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I hate all of my toil,
I toil under the sun;
The heat makes my blood boil,
Feels like work never gets done.
I must leave it for the next,
The one who comes after me;
Because it is so perplexed,
Every time that I see.
Who knows whether I will be,
One who is wise or a fool;
A master to all I see,
Corrupted breaking the rule.
For I toiled all my life.
Used wisdom under the sun;
This is vanity and strife,
Which seems like never as done.
So, I turned and gave my heart,
Toil and labor to despair;
Under the sun to depart,
With the nightfall to declare.
If you toil in wisdom,
Knowledge and skills have to leave;
When you enter His Kingdom,
To enjoy what you believe.
If what you labor is pride,
Vanity can be evil;
The corruption deep inside,
Would be caused by the devil.
What has man from the toil,
That is striving from the heart;
Labor that pride will spoil,
From craftmanship to impart.
All days are full of sorrow,
And work is a vexation;
Looking towards a tomorrow,
Having less irritation.
Nothing better for a man,
Than what he should eat or drink,
What pleases God and His plan,
That man takes some time to think.
Copyright © 2020 Richard Newton Sherrer
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Toil Vanity
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