Whatever is foreseen in joy
Must be lived out from day to day.
Vision help open in the dark
By our ten thousand days of work.
Harvest will fill the barn; for that
The hand must ache, the face must sweat.
And yet no leaf or grain is filled
By work of ours; the field is tilled
And left to grace. That we may reap,
Great work is done while we're asleep.
When we work well, a Sabbath mood
Rests on our day, and finds it good.
I can't remember where I first read this Wendell Berry poem- either someone blogged it or it showed up on facebook. Either way, I copied it down and saved it.