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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508863" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Song Of The Wage-Slave</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,<br>I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.<br>And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met --<br>All I want is just quiet, just to rest and forget.<br>Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands;<br>Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands --<br>Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich;<br>I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a ditch.<br>I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk;<br>Threescore years of labor -- Thine be the long day's work.<br>And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred,<br>But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou will not judge me hard.<br>Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool --<br>Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool.<br>I was just like a child with money; I flung it away with a curse,<br>Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse;<br>Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine,<br>I, the worker of workers, everything in my line.<br>Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid),<br>A brute with brute strength to labor, doing as I was bid;<br>Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life;<br>Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife.<br>A brute with brute strength to labor, and they were so far above --<br>Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love.<br>I, with the strength of two men, savage and shy and wild --<br>Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child!<br>Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be rude;<br>But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good;<br>I, the primitive toiler, half naked and grimed to the eyes,<br>Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes;<br>Hurling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams;<br>Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams;<br>Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen,<br>Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men.<br>Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands;<br>Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands.<br>Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west,<br>And the long, long shift is over . . . Master, I've earned it -- Rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508863" data-title="The Song Of The Wage-Slave de Robert William Service" data-description="When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay,
I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say.
And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met --
All I want is just quiet, just to rest and f..."></div>
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