Toil And Joy Poem by Smoky Hoss

I remember the old story:
two workers in the field, one is taken, one is left;
Why would God leave one to work
alone in the field,
and take the other to his reward
in paradise?
Do not we all need love
and rest;
have some not found favor?
And if not, why? -
Strange what becomes our joy
as we toil through our days.
The wind blows anywhere it desires,
never inquiring of an opinion;
and we are left grateful for the sweat
it takes from our weary heads. -
At night I lay upon my soft bed
and dream of the coming time
when the trumpet shall blast; in a vision I see
all are taken, all go home in peace.
I fall asleep, looking forward
to the next days toil -
strange, what becomes our joy.