THY God permits thee, but with dreadful hand Canst churn great boulders into little sand, On fruitless tasks to waste thy summer ease, In tide washed seaweeds find a childish joy. Or -- harnessing the unruly force of sea To lick smooth stone into a fretted toy -- From thy great page, turn forth knick-knacks to please A Lilliputian fancy -- yea produce Such nice laborious fritters as could these Old chinamen whose life, by slow degrees, Frayed four and twenty peachstones into lace. Hence know that in our smallest work God sees Some service to himself, or some good use, From us yet hidden and our blinded race. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL by KATHARINE LEE BATES ALICE IN WONDERLAND: THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON A CHURCHYARD SOLILOQUY by HENRY ALFORD THE OLD BRIDGE by SEYMOUR GREEN WHEELER BENJAMIN DISTANCES by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |