If the Lord should come in the morning,
As I went about my work--
The little things and the quiet things
That a servant cannot shirk,
Though nobody ever sees them,
And only the dear Lord cares
That they always are done in the light of the sun--
Would he take me unawares?
If my Lord should come at noonday--
The time of the dust and heat,
When the glare is white and the air is still
And the hoof-beats sound in the street;
If my dear Lord came at noonday,
And smiled in my tired eyes,
Would it not be sweet his look to meet?
Would he take me by surprise?
If my Lord came hither at evening,
In the fragrant dew and dusk,
When the world drops off its mantle
Of daylight, like a husk,
And flowers, in wonderful beauty,
And we fold our hands in rest,
Would his touch of my hand, his low command,
Bring me unhoped-for zest?
Why do I ask and question?
He is ever coming to me,
Morning and noon and evening,
If I have but eyes to see.
And the daily load grows lighter,
The daily cares grow sweet,
For the Master is near, the Master is here,
I have only to sit at his feet.
--Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
The day is long and the day is hard;
We are tired of the march and of keeping guard;
Tired of the sense of a fight to be won,
Of days to live through, and of work to be done;
Tired of ourselves and of being alone.
And all the while, did we only see,
We walk in the Lord's own company;
We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm;
He turns the arrows which else might harm,
And out of the storm he brings a calm.
--Susan Coolidge.