GITANJALI
(Tagore)

On many idle days have I grieved over lost
time. But never lost, my God. Thou hast
taken every moment of my life in thine own
hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art
nourishing seeds into sprouts buds into
blossoms and ripening flowers into
fruitfulness.
I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and
imagined all work had ceased. In the morning
I woke up and found my garden full with
wonders of flowers...