“When the Master of all the workmen
sent me into the field.
I went forth elate and happy, the tools of
His service to wield,
Expectant of high position, as suited my
lofty taste,
When lo! He set me to weeding and
watering down in the waste.
Such pottering down in the hedges! A
task so thankless and small!
Yet I stilled my vain ambition, and worked
for the Lord of all.
Till, meeker grown, as nightly I sank to
my hard-won rest,
I cared but to hear in my dreaming, ‘This
one has done his best.’
The years have leveled distinctions. There
is no more great or small;
It is only faithful service that counts with
the Lord of all.
And I know that tilled with patience, the
veriest waste of clod
Shall bring forth the perfect harvest,
planned in the heart of God.”