(working happily on payday Friday)

Faith! He scattered thought and heart for his honest pay,

His mind becomes a new man’s brain and chooses not to play;

But play he does in spite, and laugh he lightly will,

For at his job the jokes fly thick, backs are slapp’d, mustard spill’d!

*  *  *

Enjoy one’s hourly work? Suggestion almost lewd!

But can the hours pass one by and gambols not include?

For true it is that work is hard, and tiresome too,

But money’s earned, the air is sweet, the dome above a stunning Bloo!

There is a quiet rippling rill of intense comfort in a Christian’s heart, even when he is cast down and tried, and at other times when trials are lightened there are cascades of delight, leaping cataracts of joy, whose silver spray is as pure as the flash of the fountains of Paradise. I know that there are many here who, like myself, understand what deep depression of spirit means, but yet we would not change our lot for all the mirth of fools or pomp of kings… Amid the ashes of our pains live the sparks of our joys, ready to flame up when the breath of the Spirit sweetly blows thereon. Our latent happiness is a choicer heritage than the sinner’s riotous glee.

Charles Spurgeon

(after dinner on a Thursday)

Sits! He revels in the haze of hours well performed,

Sustained and filled to bursting point with foods both saved and warmed;

His mind is tended well, his heart has source of Joy,

His soul and body fit to serve (withal, to be employed!).

*  *  *

If aimless, idle hands are lurking devils’ toys,

Then here they surely will not find a fount of demon joys!

Engaged in motley work of high and mean design,

His quiet moments teem with Life, and blessed hope Divine!