With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day, and wish ’twere done.
Not till the hours of light return,
All we have built do we discern.
Then when the clouds are off the soul,
When thou dost look in Nature’s eye,
Ask how she viewed thy self-control,
Thy struggling tasked morality—