Читать книгу The Fiction Factory - Cook William Wallace - Страница 2

A little gift I have of words,

A little talent, Lord, is all,

And yet be mine the faith that girds

An humble heart for duty's call.

Where Genius soars to distant skies,

And plumes herself in proud acclaim,

O Thou, let plodding talent prize

The modest goal, the lesser fame.

Let this suffice, make this my code,

As I go forward day by day,

To cheer one heart upon life's road,

To ease one burden by the way.

I would not scale the mountain-peak,

But I would have the strength of ten

To labor for the poor and weak,

And win my way to hearts of men.

A little gift Thou gavest me,

A little talent, Lord, is all,

Yet humble as my art may be

I hold it waiting for Thy call.