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."
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Comments1Just read "In Due Season" by John McCrae and wow, it really got me thinking about the value of our labour, no matter how big or small. The poem kind off remind us to just do our best and leave the result to a higher power. Really deep stuff from McCrae. Can't help but reflect on my own work.