The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel <br />A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole; <br />She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, <br />Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel <br />Is full, and artfully her fingers feel <br />With quick adjustment, provident control, <br />The lines--too subtly twisted to unroll-- <br />Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal <br />To the dear Christian Church--that we may do <br />Our Father's business in these temples mirk, <br />Thus swift and steadfast, thus intent and strong; <br />While thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue <br />Some high calm spheric tune, and prove our work <br />The better for the sweetness of our song.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/work-and-contemplation/
