What though the heart be tired, <br />The heart, that long aspired, <br />And one high dream desired, <br />Beyond attainment's scope; <br />Beyond our grasp; above us; <br />The dream we would have love us, <br />That will know nothing of us, <br />But merely bids us hope. <br /> <br />Still it behooves us never <br />From love and work to sever, <br />To hold to one endeavor, <br />And make our dream our care: <br />For work, at dawn and even, <br />Shapes for the soul a heaven, <br />Wherein, as strong as seven, <br />Can enter no Despair. <br /> <br />Work, that blows high the fire <br />Of hope and heart's desire, <br />And sings and dreams of higher <br />Things than the world's regard: <br />Work, which to long endeavor, <br />And patient love, that never <br />Seems recompensed, forever <br />Gives, in its way, reward.<br /><br />Madison Julius Cawein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/work-59/
