Poems About Work: Hymn to Labour, Andre Demers

Hymn to Labour

All days are Fridays for the ones who love

Their work; all nights are nourishing the mind

With dreams or carven waking active hours,

Divining things far off and beautiful,

Points on the mountain range where you would be,

Statues in every obelisk, and in

Your hand the architect of your heart's desire.

The law of life is labour, but also love,

And so all pour themselves into their work,

Writers and painters and concrete finishers

Will mar the corners of the works they know

Can never last forever... with initials.

They find their immortality in the moment,

In giving their whole presence thoughtlessly.

We are so loth to give to anyone

Our time for free till we've enough to share,

Enough for every need under the sun,

Since fellow service seems no need like air,

Like meals and sleep, and yet a person may

Be so deficient in joy they pass away

From most unnatural cause: a lack of play.

Leisure is sweet, but work is sweeter still

If it is dignified and interesting,

Which any kind may be to healthy minds,

Who, whatever they do, do well for goodness' sake,

For life being short, death endless and unloving.

Habit is choice that has become unconscious,

So if you are, you choose to be unfree.

Laziness, born of scarcity, has fashioned

Technology to save much time and effort,

And there may be such energy left over

After the making of a living, that

The world can be different now, and volunteers

Proliferate, and amateurs take pride

In doing what they do for its own sake.

Let not the ants' and bees' and beavers' industry

Outmatch the pleasantness of ours. It is

A lucky thing to be born human. Are we

The best of all possible sentient beings? No,

But we can dream that evolution or

Involution in our lifetime will take place,

The mystical vision of the optimist.

Wake up at daybreak, show up and stay true;

Half of all wisdom is simply to will

Once and forever the action that is due.

Endure with gratitude your every ill,

And seize life's many opportunities

To be as generous as a mild breeze

That dries the sweat of labour, and trembles lovely trees.