Worthy Goals for Every Child
Our handyman Ron has been back at our house off and on for weeks. Day after day, he continues to restore our front porch to the way it looked in 1939 when Judge John Gore’s funeral was held on the front porch. Ron has had several assistants through the years while coming to our house to do this project and that project. For several weeks, that young sidekick has been Braylee, who is working hard and learning skills of his own.
In honor of Ron and Braylee and all those who work hard every day, doing things I have no idea how to do, I’d like to say Happy Labor Day and I’d like to share a well-known poem that every child should know. Many of you have probably already shared it with your children. When I hear it, I often think of a colonial blacksmith working hard at his forge, but today I want to illustrate it with a photo of American blacksmith John Kelseh, working at his forge in the blacksmith shop at Rock Island Railroad’s roundhouse in Blue Island, Illinois, in April 1943.
Photo by Jack Delano. Courtesy of Library of Congress.
The Village Blacksmith
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,–rejoicing,–sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
Follow this link to see Longfellow’s original, handwritten draft of “The Village Blacksmith.”
Strong arms, honest sweat, owing no man, a steady and strong work ethic, a heart that worships and rejoices in his children, attempting new tasks and finishing them—what worthy goals for every child.
In all labor there is profit,
But mere talk leads only to poverty.
Proverbs 14:23