Why fill our days with feverish care and strain,
With ceaseless stress of mind and hand and heart,
That we in this brief life may do our part?
In weariness of body and of brain,
Finding but meed of failure and of pain.
So through the years we constant fret and smart,
Lest without sheaves at length we should depart,
And our dear Lord's "Well done" should not attain.

'Tis not by our own striving or our strength
That we will be the conquerors in the strife:
We'll find the secret of victorious life
When looking from ourselves to HIM, at length,
And calm within while storms without are rife,
In quietness and confidence find strength,

R. R. P