Classic Poem

LABOUR IS PRAYER. LABORARE est orare:

We, black-visaged sons of toil,
From the coal-mine and the anvil
And the delving of the soil,
From the loom, the wharf, the warehouse,
And the ever whirling mill, O
ut of grim and hungry silence
Raise a weak voice small and shrill;—
Laborare est orare:
Man, dost hear us?
God, He will. We who just can keep from starving
Sickly wives- not always mild: Trying not to curse
Heaven's bounty When it sends another child,
We who, worn-out, doze on Sundays
O'er the Book we strive to read,
Cannot understand the parson
Or the catechism and creed.

Laborare est orare: Then, good sooth, we pray indeed. We, poor women, feeble-natured, Large of heart, in wisdom small, Who the world's incessant battle
Cannot understand at all, All the mysteries of the churches,
All the troubles of the state, Whom child-smiles teach
“God is loving,” And child-coffins,
“God is great:”
Laborare est orare -
We too at His footstool wait Laborare est orare;
Hear it, ye of spirit poor,
Who sit crouching at the threshold
While your brethren force the door;
Ye whose ignorance stands wringing
Rough hands, seam'd with toil, nor dares
Lift so much as eyes to heaven -
Lo! all life this truth declares,
Laborare est orare;
And the whole earth rings with prayers.