Give me work for my hands to do,
Whenever I have a grief;
There's no other balm so good I ween
For a wounded Heart's relief.
And give me something to think about,
Something beside my pain;
And let me labor throughout the day
With a busy hand and brain.
From the flush of morn till the gloom of night
With never a time to weep;
And then in the gloaming let me turn
Like a weary child to sleep.
The worlds and I. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox. p. 31
New York : George H. Doran Company, c1918.
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