What were man, what were life, what were civilization,
without labour? All that is great in man comes of labour;--greatness in
art, in literature, in science. Knowledge--"the wing wherewith we fly to
heaven"--is only acquired through labour. Genius is but a capability of
labouring intensely: it is the power of making great and sustained
efforts. Labour may be a chastisement, but it is indeed a glorious one.
It is worship, duty, praise, and immortality,--for those who labour with
the highest aims, and for the purest purposes.
There are many who murmur and complain at the law of labour under which
we live, without reflecting that obedience to it is not only in
conformity with the Divine will, but also necessary for the development
of intelligence, and for the thorough enjoyment of our common nature. Of
all wretched men, surely the idle are the most so;--those whose life is
barren of utility, who have nothing to do except to gratify their
senses. Are not such men the most querulous, miserable, and dissatisfied
of all, constantly in a state of _ennui_, alike useless to themselves
and to others--mere cumberers of the earth, who when removed are missed
by none, and whom none regret? Most wretched and ignoble lot, indeed, is
the lot of the idlers.
Who have helped the world onward so much as the workers; men who have
had to work for necessity or from choice? All that we call
progress--civilization, well-being, and prosperity--depends upon
industry, diligently applied,--from the culture of a barley-stalk, to
the construction of a steamship,--from the stitching of a collar, to the
sculpturing of "the statue that enchants the world.
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