“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might.”
Thomas Carlyle often quoted that sentence, and one day he had a great chance of proving that he tried hard to practice it.
He had written the story of the French Revolution, and had lent the manuscript to his friend, John Stuart Mill, who wanted very much to see it before it was printed.
One evening, Carlyle was seated in his study, after a hard day’s work. A hurried knock sounded at the front door, and heavy steps came up the stair. Mill entered, looking deadly pale. “Why, what’s the matter?” said Carlyle, leading his friend to a seat. Then Mill told, in broken sentences, how he had left the manuscript lying on a table, and someone had burnt it. It was all gone. Five months of hard work were lost!
When Carlyle had thoroughly recovered from the shock of the bad news, he bravely set to work, and wrote it all again. If you have ever had a long sum in arithmetic to do before you were allowed to go out to play, and if, when you showed your work to the master, he tore it up and told you to do it again, you will know something of Carlyle’s feelings.
Each one of us has a work to do in this world. That is what we are here for, and our happiness depends on getting it done. Everything worth doing at all is worth doing well. If we put all our might into our work, we shall get the most out of it.
I was travelling by train the other evening. Three young men got into the same carriage. Directly the train started, one said to another, “Have you got it with you?” I did not hear what it was he asked for, but I should not have been surprised if it had been a pack of cards, for I have seen many silly young men waste their time in railway carriages in that way. But no, it was a piece of a man’s skull. They took it in their hands, and passed it from one to another, having great fun in naming all the parts of It. They were medical students coming home from a lecture at the University, and, so that they might not waste their time, they were going over all that they had learned about the marks on that bone.
An eminent merchant said that he once learned a very valuable lesson when he was eleven years old. “My grandfather,” he said, “had a flock of sheep, and my business was to look after them. As I could not do it all by myself, a boy was sent to help me. But that boy was more fond of putting his head into a story book, than of looking after sheep, so that, mostly, the work was left to me while he lay under the trees and read. I did not half like it, and, at last, I went to my grandfather and complained. The old gentleman said with a smile, ‘Never mind, my boy; if you watch the sheep, you will have the sheep.’ ‘What does grandfather mean by that?’ I thought; ‘I don’t expect to have the sheep, I don’t want to be a farmer.’ I did not understand, but I trusted him. I thought it would be sure to be all right, and went back to my work.
“In the field I could not keep the words out of my head, ‘If you watch the sheep, you will have the sheep.’ Then I thought of something I had heard on Sunday, ‘Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things.’ I began to see through it. It meant this: ‘Never you mind who neglects his work; be you faithful, and you will have your reward.’”
Whatever you have to do, do it as if you wanted to finish it. Do it as if it were of the greatest consequence to get it well done with, and out of the way. To see some men work, you would think that they wanted to spin it out as long as they could. They look as if they expected they would never get another job in this world after that was done. The only real way to work is to put your back into it. I don’t suppose that many people work because they like it, but because they have to do it. And yet the most miserable people are generally those who have nothing to do.
Jesus said, “My Father worketh, and I work.” Our Saviour belongs to a working family. And I hope you do, too.