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 The harp that thou didst give me, and all day I sit in idleness, while to and fro About me thy serene, grave servants go And I am weary of my lonely ease Better a perilous journey overseas Away from thee, than this, the life I lead, To sit all day in the sunshine like a weed That grows to naught,—I love thee more than they Who serve thee most; yet serve thee in no way. Father, I beg of thee a little task To dignify my days,-'tis all I ask Forever, but forever, this denied, I perish." "Child," my father's voice replied "All things thy fancy hath desired of me Thou hast received. I have prepared for thee