John Sullivan Dwight (1813–1893)

WORK, and thou wilt bless the day

Ere the toil be done;

They that work not cannot pray,

Cannot feel the sun.

God is living, working still;

All things work and move;

Work, or lose the power to will,

Lose the power to love.

All the rolling planets glow

Bright as burning gold;

Should they pause, how soon they ’d grow

Colorless and cold!

Joy and beauty, where were they,

If the world stood still?

Like the world, thy law obey,

And thy calling fill.

Love to labor owes its health,

Will its willing powers;

Industry alone is wealth,

What we do is ours.

Load the day with deeds of thought,

While it waits for thee;

Then despatch it, richly fraught,

To eternity.