English poem
EMPLOYMENT. From the same
by John Wesley (1703–1791)
The Flow'r now blooms, now hangs its Head, So fleets my shortliv'd Day! O may my useful Fragrance spread Before I fade away!
What tho' the Throne I then should fill At the Great Day, were mine? The Sweetness, which they gracious Skill Diffus'd, its Praise were Thine.
Let me not languish then, and spend A Life dead to thy Praise, As is the Dust to which I tend By sure tho' slow Decays!
All things are busy round but I: Nor Honey with the Bees, Nor Scent with Flow'rs, nor Husbandry Have I to water these.
I am no Link of thy great Chain, A cumbrous, fruitless Weed: O mend my Musick! Give one Strain Ev'n to my useless Reed!