Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 02, No. 13, November, 1858 - Various - Страница 3

  What have I yet to do?

    Day weareth on,—

  Flowers, that, opening new,

  Smiled through the morning's dew,

    Droop in the sun.

  'Neath the noon's scorching glare

    Fainting I stand;

  Still is the sultry air,

  Silentness everywhere

    Through the hot land.

  Yet must I labor still,

    All the day through,—

  Striving with earnest will

  Patient my place to fill,

    My work to do.

  Long though my task may be,

    Cometh the end.

  God 'tis that helpeth me,

  His is the work, and He

    New strength will lend.