Here's to the one who loves to do
The little things of life,
Who lets no large ambition woo
Him into worldly strife;
A kindly man content to work
At any useful task,
Who has no duties he would shirk,
No favors he would ask.
Here's to the man, where'er he be!
And O, Thou gentle One,
Remember, in Thy ministry,
The good that he has done,
The happy words, the helpful deeds,
So tender and so true!
For those who have no selfish needs,
Alas, are all too few.
Ah, he who takes a humble part,
In trade, in church, in state,
And lets no envy fill his heart
With hatred for the great,
Can watch the wheel of fortune roll
Its luckless favors out,
Conscious that he has won his soul
Who conquers care and doubt.
This health to him! - who learns to feel
That little things in life
Make up the best of human weal,
The worst of human strife;
Who hides his anger in a smile,
His worry in good cheer,
And lives without a trace of guile,
And dies without a fear!
Enough to eat, a time for play,
And clothes to keep the wind away;
At night a place to go to rest,
And health and strength for every test.
What more than these doth life contain?
Then why this constant strife for gain?
What more has king or prince today,
Or he, three times a millionaire,
Than food to eat and hours for play,
A place to sleep and clothes to wear?
Sum up life's favors as you will,
It is for these we fight and kill.
And he three times a millionaire,
And he upon the heights sublime,
Like you and me, can only wear
One suit of clothing at a time,
Once satisfy his appetite,
Then richest foods mean no delight.
And so, if you have these, I say,
Envy no man his hoarded store;
Contented, journey on your way,
You will not happier be with more.
Enough to eat, some clothes to wear,
A place to sleep - life's bill of fare.