THE HALF UNDONE
He chose to do his stint by deed— Not words but action was his creed; When at his door some need would knock, He gave—and wasted little talk.
He never had too big a load To ease the traveller on the road; His hearth was warm—so was his bed And no one left his house unfed. He did not gossip—if he talked ’Twas well advised—he never knocked; He never knocked nor did he raise At any time his voice in praise; The little gracious things folks say, He left them out—it was his way.
He left so many out that they Who shared his roof from day to day, Went hungering in their souls the while For just a pleasant word or smile. It was as if he’d gone and made A covenant with God to aid His fellowman—so far as he Could help that man materially; But as for giving from his store Those gifts the heart keeps longing for— And lacking which goes beggaring— Well that was quite another thing.
Somehow I think that such an one Leaves half his task in life undone.