Ah! grand is the world's work, and noble, forsooth,
The doing one's part, be it ever so small!
You, reaping with Boaz, I, gleaning with Ruth,
Are honored by serving, yet servants of all.
No drudge in his corner but speeds the world's wheels;
No serf in the field but is sowing God's seed--
More noble, I think, in the dust though he kneels,
Than the pauper of wealth, who makes scorn of the deed.
Is toil but a treadmill? Think not of the grind,
But think of the grist, what is done and to do,
The world growing better, more like to God's mind,
By long, faithful labor of helpers like you.
The broom or the spade or the shuttle, that plies
Its own honest task in its own honest way,
Serves heaven not less than a star in the skies--
What more could the Pleiades do than obey?
--James Buckham.