The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few. Matthew 9:37
If you know where to get a good photo of Zundel (head-and-shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels), would you ?
The lines were written upon my slate one snowy afternoon in the winter of 1860. I knew, as I know now, that the poem was only a simple little thing, but somehow I had a presentiment that it had wings and would fly into sorrowful hearts, uplifting and strengthening them.
If you cannot, on the ocean,
Sail among the swiftest fleet,
Rocking on the highest billows,
Laughing at the storms you meet,
You can stand among the sailors,
Anchored yet within the bay,
You can lend a hand to help them,
As they launch their boats away.
If you are too weak to journey
Up the mountain steep and high,
You can stand within the valley,
While the multitudes go by;
You can chant in happy measure,
As they slowly pass along;
Though they may forget the singer,
They will not forget the song.
If you have not gold and silver
Ever ready to command;
If you cannot toward the needy
Reach an ever open hand;
You can visit the afflicted,
O’er the erring you can weep;
You can be a true disciple,
Sitting at the Savior’s feet.
If you cannot, in the conflict
Prove yourself a soldier true,
If, where fire and smoke are thickest,
There’s no work for you to do;
When the battlefield is silent,
You can go with careful tread,
You can bear away the wounded,
You can cover up the dead.
If you cannot, in the harvest,
Gather up the richest sheaves,
Many a grain both ripe and golden
Oft the careless reaper leaves;
Go and glean among the briars
Growing rank against the wall,
For it may be that their shadow
Hides the heaviest wheat of all.
Do not, then, stand idly waiting,
For some greater work to do;
Fortune is a lazy goddess,
She will never come to you.
Go and toil in any vineyard,
Do not fear to do or dare,
If you want a field of labor,
You can find it anywhere.