Classic Poem

Thy task is done, so let the sun
Through all his summer cycle run.

The seed is in the ground; resign
The rest to better Care than thine, —

That watched ere Eden's glory grew,
And sprinkles this last mound with dew.

Guiding the cloudlet from the deep,
He biddeth His beloved sleep,

In foretaste, ere our summers cease,
Of yonder great white harvest — peace.