Now the palm-trees must be riven, massive timbers hewn and dressed;
Rafts to bear the stones in safety on the rushing river's breast.
Axe and auger, saw and chisel, wrought the will of man in wood:
'Mid the many-handed labour Felix toiled, and found it good.
Every day the blood ran fleeter through his limbs and round his heart;
Every night he slept the sweeter, knowing he had done his part.
Dreams of solitary saintship faded from him; but, instead,
Came a sense of daily comfort in the toil for daily bread.
Far away, across the river, gleamed the white walls of the town
Whither all the stones and timbers day by day were floated down.
There the workman saw his labour taking form and bearing fruit,
Like a tree with splendid branches rising from a humble root.
Looking at the distant city, temples, houses, domes, and towers,
Felix cried in exultation: "All that mighty work is ours.
"Every toiler in the quarry, every builder on the shore,
Every chopper in the palm-grove, every raftsman at the oar,
"Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod,
All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of God,
"March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare:
Honest toil is holy service; faithful work is praise and prayer.
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