 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
WAITING
Wearily drag the lagging hours
To him who, waiting to be hired,
Is by enforcèd idlesse tired
More than by strain of all his powers:
Wearily, having in his heart
The hope to play a worthy part,
And scorning each ignoble art.
To him who, waiting to be hired,
Is by enforcèd idlesse tired
More than by strain of all his powers:
Wearily, having in his heart
The hope to play a worthy part,
And scorning each ignoble art.
Girt for the fight, he waits forlorn,
And oh! it irks him sore to rest,
And watch, too oft with mocking jest,
Things done that fill his soul with scorn,
As he with folded hands must sit,
While lesser men, with scanty wit,
Get all the work, and tangle it.
And oh! it irks him sore to rest,
And watch, too oft with mocking jest,
Things done that fill his soul with scorn,
As he with folded hands must sit,
While lesser men, with scanty wit,
Get all the work, and tangle it.
So life grows bitter; or perhaps
Hope flirts a moment in his face,
Then trips off to another place,
And pours its treasures in the laps
Of some dull soul, whose easy feet
Will tread the old familiar beat,
Contented getting much to eat.
Hope flirts a moment in his face,
Then trips off to another place,
And pours its treasures in the laps
Of some dull soul, whose easy feet
Will tread the old familiar beat,
Contented getting much to eat.
And lo! the work remains undone,
And work is what he hungers for,
But cannot find an open door,
And loiters idly in the sun,
Still waiting with his heart on fire,
And wasting with his great desire,
Waiting and finding none to hire.
And work is what he hungers for,
But cannot find an open door,
And loiters idly in the sun,
Still waiting with his heart on fire,
And wasting with his great desire,
Waiting and finding none to hire.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |