The Worker and His Work

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J.B. Lippincott, 1920 - 350 էջ
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Էջ 26 - But —shop each day and all day long ! Friend, your good angel slept, your star Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong ! From where these sorts of treasures are, There should our hearts be — Christ, how far I PISGAH-SIGHTS.— I.
Էջ 25 - To match wi' Scotia's noblest speech yon orchestra sublime Whaurto — uplifted like the Just — the tail-rods mark the time. The crank-throws give the double-bass ; the feedpump sobs an' heaves: An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves. Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides, Till — hear that note ? — the rod's return whings glimmerin
Էջ 37 - Setting the brain and the soul on fire — Oh, what is so good as the heat of it, And what is so glad as the beat of it, And what is so kind as the stern command, Challenging brain and heart and hand?
Էջ 231 - The discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of the human race than the discovery of a new constellation.
Էջ 40 - Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving: We look up for God, but tears have made us blind.
Էջ 18 - She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel Is full, and artfully her fingers feel With quick adjustment, provident control, The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal To the dear Christian Church, that we may do Our Father's business in these temples mirk, Thus swift and...
Էջ 338 - BACK of the beating hammer By which the steel is wrought, Back of the workshop's clamor The seeker may find the Thought, The Thought that is ever master Of iron and steam and steel, That rises above disaster And tramples it under heel!
Էջ 23 - Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing toward the west But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly ! They are weeping...
Էջ 37 - Work! Thank God for the pride of it, For the beautiful, conquering tide of it, Sweeping the life in its furious flood, Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood, Mastering stupor and dull despair, Moving the dreamer to do and dare. Oh, what is so good as the urge of it, And what is so glad as the surge of it, And what is so strong as the summons deep, Rousing the torpid soul from sleep? Work! Thank God for the pace of it, For the terrible, keen, swift race of it; Fiery steeds in full control, Nostrils...
Էջ 38 - WORK. Thank God for the swing of it, For the clamoring hammering ring of it, Passion of labor daily hurled On the mighty anvils of the world. Oh. what is so fierce as the flame of it. And what is so huge as the aim of it? Thundering on through dearth and doubt, WORK.

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