  WORK is the fresh air of the soul! It clears the heavy brain, Quickens the pulses of the mind, Warms thought to action, and the blind And sluggish will sunk into ease Of ineffective lethargies It stirs to life again. Grief is the cold air of the soul! It chills and blights the flowers, In urgent gusts it sways and smites, Freezing the source of all delights; But roots grow strong by dint of storm, And, when the spring awakes, they form The growth of happier hours. Love is the warm air of the soul! It reacheth far and wide, Clasping all life with healing touch, Wooing the little into much, Making brown branch and buried root To bud and blossom and bear fruit Like the sweet summer-tide. Blow, heavenly winds, on every soul! And stir them constantly; Sting us and quicken us and bless, Relax not in thy urgent stress, Till out of toil and love and pain Full strength and stature we attain, And are led home by thee. |
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