Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring;
A life without self-pleasing.
—Frederick William Faber.
———
BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US
The time for toil is past, and night has come—
The last and saddest of the harvest eves;
Worn out with labor, long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.