Land of Toil

What a journey it has been
Living in this land of toil.
Laboring from dawn to dusk--
When the lamp is out of oil.

From one’s birth unto his death
He toils and sighs. And sighs.
What are we but parts of dust,
Whose end draws ever nigh.

But when this life of toil is o’er
The soul goes to dwell on high
No more this land of sorrow
No sad or woeful sigh.

Soon we leave this troubled soil
For a life that’s free of toil.

© 2015 Walterrean Salley