"...For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
~ Matt 11:30
Swift in overtaking thy desire,
Yet slow to draw the supple reins
And loth to calm the driving fire,
Thou makest only loss of gains;
Matching labor to thy task,
Each slave should end in luxury,
But, being answered, thou dost ask,
And will not quit for satiety;
Yea, all thy treasures here amassed
Have been neglected for the means.
See only how they gather dust,
Whilst thou takes ever greater pains!
Good friend, I beg thee, do depart
The path of toil thou hast taken;
It is bootless thus to strain thy heart
For all the world - if the world's forsaken.
The face of thy beloved is close
As no portrait could hope to be;
Her kiss is softer than a mouse
Asleep beneath a Christmas tree;
Right here, amid the natural lights
Which flit over a humble hearth
Might thou behold sincere delights
As any found upon the earth;
The sky, the grass, the lolling sea,
Have each their share of charm and wit,
But how wilt thou keep company
Immersed in work, as in a pit?
Set aside those petulant cares
And let thyself give way to love,
Lest all thy life pass unawares
Of what is present and above;
Allay the tense and baited rod,
What need for an Herculean grip;
To glory in the work of God
Was never idleness!