Poem Hunter
Poems
Tired
(30 May 1903 – 9 January 1946 / New York)

Tired

Poem By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The many sow, but only the chosen reap;
Happy the wretched host if Day be brief,
That with the cool oblivion of sleep
A dawnless Night may soothe the smart of grief.

If from the soil our sweat enriches sprout
One meagre blossom for our hands to cull,
Accustomed indigence provokes a shout
Of praise that life becomes so bountiful.

Now ushered regally into your own,
Look where you will, as far as eye can see,
Your little seeds are to a fullness grown,
And golden fruit is ripe on every tree.

Yours is no fairy gift, no heritage
Without travail, to which weak wills aspire;
This is a merited and grief-earned wage
From One Who holds His servants worth their hire.

So has the shyest of your dreams come true,
Built not of sand, but of the solid rock,
Impregnable to all that may accrue
Of elemental rage: storm, stress, and shock.

User Rating: 2,9 / 5 ( 28 votes ) 2

Other poems of WHEELER WILCOX (563)

Comments (2)

The father's hard work in raising his son is not in vain, his dreams 'Built not of sand, but of solid rock'.
The message that the poem brings to us is that the hard work put in by a man never goes in vain. It will be rewarded in due course of time. Built not of sand, but of the solid rock, Impregnable to all that may accrue Of elemental rage: storm, stress, and shock.


Comments