Service

FRET not that thy day is gone,
And the task is still undone.
’T was not thine, it seems, at all ;
Near to thee it chanced to fall,
Close enough to stir thy brain,
And to vex thy heart in vain.
Somewhere, in a nook forlorn,
Yesterday a babe was born :
He shall do thy waiting task ;
All thy questions he shall ask,
And the answers will be given,
Whispered lightly out of heaven.
His shall be no stumbling feet,
Falling where they should be fleet;
He shall hold no broken clue;
Friends shall unto him be true ;
Men shall love him ; falsehood’s aim
Shall not shatter his good name.
Day shall nerve his arm with light,
Slumber soothe him all the night;
Summer’s peace and winter’s storm
Help him all his will perform.
’T is enough of joy for thee
His high service to foresee.