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Poem by John McCrae


In Due Season


If night should come and find me at my toil,
When all Lifes 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.



John McCrae


John McCrae's other poems:
  1. The Harvest of the Sea
  2. The Shadow of the Cross
  3. Anarchy
  4. Quebec
  5. The Oldest Drama


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