The Days of Man

The days of man are dealt to him
One moment at a time
And none can know the sum of them
Or years that he may climb

In shades of summer’s afternoon
We long to live the hour
And by a blossomed meadow swoon
To drink its pleasant flower

We do not care to walk the road
Of rock and loathsome dirt
And none of us asks for the load
Of agony and hurt

But all the days of man are dealt
By He who holds the Door
There is no heartache we have felt
He has not felt before

Each day is like a chapter writ
No erasing or pretending
The Keeper knows the truth of it
And when will be the ending

How foolish is the man who trusts
In weak and mortal power
For we shall all return to dust
And no man knows the hour

Janet~