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John McCrae

In Due Season

If night should come and find me at my toil,
    When all Life's day I had, tho' faintly, wrought,
And shallow furrows, cleft in stony soil
    Were all my labour: Shall I count it naught

If only one poor gleaner, weak of hand,
    Shall pick a scanty sheaf where I have sown?
"Nay, for of thee the Master doth demand
    Thy work: the harvest rests with Him alone."

 
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About the poet
John McCrae
 
By the same poet
In Flanders Fields
The Anxious Dead
The Warrior
Isandlwana
The Unconquered Dead
The Captain
The Song of the Derelict
Quebec
Then and Now
Unsolved
The Hope of My Heart
Penance
Slumber Songs
The Oldest Drama
Recompense
Mine Host
Equality
Anarchy
Disarmament
The Dead Master
The Harvest of the Sea
The Dying of Pere Pierre
Eventide
Upon Watts' Picture "Sic Transit"
A Song of Comfort
The Pilgrims
The Shadow of the Cross
The Night Cometh
 
Related books
John McCrae at amazon.com


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