Classic Poem

We linger still, tho' many a one
Who thought his labor just begun
Has learned his task was but to fill
A narrow space on yonder hill;
And found it easy — quickly done!

O'er longer stints ere rest is won —
O'er work we may not slight or shun —
With ever-lessening speed and skill
We linger still.

His hopeless race the jaded sun
With tireless Time has nearly run;
The evening falls, the night winds chill
The fainting heart and failing will:
Expecting all things, fearing none,
We linger still.