As in some workshop where the hammers ring
And bare-armed artizans toil, blow on blow,
To make each, crude, imperfect member grow
To the completed plan, rise thou, and fling
Aside all doubt and languor; strive to bring
The deed up to its best; in gladness go
Undaunted; have full confidence; and know
Thou and thy God can perfect everything!
Throughout the busy day He works with us
And knows that we are tired; He hears and feels
The grind of every cog, the plaint, the fuss,
The purr of pinions in the thousand wheels
That whir forever down the endless walls,
Where, as we toil, His light perpetual falls.