Service

We know not how we came to be
Cast for the work that we are doing,
Why one should sail the stormy sea,
And one the farmer's horse be shoeing.
Why one should paint and one should write,
Why one seem dull, another smart;
We only know, both day and night,
That each of us must play his part.
He serves this world who digs the ditch
As much as he who writes the novels;
Life leans no more upon the rich
Than on the men who dwell in hovels.
What greatness is we cannot say,
God only knows who meets the test;
On earth it's but a part we play,
And with it each must do his best.