--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Sanders, Ellen Lee collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 14 number: 3 published: 1911-01 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Ellen Lee Sanders, "Life’s Work," *Improvement Era* 14, no. 3 (January 1911): 238.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1403unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1403unse start_page: 238 end_page: 238 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1911-01) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1403unse publication_year: 1911 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1911, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Life’s Work Life's Work. (For the Improvement Era.) How weak the words we often choose, How frail the weapons that we use, In teaching truth or fighting wrong! And duty's oft a dusty road, And for our strength too great the load, As the still years pass along. But sometimes, through a mist of tears, Fair blooming in the vale of years, All unexpectedly we meet A young soul saved, a sin laid low, A virtue planted where 'twould grow — A recompense for weary feet. Then to oblivion's shadowy plain, Departs the care, the grief, the pain , The soul bathes in immortal light ; We feel God rather blessed the thought Than anything our hands have wrought, 'Tis his, the soul, the truth, the fight. How bright the blooms from seeds we sow, Only the Infinite can know, Our dim eyes cannot see. What depth of bliss or wordless woe May from our lightest accents flow, Is curtained by eternity. Ellen Lfe Sanders. Provo, Utah.