My lass, when God
to suffer sent me,
no gifts he gave,
but only lent me
for gold, my breath,
for silver, labour;
the sky as a friend,
the grass as neighbour.

The Vineyard called
for workers many;
at eve I took
God's punctual penny;
Because I bowed
content, I fancy,
He gave me you
for wages, Nancy!

Norman Rowland Gale

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wages-3/