An unidentified writer pens this brave poem:
I ask not
When shall the day be done and rest come on;
I pray not
That soon from me the “curse of toil” be gone;
I seek not
A sluggard’s couch with drowsy curtains drawn.
But give me
Time to fight the battle out as best I may;
And give me
Strength and place to labor still at evening’s gray;
Then let me
Rest as one who toiled a-field through all the day.
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