George L. Stearns
He has done the work of a true man,--
Crown him, honor him, love him.
Weep, over him, tears of woman,
Stoop manliest brows above him!
O dusky mothers and daughters,
Vigils of mourning keep for him!
Up in the mountains, and down by the waters,
Lift up your voices and weep for him,
For the warmest of hearts is frozen,
The freest of hands is still;
And the gap in our picked and chosen
The long years may not fill.
No duty could overtask him,
No need his will outrun;
Or ever our lips could ask him,
His hands the work had done.
He forgot his own soul for others,
Himself to his neighbor lending;
He found the Lord in his suffering brothers,
And not in the clouds descending.
So the bed was sweet to die on,
Whence he saw the doors wide swung
Against whose bolted iron
The strength of his life was flung.
And he saw ere his eye was darkened
The sheaves of the harvest-bringing,
And knew while his ear yet hearkened
The voice of the reapers singing.
Ah, well! The world is discreet;
There are plenty to pause and wait;
But here was a man who set his feet
Sometimes in advance of fate;
Plucked off the old bark when the inner
Was slow to renew it,
And put to the Lord's work the sinner
When saints failed to do it.
Never rode to the wrong's redressing
A worthier paladin.
Shall he not hear the blessing,
'Good and faithful, enter in!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Related quotes
God's Work
To J. J. H., Of Kentucky
Gathering brands from the burning,
Plucking them out of the fire,
Lifting the sheep that have wandered,
Out of the dust and the mire,
Bringing home sheaves from the harvest
To lay at the Master's feet-
Lord! all thy hosts of angels
Must smile on a life so sweet.
Speaking with fear of no man,
Speaking with love for all,
Warning the young and the thoughtless
From the wild beast-'Alcohol.'
Showing the snares that the tempter
Weaveth on every hand.
Lord! all thy dear, dear angels
Must smile on a life so grand.
Fighting the bloodless battle
With a heart that is true and bold;
Fighting it not for glory,
Fighting it not for gold,
But out of love for his neighbor,
And out of love for his Lord.
And I know that the hands of the angels
Will crown him with his reward.
For whoso works for the Master,
And whoso fights his fight,
The angels crown with a star-wreath,
And it glows with gems most bright.
They wear them for ever and ever,
The saints in that land of bliss,
And I know that heaven's best jewel
Is kept for a soul like this.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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My City Of Ruins
Theres a blood red circle
On the cold dark ground
And the rain is falling down
The church doors blown open
I can hear the organs song
But the congregations gone
My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Now the sweet veils of mercy
Drift through the evening trees
Young men on the corner
Like scattered leaves
The boarded up windows
The hustlers and thieves
While my brothers down on his knees
My city of ruins
My city of ruins
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Now theres tears on the pillow
Darling where we slept
And you took my heart when you left
Without your sweet kiss
My soul is lost, my friend
Now tell me how do I begin again?
My citys in ruins
My citys in ruins
Now with these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
I pray lord
With these hands
For the strength lord
With these hands
For the faith lord
With these hands
Come on rise up!
Come on rise up!
Rise up
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bringing Our Sheaves with Us
The time for toil is past, and night has come,--
The last and saddest of the harvest-eves;
Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.
Last of the laborers thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
That I am burdened not so much with grain
As with a heaviness of heart and brain;--
Master, behold my sheaves!
Few, light, and worthless,--yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hapless fate,
And staid and toiled till it was dark and late,--
Yet these are all my sheaves.
Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,--
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks, and withered leaves
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently, and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves!"
I know these blossoms, clustering heavily
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value nor utility,--
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.
So do I gather strength and hope anew;
For well I know thy patient love perceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do,--
And though the full, ripe ears be sadly few,
Thou wilt accept my sheaves.
poem by Elizabeth Chase Allen from The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 2
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Praise Your Holy Name
For all youve done -- Thank you
With my hands, I applaud the maker of creation, Holy Father
With my mouth, I extol, shouts of jubilation, Hallelujah
(You satisfy my hearts desire) With many good things,
I gotta thank ya
(You redeemed my very life) To you my heart sings
(With everything, I lift you up high)
(Let everything within praise your holy name )
With everything I,
(With everything, I lift you up high)
Lift you up Lord,Everything within me
(Let everything within praise Your holy name)
With the dance, I will praise, rejoicing in my Savior
Oh Lord, Youve been good
For Your everlasting love and unmerited favor,
Grace and mercy to me
(The Glory of Your majesty), even the skies have to display,
Yeah, yeah
(Day and night, and night and day) Youre worthy of praise
(With everything, I lift you up high)
I lift you, oh Lord I thank you, I gotta praise your Holy Name
(with everything I lift you up high)
I lift you Lord, so wonderful, I gotta, (praise your name)
Everything I do I wanna do it all for you
Let me be calm when Im there, praising your holy name
I wanna lift you up so high for the world to see
(Bridge)
I lift my hands, my hands I raise
To give You glory, to give You praise
I wanna live, so I can give all of my service unto You
Because Youre worthy Oh Lord your worthy
Oh yes, Youre worthy, worthy of the praise,
And the honor and the glory
And all majesty belongs to you.
With everything I do, everywhere I go,
I gotta tell everybody about your goodness,
About your goodness, about your goodness
Oh yeah, Yeah, youve been good, Lord,
Youve been good Lord, Youve been good Lord
You've been good Oh
Better to me, better to me, better to me than I could ever
be to myself
Youve been good Lord, thats why I thank you, thats why I praise ya
Hey
My hands are lifted, my voice is raised, to give you glory,
to give you praise
Huh, huh, praise ya,Huh, huh, praise ya
Oh I praise ya, Oh I praise ya
Oh, only you Lord, Only You Lord
Only you are worthy of the glory
You are worthy of the honor, uh, of the honor
You are worthy, worthy, worthy, worthy, worthy
I praise you, I lift ya, Magnify ya,
Because you are worthy of the praise.
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thank You Lord For Work
For work, we thank You Lord
Indeed it is a blessing.
To buy the things we can afford,
A source of income for our living.
Work is good, a great therapy.
It cures both idleness and pockets,
We make use of Your time wisely
And when bills come we do not fret.
Work does give one dignity,
Self-reliance and Self Respect.
We do not lean on sympathy
But do our part as all expect.
Thank You Lord, bless our hands
That our work may be completed.
Bless our minds to understand
Work is Your gift - appreciated.
----
'But remember the Lord Your God for it is He Who gives
you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms His covenant
to Your forefathers....'
Deuteronomy 8: 18
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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John Mitchel
I.
DEAD, with his harness on him:
Rigid and cold and white,
Marking the place of the vanguard
Still in the ancient fight.
The climber dead on the hill-side,
Before the height is won:
The workman dead on the building,
Before the work is done!
O, for a tongue to utter
The words that should be said—
Of his worth that was silver, living,
That is gold and jasper, dead!
Dead—but the death was fitting:
His life, to the latest breath,
Was poured like wax on the chart of right,
And is sealed by the stamp of Death!
Dead—but the end was fitting:
First in the ranks he led;
And he marks the height of his nation's gain,
As he lies in his harness—dead!
II.
Weep for him, Ireland—mother lonely;
Weep for the son w'ho died for thee.
Wayward he was, but he loved thee only,
Loyal and fearless as son could be.
Weep for him, Ireland—sorrowing nation
Faithful to all who are true to thee:
Never a son in thy desolation
Had holier love for thy cause than he.
Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son in the final test:
Weeping she sits in her darkened glory,
Holding her dead to her stricken breast.
Only the dead on her knees are lying—
Ah, poor mother beneath the cross!
Strength is won by the constant trying,
Crowns are gemmed by the tears of loss!
Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son to each other true:
She called, and he answered, old and hoary,
And gave her his life as a man should do.
She may weep—but for us no weeping:
Tears are vain till the work is done;
Tears for her—but for us the keeping
Our hearts as true as her faithful son.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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An Ambassador's Prayer
Lord, please tune my ears so that they may hear
Words spoken by you that I count so dear
Then open my eyes so that they may see
Opportunities for You to work through me
Walk close to me throughout this coming week
And may my lips to all of Your love speak
And please equip my hands to reach and do
Some small work of love and kindness for You
Oh Lord, May these arms of mine by Your grace
through Your great love some struggling soul embrace
Then upon my legs place such willing feet
That walk close to You as others I greet
Blessed Holy Spirit make me I pray
An ambassador for my Lord this day
So that others may look at me and see
The beauty of Jesus shining through me
Sonnet LXVI: The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dowered days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;—
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!—how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,—
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garnered in from strife,
The work retrieved, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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LXVI The Heart Of The Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of the Life (66): The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of Life: 66. The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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In Memoriam—Rev. J. J. Lyons
ROSH-HASHANAH, 5638.
The golden harvest-tide is here, the corn
Bows its proud tops beneath the reaper's hand.
Ripe orchards' plenteous yields enrich the land;
Bring the first fruits and offer them this morn,
With the stored sweetness of all summer hours,
The amber honey sucked from myriad flowers,
And sacrifice your best first fruits to-day,
With fainting hearts and hands forespent with toil,
Offer the mellow harvest's splendid spoil,
To Him who gives and Him who takes away.
Bring timbrels, bring the harp of sweet accord,
And in a pleasant psalm your voice attune,
And blow the cornet greeting the new moon.
Sing, holy, holy, holy, is the Lord,
Who killeth and who quickeneth again,
Who woundeth and who healeth mortal pain,
Whose hand afflicts us, and who sends us peace.
Hail thou slim arc of promise in the West,
Thou pledge of certain plenty, peace, and rest.
With the spent year, may the year's sorrows cease.
For there is mourning now in Israel,
The crown, the garland of the branching tree
Is plucked and withered. Ripe of years was he.
The priest, the good old man who wrought so well
Upon his chosen globe. For he was one
Who at his seed-plot toiled through rain and sun.
Morn found him not as one who slumbereth,
Noon saw him faithful, and the restful night
Stole o'er him at his labors to requite
The just man's service with the just man's death.
What shall be said when such as he do pass?
Go to the hill-side, neath the cypress-trees,
Fall midst that peopled silence on your knees,
And weep that man must wither as the grass.
But mourn him not, whose blameless life complete
Rounded its perfect orb, whose sleep is sweet,
Whom we must follow, but may not recall.
Salute with solemn trumpets the New Year,
And offer honeyed fruits as were he here,
Though ye be sick with wormwood and with gall.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Thank You
When I think about how you saved my soul
I'm compelled to praise you
Like a woman out of control
So I lift up holy hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
When I think about what you brought me through
I'm reminded to praise you for all that you had to do
So I lift up holy hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
So from the bottom of my heart I say
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
When I think about were you brought me from
I gotta praise you like the victories already won
And I lift my hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
When I think about oh Lord yes
Why you love me so
I'm compelled to praise you because
I really don't care whose looking and who knows that I love you
And I lift up my holy hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
Oh, everyday of my life I just wanna say
Thank you, (Thank you Lord)
Thank you, (I gotta thank you)
Thank you, (Because of who you been to me)
Thank you, (You been a shealter in the storm)
Oh and I Thank you
You been a rock that I can stand on Thank you Lord
And I say Thank you
You been a bridge over any kind of water
I gotta say Lord I thank you
With all my heart with all my soul
Everything within me says thank you Lord
Thank you Lord
Lord I thank you, Lord I thank you, Lord I thank you
For all you done to me
Thank you Lord
Theres no words that I can say but you been good
I can't thank you enough no no no no no
Thank you Lord (I just wanna thank you)
I wanna thank, I wanna thank you
I gotta thank you, just wanna thank you
I thank you yes, I thank you yes, I thank you yes, I thank you yes
And I say.....I wanna thank you
Said Lord I thank you yes
Thank you
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thank You
When I think about how you saved my soul
I'm compelled to praise you
Like a woman out of control
So I lift up holy hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
When I think about what you brought me through
I'm reminded to praise you for all that you had to do
So I lift up holy hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
So from the bottom of my heart I say
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
When I think about were you brought me from
I gotta praise you like the victories already won
And I lift my hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
When I think about oh Lord yes
Why you love me so
I'm compelled to praise you because
I really don't care whose looking and who knows that I love you
And I lift up my holy hands
I take advantage of this chance to say thank you
Oh, everyday of my life I just wanna say
Thank you, (Thank you Lord)
Thank you, (I gotta thank you)
Thank you, (Because of who you been to me)
Thank you, (You been a shealter in the storm)
Oh and I Thank you
You been a rock that I can stand on Thank you Lord
And I say Thank you
You been a bridge over any kind of water
I gotta say Lord I thank you
With all my heart with all my soul
Everything within me says thank you Lord
Thank you Lord
Lord I thank you, Lord I thank you, Lord I thank you
For all you done to me
Thank you Lord
Theres no words that I can say but you been good
I can't thank you enough no no no no no
Thank you Lord (I just wanna thank you)
I wanna thank, I wanna thank you
I gotta thank you, just wanna thank you
I thank you yes, I thank you yes, I thank you yes, I thank you yes
And I say.....I wanna thank you
Said Lord I thank you yes
Thank you
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Harvest Of The Sea
The earth grows white with harvest; all day long
The sickles gleam, until the darkness weaves
Her web of silence o'er the thankful song
Of reapers bringing home the golden sheaves.
The wave tops whiten on the sea fields drear,
And men go forth at haggard dawn to reap;
But ever 'mid the gleaners' song we hear
The half-hushed sobbing of the hearts that weep.
poem by John McCrae
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The Three Fishers
1 Three fishers went sailing away to the west,
2 Away to the west as the sun went down;
3 Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
4 And the children stood watching them out of the town;
5 For men must work, and women must weep,
6 And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
7 Though the harbour bar be moaning.
8 Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
9 And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
10 They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
11 And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
12 But men must work, and women must weep,
13 Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
14 And the harbour bar be moaning.
15 Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
16 In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
17 And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
18 For those who will never come home to the town;
19 For men must work, and women must weep,
20 And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep;
21 And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Today... 'The Amen
We end our prayers by saying Amen.
It is our hearts response again and again.
You are the answer to all that we bring to God
for a life of prayer was the path You trod.
'Amen. So let it be' our spirit cries as we rejoice.
Speak Lord for today we need to hear Your voice
and obey the commands we see in the Book of Life
keeping close to You avoiding schisms and strife.
Oh Faithful and True Witness from heaven above.
Ruler of God's creative work and Lord of love.
We hear Your voice speaking to the church Oh Lord
and submit to the command of The Great Amen of God.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Love Your Work
just love your work
and tell you what
the work does
it all for you
just sit there
do not even think
or lift a finger
your work hands
everything to you
in finished forms
perfectly perfect
love your work
and everything is done
without noticing
the existence of time
love your work
the table comes to you
all set and all you have
to do is simply sit,
eat and relax and
wait
kewl.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lovingly Do The Work
Work is
Life...
Life is work...
Any work is not
Wrong...
Without work is
Worng...
Human every budy works
Wny way too work...s
Work is making you...
Work is given good life
For you...and your's...
So...
Understand too work
Earn money too work...
Live life with your work...
Love too work...
Learn to do the work...
Lovingely do the work...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Go Work in My Vineyard
Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord,
And gather the bruised grain;
But the reapers had left the stubble bare,
And I trod the soil in pain.
The fields of my Lord are wide and broad,
He has pastures fair and green,
And vineyards that drink the golden light
Which flows from the sun's bright sheen.
I heard the joy of the reapers' song,
As they gathered golden grain;
Then wearily turned unto my task,
With a lonely sense of pain.
Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare,
And sought the quiet shade,
And over my dim and weary eyes
Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed.
I dreamed I joined with a restless throng,
Eager for pleasure and gain;
But ever and anon a stumbler fell,
And uttered a cry of pain.
But the eager crowd still hurried on,
Too busy to pause or heed,
When a voice rang sadly through my soul,
You must staunch these wounds that bleed.
My hands were weak, but I reached them out
To feebler ones than mine,
And over the shadows of my life
Stole the light of a peace divine.
Oh! then my task was a sacred thing,
How precious it grew in my eyes!
'Twas mine to gather the bruised grain
For the "Lord of Paradise."
And when the reapers shall lay their grain
On the floors of golden light,
I feel that mine with its broken sheaves
Shall be precious in His sight.
Though thorns may often pierce my feet,
And the shadows still abide,
The mists will vanish before His smile,
There will be light at eventide.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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