Book 2 — In the Hospital.

I lay me down to sleep, With little thought or care Whether my waking find Me here or there. A bowing, burdened head, That only asks to rest, Unquestioning, upon A loving breast. My good right hand forgets Its cunning now. To march the weary march I know not how. I am not eager, bold, Nor strong—all that is past; I am ready not to do At last, at last. My half day's work is done, And this is all my part; I give a patient God My patient heart, And grasp His banner still, Though all its blue be dim; These stripes, no less than stars, Lead after Him.