Overtasked by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward

It was a weary hour, / I looked in the lily-bell. / How holy is the flower! / It leaned like an angel against the light; / "O soul! " it said, sighing, "be white, be white!"

I stretched my arms for rest, / I turned to the evening cloud -- / A vision how fair, how blest! / "Low heart," it called, softly, "arise and fly. / It were yours to reach levels as high as I."

I stooped to the hoary wave / That wept on the darkening shore. / It sobbed to me: "Oh, be brave! / Whatever you do, or dare, or will, / Like me to go striving, unresting still. "