From the Evening Star, April 16, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
The man who works eight hours a day
Goes home with joyous mind,
Prepared to take his share of play
And leave his cares behind.
The statesman burns the midnight oil
And starts his task anew;
A day makes fruitless all his toil—
His work is never through.
The lawyer lives in fierce suspense,
The doctor’s rest is rare.
The financier finds wealth immense
A weight of serious care.
And Nature in her curious plan,
Unfolded day by day,
Seems after all to love the man
Who works eight hours a day.