On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. <br />But it is never lost, my lord. <br />Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands. <br /> <br />Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, <br />buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness. <br /> <br />I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed <br />and imagined all work had ceased. <br />In the morning I woke up <br />and found my garden full with wonders of flowers. <br /><br /><br />Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lost-time/
