What have I yet to do?
⁠Day weareth on,—
Flowers, that, opening new,
Smiled through the morning's dew,
⁠Droop in the sun.

'Neath the noon's scorching glare
⁠Fainting I stand;
Still is the sultry air,
Silentness everywhere
⁠Through the hot land.

Yet must I labor still,
⁠All the day through,—
Striving with earnest will
Patient my place to fill,
⁠My work to do.

Long though my task may be,
⁠Cometh the end.
God 'tis that helpeth me,
His is the work, and He
⁠New strength will lend.

He will direct my feet,
⁠Strengthen my hand,
Give me my portion meet;—
Firm in his promise sweet
⁠Trusting I'll stand.

Up, then, to work again!
⁠God's word is given
That none shall sow in vain,
But find his ripened grain
⁠Garnered in heaven.

Longer the shadows fall,—
⁠Night cometh on;
Low voices softly call,
"Come, here is rest for all!
⁠Labor is done!"