Poem by 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.”

1. Upon Watts’ Picture ”Sic Transit”
2. The Harvest of the Sea
3. The Night Cometh
4. The Dead Master
5. The Song of the Derelict

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