Through the dimness of the temple slowly dawned a mystic light;
There the Master stood in glory, manifest to mortal sight:
Hands that bore the mark of labour, brow that bore the print of care;
Hands of power, divinely tender; brow of light, divinely fair.
“Hearken, good and faithful servant, true disciple, loyal friend!
Thou hast followed me and found me; I will keep thee to the end.
“Well I know thy toil and trouble; often weary, fainting, worn,
I have lived the life of labour, heavy burdens I have borne.
“Never in a prince's palace have I slept on golden bed,
Never in a hermit's cavern have I eaten unearned bread.
“Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle round me stood,
Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled, and found it good.
“They who tread the path of labour follow where my feet have trod;
They who work without complaining do the holy will of God.
“Where the many toil together, there am I among my own;
Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with him alone.
“I, the peace that passeth knowledge, dwell amid the daily strife;
I, the bread of heaven, am broken in the sacrament of life.
“Every task, however simple, sets the soul that does it free;
Every deed of love and mercy, done to man, is done to me.