But they who the day's burden bore
And noonday heat, expected more:
And murmur'd that the generous lord
To all one penny should accord.
But he replied, "I wrong not you;
I give you the full wages due;
And why should you my bounty blame,
In paying these beyond their claim?"
Lord, to Thy vineyard Thou dost call
The least, the youngest of us all:
To each Thou dost assign a task,
From each some service Thou dost ask.
How kind such feeble hands to use;
Such pleasant work I needs must choose:
I ask no wages, Lord, from thee,
For Thou hast given Thyself for me.
When I remember all Thy grace,
I cannot loiter in my place:
And when I think of all my sin,
What wages can I hope to win?
Thanks, Lord, if yet my years are few,
And I retain the early dew:
Oh, keep me through the noonday heat,
And cheer me with Thy presence sweet.
For if I have Thy presence, Lord,
'Tis an exceeding great reward;
And if at last I see Thy face,
'Tis not of merit, but of grace.
And, oh, what will that "penny" be
Which Thou wilt then bestow on me?
A glorious image it will bear,
Thy own dear Self, Lord, will be there!
Richard Wilton, M.A.