'Tis the song of the morning, <br />The words of the sun, <br />As he swings o'er the mountains: <br />'There's work to be done: <br />I must wake up the sleepers, <br />And banish the night; <br />I must paint up the heavens, <br />Tuck the stars out of sight; <br /> <br /> <br />'Dry the dew on the meadows, <br />Put warmth in the air, <br />Chase the fog from the lowlands, <br />Stay gloom everywhere. <br />No pausing, no resting, <br />There's work to be done. <br />It is upward and onward, <br />Still on,' says the sun. <br /> <br /> <br />'Tis the song of our soldiers <br />Who bravely march on: <br />'There are souls to be gathered, <br />There's work to be done: <br />We must wake up the sleepers, <br />And teach them to think; <br />We must paint in full horrors <br />The breakers of drink; <br /> <br /> <br />'Dry the tears of the mourners, <br />Put the cups out of sight, <br />And, Eastward and Westward, <br />Proclaim, 'There is light.' <br />'Tis the Marseillaise of Progress- <br />There's work to be done,' <br />The song of our soldiers, <br />The song of the sun.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-s-work-to-be-done/
