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Dinah Maria Mulock - Labor Is Prayer
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LABORARE est orare: 
We, black-visaged sons of toil, 
From the coal-mine and the anvil 
And the delving of the soil,-- 
From the loom, the wharf, the warehouse, 
And the ever-whirling mill, 
Out of grim and hungry silence 
Raise a weak voice small and shrill;-- 
Laborare est orare: 
Man, dost hear us? God, He will. 

We, who just can keep from starving 
Sickly wives,--not always mild: 
Trying not to curse Heaven`s bounty 
When it sends another child,-- 
We who, worn-out, doze on Sundays 
O`er the Book we strive to read, 
Cannot understand the parson 
Or the catechism and creed. 
Laborare est orare:-- 
Then, good sooth, we pray indeed. 

We, poor women, feeble-natured, 
Large of heart, in wisdom small, 
Who the world`s incessant battle 
Cannot understand at all, 
All the mysteries of the churches, 
All the troubles of the state,-- 
Whom child-smiles teach "God is loving," 
And child-coffins, "God is great": 
Laborare est orare:-- 
We too at His footstool wait. 

Laborare est orare; 
Hear it, ye of spirit poor, 
Who sit crouching at the threshold 
While your brethren force the door; 
Ye whose ignorance stands wringing 
Rough hands, scamed with toil, nor dares 
Lift so much as eyes to Heaven,-- 
Lo! all life this truth declares, 
Laborare est orare; 
And the whole earth rings with prayers.
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