Poetry of Kansas

Labor.

Welcome, life's toil! I thank the gracious Giver
      Who find my heart and hands their work to do;
That labor done still multiplies forever,
      And each swift hour and moment claims its due,.
 
I pity him who sits him down repining,
      Bound in his idleness__a silken thong;
He hates the sun and wearies of its shining;
      His moments creep__for empty days are long.
 
My days are full, ! have no far off "mission;"
      My work is near; 'tis only mine to stand
Accepting tasks that spring from my condition__
      Doing, as best I may, the work at hand.
 
It may be small: yet, drop by drop is added
      to make the gentle flow, the steady stream;
The smallest needle, if 'tis often threaded
      By patient hand, may sew the longest seam.
 
The finest strands may twist into a cable;
      Small stones be piled till looms a pyramid,
Slow, patient thought may break the crust of fable,
      Beneath which golden mines of truth be hid.
 
I cannot always see my cable growing;
      Nor always see my pile of stones increase;
Yet, while I toil__ the still years swiftly going__
      This fruit of labor bears; it bringeth peace.

I cannot always see my cable growing;
      Nor always see my pile of stones increase;
Yet, while I toil__ the still years swiftly going__
      This fruit of labor bears; it bringeth peace.

__Ellen P. Allerton.

Walls of Corn and Other Poems
by Ellen P. Allerton
Collected and Published by Eva Ryan
(Hiawatha: The Harrington Printing Co. 1894)
Page 204-205

 
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November 1, 2002 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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