On many an idle day have I grieved
over lost time. But it is never lost, my
lord. 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
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.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Company, 1916) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.