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Better Tomorrow Today

Today is gone,
Tomorrow is unknown,
A better tomorrow is grown,
Through todays toil and moil.

Through todays toil and moil,
The hidden treasures we'll re-coil
And dig out the gold in the soil.
Unity in mind and work is the only key.

Unity in mind and work is the only key,
The only key that will make us see,
Stop what is pulling us into the sea,
The pull of corruption and egotism.

The pull of corruption and egotism,
Of egocentric leaders lead to tribalism,
Will we ever cease from nepotism?
When will patriotism be part of us?

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poem by Marbet Daniel
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The Cremation Of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

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poem by Robert William Service
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The Castle Of Indolence

The castle hight of Indolence,
And its false luxury;
Where for a little time, alas!
We lived right jollily.

O mortal man, who livest here by toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate;
That like an emmet thou must ever moil,
Is a sad sentence of an ancient date:
And, certes, there is for it reason great;
For, though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curse thy star, and early drudge and late;
Withouten that would come a heavier bale,
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,
Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
And there a season atween June and May,

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poem by James Thomson
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The Laborers

The construction site –
The laborers toil and moil
Even in the rain!

poem by Asif Andalib
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Teira

Who is weak?
Come and let me comfort you and make strong!
Oil, toil, soil, boil, foil, coil, moil;
In weariness and toil i will put you right,
And like Teira in the river of love.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Your well-wisher

As if my whole body’s skin is infected by boil
I can’t get rid of it regardless of toil and moil!

It has become so sensitive a little touch
Can give me alarming pain so I have to watch!

Baby, please give me no more pain
Cause love is flowing through my vein!

I am still and always will be your well-wisher
If you don’t love me anymore be like a star!

poem by Asif Andalib
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Like Abel

Pace, lace, race, ace, face, dace, mace;
To be able like Abel in the land of your muse,
Bride, ride, pride, stride;
Buried alive in the land of war!
Flow, slow, blow;
Drowned in the red sea without hope,
Goal, foal, coal;
Don't let your past atrocities destroy your life,
Soil, foil, boil, coil, moil, toil;
And like the horse and its rider!
But you have no hope in the midst of the sea.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Weary In Well-Doing

I would have gone; God bade me stay:
I would have worked; God bade me rest.
He broke my will from day to day,
He read my yearnings unexpressed
And said them nay.

Now I would stay; God bids me go:
Now I would rest; God bids me work.
He breaks my heart tossed to and fro,
My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk
And vex it so.

I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me;
Day after day I plod and moil:
But, Christ my God, when will it be
That I may let alone my toil
And rest with Thee?

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Alton Locke's Song

Weep, weep, weep and weep,
For pauper, dolt, and slave!
Hark! from wasted moor and fen,
Feverous alley, stifling den,
Swells the wail of Saxon men-
Work! or the grave!

Down, down, down and down,
With idler, knave, and tyrant!
Why for sluggards cark and moil?
He that will not live by toil
Has no right on English soil!
God's word's our warrant!

Up, up, up and up!
Face your game and play it!
The night is past, behold the sun!
The idols fall, the lie is done!
The Judge is set, the doom begun!
Who shall stay it?

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poem by Charles Kingsley
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A L M S

A donkey with stacks on its back
Takes what joy in his traipse on roads flinty
Be they sand bags or sandal planks
Earns those same hayricks, as ultimate fees

For a menial, crushing clods
What Sunshine in life, his moil can dawn
In paddy fields or for precious lodes
Rakes the same rewards of few steel coins

Mind you! The meaning of these alms
Tossed by mean masters at their thralls’ grovel
“Alive they come for one more Diem
To fill rosters at the chime of the bell”

With ample breath to toil and shrivel
But not enough to question and rebel

poem by Sathya Narayana
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