WHEN all the overwork of life Is finished once, and fallen asleep We shrink no more beneath the knife, But having sown prepare to reap; Delivered from the crossway rough, Delivered from the thorny scourge, Delivered from the tossing surge, Then shall we find -- (please God!) -- it is enough? Not in this world of hope deferred, This world of perishable stuff; Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Nor heart conceived that full 'enough'; Here moans the separating sea, Here harvests fail, here breaks the heart; There God shall join and no man part, All one in Christ, so one -- (please God!) -- with me. |