When God began to do His work He made a new thing every day-- Even now He is not one to shirk, But makes things, always some new way He made the earth, and sky, and sun, The creatures of the sea and wood, And when his first week's work was done He saw that it was very good. But He--for all He worked so fast To finish air, and wave, and shore, Knew that this work of His would last For ever and for evermore. On Saturday night He was content, He knew that Monday would not bring Need for another firmament, Another set of everything. But though my work is easier far Than making sky and sea and sun, It's harder than God's labours are, Because my work is never done. I sweep and churn, save and contrive, I bake and brew, I don't complain, But every Monday morning I've Last Monday's work to do again. I'm good at work--I work away; Always the same my work must go; The flowers grow different every day, That's why I like to see them grow. If, up in Heaven, God understood He'd let me for my Paradise Make all things new and very good And never make the same thing twice! THE JILTED LOVER TO HIS MOTHER. You needn't pray for me, old lady, I don't want no one's prayer, I'm fit and jolly as ever I was--you needn't think I care. When I go whistling down the road, when the warm night is falling, She needn't think I'm whistling her, it's another girl I'm calling. If I pass her house a dozen times, or fifty times a day, She needn't think I think of her, my work lies out that way. If they should tell her I've grown thin (for that is what they've told me) This cursed weather counts for that, and not the girl who sold me. And if they say I'm off my feed I still can tip a can; If I get drunk what's that to her? I am not her young man. I know I've had a lucky let-off--she ain't no class, she ain't, For all she looked like a bush o' roses and talked like a story book saint. I never give a thought to her. Don't worry your old head, I've quite forgot her pretty ways and the cruel things she said, There's lots of other gals to be had as any chap can see, So you cheer up, you've got no call to go and pray for me. But all the same, if you want to pray, you'd best pray God take care of them, For if I catch them two together, by hell! I'll swing for the pair of them. THE WILL TO LIVE. SINCE Faith is a veil that has nothing behind it, And Hope wanders lost where no mortal can find it, Since Love is a mirror we break in a minute In snatching the image our soul has cast in it, What is the use of the Summers and Springs, The wave of the woods and the waft of the wings-- Since all means nothing, and good things and ill Make madness,--a mirage tormenting us still?