Classic Poem

Whether they delve in the buried coal, or plow the upland soil,
Or man the seas, or measure the suns, hail to the men who toil!
It was stress and strain, in wood and cave, while the primal ages ran
That broadened the brow, and built the brain, and made of a brute a man;
And better the lot of the sunless mine, the fisher's perilous sea,
Than the slothful ease of him who sleeps in the shade of his bread-fruit tree;
For sloth is death, and stress is life in all God's realms that are,
And the joy of the limitless heavens is the whirl of star with star!
Still reigns the ancient order—to sow, and reap, and spin;
But oh, the spur of the doing! and oh, the goals to win,
Where each, from the least to the greatest, must bravely bear his part—
Make straight the furrows, or shape the laws, or dare the crowded mart!
And he who lays firm the foundations, though strong right arm may tire,
Is worthy as he who curves the arch, and dreams the airy spire;
For both have reared the minster that shrines the sacred fire.

Whether they delve in the buried coal, or plow the upland soil,
Or man the seas, or measure the suns, hail to the men who toil!
It was stress and strain, in wood and cave, while the primal ages ran
That broadened the brow, and built the brain, and made of a brute a man;
And better the lot of the sunless mine, the fisher's perilous sea,
Than the slothful ease of him who sleeps in the shade of his bread-fruit tree;
For sloth is death, and stress is life in all God's realms that are,
And the joy of the limitless heavens is the whirl of star with star!
Still reigns the ancient order—to sow, and reap, and spin;
But oh, the spur of the doing! and oh, the goals to win,
Where each, from the least to the greatest, must bravely bear his part—
Make straight the furrows, or shape the laws, or dare the crowded mart!
And he who lays firm the foundations, though strong right arm may tire,
Is worthy as he who curves the arch, and dreams the airy spire;
For both have reared the minster that shrines the sacred fire.