NOTHING TO DO.
"Nothing to do" in this world of ours,
Where weeds spring up with the fairest flowers,
Where smiles have only a fitful play,
Where hearts are breaking every day?
"Nothing to do?" thou Christian soul,
Wrapping thee round in thy selfish stole,
Off with the garments of sloth and sin;
Christ thy Lord hath a kingdom to win.
"Nothing to do?" there are prayers to lay
On the altar of incense day by day;
There are foes to meet within and without;
There is error to conquer, strong and stout.
"Nothing to do?" there are minds to teach
The simplest forms of Christian speech;
There are hearts to lure with loving wile
From the grimmest haunts of sin's defile.
"Nothing to do?" there are lambs to feed,
The precious hope of the Church's need;
Strength to be borne to the weak and faint,
Vigils to keep with the doubting saint.
"Nothing to do?" there are heights to attain,
Where Christ is transfigured yet again,
Where earth will fade in the vision sweet,
And the soul press on with wingèd feet.
"Nothing to do?" and thy Saviour said,
"Follow thou me in the path I tread."
Lord, lend thy help the journey through,
Lest, faint, we cry, "So much to do!"
—Unidentified.