What is this thing we know of as life
With it’s happiness, sorrow, labor and strife?
Is it, perhaps, a beautiful song
With chords blending in for each right or wrong?
Or is it a part of a wonderful plan
To make this earth by the labor of man
A place to return when our day’s work is through
Where loved ones are waiting for me and for you?

I like to believe in my own humble way,
As I come home from work at the end of each day,
And I’m weary and tired and worried and worn
From the hurry and bustle since early that morn,
When loved ones are waiting to welcome me there
With loving affection to banish my care,
That each day is symbolic of life and it’s labors
With nations and families and cities and neighbors
Each taking their part of the labor and sorrow
Preparing this earth as a home for the morrow.

And when I look upon children at play
I think of the toiler starting the day
Confident, vigorous, ready for aught
That the duties of that day will bring to his lot.
Then, when passing years make us weak and forlorn’
Tis the toiler returning with vigor out ‘warn,
And we’re glad he is free from the worry and strain
To rest in the heart of his family again.
So let us not grieve when their life’s work is done
and we must remain until our course is run,
But think of the beautiful peace and protection
While waiting the call to the great resurrection;
And let’s let our life work build up as a prayer
That when we go, our loved ones will welcome us there.