Yet was there still to reap,
The portion of his labor; dear rewards
Of sunlit day, and bread, and human sleep.
He sang for strength; for glory of the light.
He dreamed above the furrows, 'They are mine!'
When all he wrought stood fair before his sight
With corn, and oil, and wine.
_Truly, the light is sweet_
_Yea, and a pleasant thing_
_It is to see the Sun._
_And that a man should eat_
_His bread that he hath won_;--
(_So is it sung and said_),
_That he should take and keep_,
_After his laboring_,
_The portion of his labor in his bread_,
_His bread that he hath won_;
_Yea, and in quiet sleep_,
_When all is done._
He sang; above the burden and the heat,
Above all seasons with their fitful grace;
Above the chance and change that led his feet
To this last ambush of the Market-place.
'Enough for him,' they said--and still they say--
'A crust, with air to breathe, and sun to shine;
He asks no more!'--Before they took away
The corn, the oil, the wine.
He sang. No more he sings now, anywhere.
Light was enough, before he was undone.
They knew it well, who took away the air,
--Who took away the sun;
Who took, to serve their soul-devouring greed,
Himself, his breath, his bread--the goad of toil;--
Who have and hold, before the eyes of Need,
The corn, the wine,--the oil!
_Truly, one thing is sweet_
_Of things beneath the Sun_;
_This, that a man should earn his bread and eat_,
_Rejoicing in his work which he hath done.
Pages:
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307