler than he who blows the soil.
And he who says is the rainbow to lead on a close in the likeness of men is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet.
But I say,
Not in sleep,
But in the over wakefulness of noon tide,
That the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass.
And he alone is greater who turns the voice of the wind into song made sweeter by his own loving.
Work is love made visible.
And if you cannot work with love,
But only with distaste.
It is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
For if you bake bread with indifference,
You bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes,
Your grudge distills a poison in the wine.
And if you sing those angels and love not the singing,
You muffle men's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
