Help

My hands have often been weary hands,

Too tired to do their daily task;

And just to fold them forevermore

Has seemed the boon that was best to ask.

My feet have often been weary feet,

Too tired to walk another day;

And I’ve thought, “To sit and calmly wait

Is better far than the onward way.”

My eyes with tears have been so dim

That I have said, “I can not mark

The work I do or the way I take,

For every where it is dark—so dark!”

But, oh, thank God! There never has come

That hour that makes the bravest quail:

No matter how weary my feet and hands,

God never has suffered my heart to fail.

So the folded hands take up their work,

And the weary feet pursue their way;

And all is clear when the good heart cries,

“Be brave!—to-morrow’s another day.”