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
Do not we all need love
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.
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