noon
We officered the brazen bands That rode the far and desert lands ; We bore the Roman eagles forth And made great roads from south to north ; White cities flowered for holidays , But we , forgot , died far away . And when the Lord called folk to Him , And some sat blissful at His feet , Ours was the task the bowl to brim , For on this earth even saints must eat . The serfs have little need to think , Only to work and sleep and drink ; A rover 's life is boyish play , For when cares press he rides away ; The king sits on his ruby throne , And calls the whole wide world his own . But we , the plain folk , noon and night No surcease of our toil we see ; We can not ease our cares by flight , For Fortune holds our loves in fee . We are not slaves to sell our wills , We are not kings to ride the hills , But patient men who jog and dance In the dull wake of circumstance ; Loving our little patch of sun , Too weak our homely dues to shun , Too nice of conscience , or too free , To prate of rights -- if rights there be . The Scriptures tell us that the meek The earth shall have to work their will ; It may be they shall find who seek , When they have topped the last long hill . Meantime we serve among the dust For at the best a broken crust , A word of praise , and now and then The joy of turning home again .