For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the season, and to step out of life procession that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the Infinite.
When you work, you are the flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
And I say that life is indeed darkness, save when there is urge. And all urge is blind, safe when there is knowledge. And all knowledge is vain, save when there is work. And all work is empty, save when there is love. And when. And when you work with love, you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another and to God.
And what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth. It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved was to dwell in that house. It is to associate with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your lover were to eat the fruit.
And he's alone, he's great who turns the voice of the wind into the song, made sweeter by his own loving.
Work is love made visible.
And if we cannot work with love, but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger. And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge to distils a poison in the wine.
And if you sing though as angels, and love not singing, you muffle man's ear to the voices of the day and the voice of the night.
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