Give and Ask

Ill fare the Heart that loveth not:—
          A tree that, Spring or Fall,
          Hath never leaves at all,
Nor fruit for Winter’s feasts hath got,
Or shade when Summer’s suns are hot; —
The Curse of the Man Christ, ahungering
In unfed little ones, to its dry boughs shall cling.

Ill fares the Soul that prayeth not;
          A Spring which keepeth shut
          Of Heaven is it, I wot, —
Vile weeds defoul the idle spot,
And slimy things its waters blot;
Rain rains no blessings there, and men athirst
Have no sweet draught to land, so shall it go accurst.

Ill fares the hand that worketh not;
          The wasting vintage doth
          Drop poison upon sloth,
Grow brambles in the sluggard’s lot,
And his ungathered harvests rot;
The Master will not pass that way for scorn;
There can he not find feast either of grapes or corn.

Work Hands, love Heart, pray Soul, and not
          For sluggardize deny
          The Lord, who cometh by,
Cool drink and shade, or any what
He will of thee, or thou hast got—
If he will make thy house his biding place,
Then thou art blest, not he; boon shifts your diverse case.