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1835–1905

LABORARE EST ORARE.

Sarah Chauncey Woolsey

How infinite and sweet, Thou everywhere And all abounding Love, Thy service is! Thou liest an ocean round my world of care, My petty every-day; and fresh and fair,

Pour Thy strong tides through all my crevices, Until the silence ripples into prayer. That Thy full glory may abound, increase, And so Thy likeness shall be formed in me,

I pray; the answer is not rest or peace, But charges, duties, wants, anxieties, Till there seems room for everything but Thee, And never time for anything but these.

And I should fear, but lo! amid the press, The whirl and hum and pressure of my day, I hear Thy garment's sweep, Thy seamless dress, And close beside my work and weariness

Discern Thy gracious form, not far away, But very near, O Lord, to help and bless. The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see Only the glancing needle which they hold,

But all my life it, blossoming inwardly, And every breath is like a litany, While through each labor, like a thread of gold, Is woven the sweet consciousness of Thee.

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LABORARE EST ORARE. · Sarah Chauncey Woolsey · Poetry Cove