Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Switzerland and Austria: Vol. XVI. 1876–79.
Work and Worship
By William Allen Butler (1825–1902)C
As through Metten wood he strayed,
Found the holy hermit, Hutto,
Toiling in the forest glade.
By his side the knife and twine,
There he cut and bound the fagots
From the gnarled and stunted pine.
For his pious works and cares,
And the wonders which had followed
From his vigils, fasts, and prayers.
Toiling thus, with axe and cord;
And he cried in scorn, “O Father,
Is it thus you serve the Lord?”
Hand nor hatchet, meekly said:
“He who does no daily labor
May not ask for daily bread.
While I toil throughout the day;
For all honest work is worship,
And to labor is to pray.
From the workman’s hand removes;
Who does best his task appointed,
Him the Master most approves.”
For a moment, raised his eyes
Where the overhanging branches
Swayed beneath the sunset skies.
Straight the level sunbeam came,
Shining like a gilded rafter,
Poised upon a sculptured frame.
While he breathes a silent prayer,
See, the hermit throws his hatchet,
Lightly, upward in the air.
As it flashes through the shade,
And descending, lo! the sunbeam
Holds it dangling by the blade!
“See the token Heaven has sent;
Thus to humble, patient effort
Faith’s miraculous aid is lent.
As we labor, Love Divine
Through the shadows pours its sunlight,
Crowns the work, vouchsafes the sign!”
Till he reached his palace hall,
Where he strode among his warriors,
He the bravest of them all.
Rose beside the hermit’s cell;
He, by royal hands invested,
Ruled, as Abbot, long and well.
Still its ruined walls remain,
Telling of the hermit’s patience
And the zeal of Charlemagne.