Poems About Hard Work

Poems About Hard Work (for Your Daily Motivation)

Poems About Hard Work: Have you ever read a poem that depicts someone working hard? These poems illustrate the commitment and perseverance of those who work hard, whether they are toiling in the sweltering heat or toiling away in their office.

Poems About Hard Work

These poems can help you appreciate the dedicated individuals in your life, whether you are motivated by their efforts or can identify with them.

Ten True Friends

Ten true friends you have,
Who, five in a row,
Upon each side of you
Go where you go.

Suppose you are sleepy,
They help you to bed;
Suppose you are hungry,
They see that you are fed.

They wake up your dolly
And put on your clothes,
And trundle her carriage
Wherever she goes.

And these ten tiny fellows,
They serve you with ease;
And they ask nothing from you,
But work hard to please.

Now, with ten willing servants
So trusty and true,
Pray who would be lazy
Or idle—would you?


The Village Blacksmith

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.

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.


The Heritage

The rich man’s son inherits lands,
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,
And he inherits soft white hands,
And tender flesh that fears the cold,
Nor dares to wear a garment old;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man’s son inherits cares;
The bank may break, the factory burn,
A breath may burst his bubble shares,
And soft white hands could hardly earn
A living that would serve his turn;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man’s son inherits wants,
His stomach craves for dainty fare;
With sated heart, he hears the pants
Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare!
And wearies in his easy-chair;
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man’s son inherit?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man’s son inherit?
Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things,
A rank adjudged by toil-won merit,
Content that from employment springs,
A heart that in his labor sings;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man’s son inherit?
A patience learned of being poor,
Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,
A fellow-feeling that is sure
To make the outcast bless his door;
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.

O rich man’s son! there is a toil
That with all others level stands:
Large charity doth never soil,
But only whiten soft, white hands,—
This is the best crop from thy lands;
A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being rich to hold in fee.

O poor man’s son! scorn not thy state;
There is worse weariness than thine
In merely being rich and great:
Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign;
A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being poor to hold in fee.

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the earth at last;
Both, children of the same dear God,
Prove title to your heirship vast
By record of a well-filled past;
A heritage, it seems to me,
Well worth a life to hold in fee.



Sun-tanned men and women, toiling there together;
Seven I count in all, in yon field of wheat,
Where the rich ripe ears in the harvest weather
Glow an orange gold through the sweltering heat.

Busy life is still, sunk in brooding leisure:
Birds have hushed their singing in the hushed tree-tops;
Not a single cloud mars the flawless azure;
Not a shadow moves o’er the moveless crops;

In the glassy shallows, that no breath is creasing,
Chestnut-coloured cows in the rushes dank
Stand like cows of bronze, save when they flick the teasing
Flies with switch of tail from each quivering flank.

Nature takes a rest—even her bees are sleeping,
And the silent wood seems a church that’s shut;
But these human creatures cease not from their reaping
While the corn stands high, waiting to be cut.

The Thumb

Hail to the thumb, the useful thumb,
The grasper, the holder, the doer of deeds,
Where fingers are futile and tools succumb,
Stolid, ungainly, the thumb succeeds.

Hail to the thumb the homely thumb;
Rings and jewels are not for it,
Compliments, dainty and frolicsome,
For fingers are suited, for thumbs unfit

Hail to the thumb, the modest thumb;
Gently und calmly it hides away,
Never for it a banner and drum,
Or praise at the end of a strenuous day.

And hail to the men who are like the thumb;
Men who are never sung by a bard,
Men who are laboring, modestly dumb,
Faithfully doing the work that is hard

Some day, men of the toiling thumb,
Men of the modest, invincible worth,
Some day your high reward will come
From the Hand of the Lord of heaven and earth!

Keep in mind that although being difficult, hard work is worthwhile. If you spend the time and effort into achieving your goals in life, it will reward you.

Reading poetry about hard labor might help you get perspective on how beneficial patience and perseverance can be whether you’re trying to push yourself or someone else. Never give up!

You can share this page with anyone needing motivation and also comment how it has helped them.

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