6 Labor Day Poems
ALWAYS
FINISH
If a task is once begun,
Never leave it till it's done.
Be the labor great or small,
Do it well or not at all.
~ Anonymous
SONNET XIX: ON HIS BLINDNESS
When I consider how my light is
spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask; But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
~ John Milton
I HEAR AMERICA SINGING
I hear America singing, the varied
carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing
on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he
stands,
The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at
noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of
the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day-at night the party of young fellows, robust,
friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
~
Walt Whitman
IT COULDN'T BE DONE
Somebody said it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.
Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll
never do that;
At least no one has ever done it";
But he took off his coat and he took of his hat,
And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing and he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you
it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assailyou.
But just buckle in with a bit of a girn,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.
~
Edgar Guest
PSALM OF THOSE WHO GO FORTH
BEFORE DAYLIGHT
The policeman buys shoes slow
and careful; the teamster buys gloves slow and careful; they take care of
their feet and hands; they live on their feet and hands.
The milkman never argues; he works
alone and no one speaks to him; the city is asleep when he is on the job;
he puts a bottle on six hundred porches and calls it a day's work; he climbs
two hundred wooden stairways; two horses are company for him; he never argues.
The rolling-mill men and the sheet-steel
men are brothers of cinders; they empty cinders out of their shoes after
the day's work; they ask their wives to fix burnt holes in the knees of
their trousers; their necks and ears are covered with a smut; they scour
their necks and ears; they are brothers of cinders.
~
Carl Sandburg
THEY EARNED THE RIGHT
I knew Ket and Knudsen, Zeller,
Zeder and Breer.
I knew Henry Ford back yonder as a lightplant engineer.
I'm a knew-'em-when companion who frequently recalls
That none of the those big brothers were too proud for overalls.
All the Fishers, all the leaders,
all the motion pioneers
Worked at molds or lathes or benches at the start of their careers.
Chrysler, Keller, Nash and others whom I could but now won't name
Had no high-falutin' notion ease and softness led to fame.
They had work to do and did it.
Did it bravely, did it right,
Never thinking it important that their collars should be white.
Never counted hours of labor, never wished their tasks to cease,
And for years their two companions were those brothers, dirt and grease.
Boy, this verse is fact, not fiction,
all the fellows I have named
Worked for years for wages and were never once ashamed.
Dirt and grease were their companions, better friends than linen white;
Better friends than ease and softness, golf or dancing every night.
Now in evening clothes you see
them in the nation's banquet halls.
But they earned the right to be there, years ago, in overalls.
~
Edgar A. Guest
