The Idler
I IDLE stand that I may find employ,
Such as my Master when He comes will give;
I cannot find in mine own work my joy,
But wait, although in waiting I must live;
My body shall not turn which way it will,
But stand till I the appointed road can find,
And journeying so his messages fulfil,
And do at every step the work designed.
Enough for me, still day by day to wait
Till Thou who formest me findest me too a task,
A cripple lying at the rich man’s gate,
Content for the few crumbs I get to ask,
A laborer but in heart, while bound my hands
Hangidly down still waiting thy commands.
poem by Jones Very
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
