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Poem	These things wondering I saw beneath the sun: That never yet the race was to the swift, The fight unto the mightiest to lift, Nor favors unto men whose skill had done Great works, nor riches ever unto one Wise man of understanding. All is drift Of time and chance, and none may stay or sift Or know the end of that which is begun. Who waits until the wind shall silent keep, Will never find the ready hour to sow. Who watcheth clouds will have no time to reap. At daydawn plant thy seed, and be not slow At night. God doth not slumber take nor sleep: Which seed shall prosper thou shalt never know.
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