Then a ploughman said, Speak to us of Work. 
    And he answered, saying: 
    You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth. 
    For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.

    When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. 
    Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?

    Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune. 
    But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born, 
    And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life, 
    And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret.

    But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.

    You have been told also life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary. 
    And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge, 
    And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge, 
    And all knowledge is vain save when there is work, 
    And all work is empty save when there is love; 
    And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another