Narrow our field of tillage, short our tenancy,
But Thine Infinity, O God, and Thine Eternity.
Here, resting now upon our little deeds and shortened days,
Stretch out and onward and forever,
Our problems fit and fill our boundaries,
Our labor ends at sunset, at Thy feet
We leave the plough when twilight calls us home.
Our time is Thine, we cannot reach success,
Only reach towards it. More Thou dost not ask,
Less, none can render in man’s honesty.
Our duty, that our little plot is tilled
So those that follow find it mellowed land,
A world where more men clearer know Thy love
Because we lived and toiled.