THE WORKMAN’S SONG

 

Through hard and daily labour,

Yet why should I repine,

I’ve many a worthy neighbour,

Whose lot is worse than mine.

 

‘Tis better work, however hard,

Than steal or beg or borrow,

And labour too hath its reward,

It keeps the heart from sorrow.

 

In honest toil there’s no disgrace,

Though the meanest occupation;

‘Tis vice and idleness alone,

That leads to degradation.

 

On heaven’s kind aid relying,

My work then I’ll pursue,

And leave all useless sighing,

For those who’ve naught to do.

 

None view my lot with longing eyes,

Nor envy my poor calling;

And if I have small hopes to rise,

I have no fear of falling.

 

With heart content and cheerful,

And arm inured to toil;

Of labour never fearful,

At future want I smile.

 

From heaven’s past mercies come what may,

An argument I’ll borrow;

While thankful for God’s gifts today,

To trust Him for tomorrow.

 

Robert Cleland, Govan, Scotland.