Poem


Written by Tagor, India (Originally In English)

On many an idle day have I
grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my Lord.
Thou hast taken every moment
of my life in thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things
thou art nourishing seeds
into sprouts,
buds into blossoms,
and ripening flowers
into fruitfulness.

I was tired
and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.

In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full of
wonders of flowers.

(Excerpt From "Tagor's Poems - No.81)