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Chapter 7 - Work |
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 hen
a ploughman said, "Speak to us of Work." |
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| And he answered, saying: You work that you may
keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons,
and to step out of life's procession that marches
in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite. |
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| When you work you are a flute through whose heart
the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which
of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all
else sings together in unison? |
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| Always you have been told that work is a curse
and labour a misfortune. But I say to you that when
you work you fulfill a part of earth's furthest dream,
assigned to you when that dream was born, And in
keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving
life, And to love life through labour is to be intimate
with life's inmost secret. |
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| But if you in your pain call birth an affliction
and the support of the flesh a curse written upon
your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat
of your brow shall wash away that which is written. |
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| You have been told also that life is darkness,
and in your weariness you echo what was said by the
weary. And I say that life is indeed darkness save
when there is urge, And all urge is blind save when
there is know ledge. And all knowledge is vain save
when there is work, And all work is empty save when
there is love; And when you work with love you bind
your self to yourself, and to one another, and to
God. |
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| And what is it to work with love? It is to weave
the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even
as if your beloved were to wear that cloth. It is
to build a house with affection, even as if your
beloved were to dwell in that house. It is to sow
seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy,
even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit. It
is to charge all things your fashion with a breath
of your own spirit, And to know that all the blessed
dead are standing about you and watching. |
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| Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in
sleep, "He who works in marble, and finds the shape
of his own soul in the stone, is nobler than he who
ploughs the soil. And he who seizes the rainbow to
lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more
than he who makes the sandals for our feet." But
I say, not in sleep, but in the overwakefulness of
noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to
the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades
of grass; And he alone is great who turns the voice
of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving. |
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| Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work
with love but only with distaste, it is better that
you should leave your work and sit at the gate of
the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake
a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your
grudge distills a poison in the wine. And if you
sing though as angels, and love not the singing,
you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and
the voices of the night. |
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