O little feet! that such long years br Must wander on through hopes and fears, br Must ache and bleed beneath your load; br I, nearer to the wayside inn br Where toil shall cease and rest begin, br Am weary, thinking of your road! br br O little hands! that, weak or strong, br Have still to serve or rule so long, br Have still so long to give or ask; br I, who so much with book and pen br Have toiled among my fellow-men, br Am weary, thinking of your task. br br O little hearts! that throb and beat br With such impatient, feverish heat, br Such limitless and strong desires; br Mine that so long has glowed and burned, br With passions into ashes turned br Now covers and conceals its fires.