If night should come and find me at my toil,
When all Life's day I had, tho' faintly, wrought,
And shallow furrows, cleft in stony soil
Were all my labour: Shall I count it naught
If only one poor gleaner, weak of hand,
Shall pick a scanty sheaf where I have sown?
“Nay, for of thee the Master doth demand
Thy work: the harvest rests with Him alone.”
In Due Season
John Mccrae
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Poem topics: alone, life, night, poor, work, weak, master, labour, demand, Valentine's Day, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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