Wednesday, August 6, 2014


To the man who is ever in earnest,
Who is proud of the words, "well done,"
Who sees in his toil the stepping stone,
To his birthright under the sun;

Who delights in the lore of his life work
And thinks of the golden day.
When work was done by the masters
In a loving, devotional way;
Who revives for the sake of the spirit
The soul of his dignified trade;
And feels that the type he composes,
Are things that his God has made;

Who sees with his eyes wide open
The joys of this life worth-while,
When drudgery, toil, is forgotten
Is dispersed with the light of a smile;
Who knows that his work day is pregnant
With a host of troublesome care,
But who feels that his labor is honest,
Abounding in peace, unaware;

To the man who is really in earnest,
Who knows that each sunshiny day
Is blessed by the work he produces,
Which is measured not merely by pay,
Is given the honor of Craftsman,
Who works for the pleasure it brings;
Whose days are resplendent and happy
In the doing of beautiful things.

Clyde B. Morgan

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