Over and over again,
No matter which way I turn,
I always find in the Book of Life
Some lesson I have to learn.
I must take my turn at the mill,
I must grind out the golden grain ;
I must work at my task with a resolute will
Over and over again.
We cannot measure the need
Of even the tiniest flower,
Nor check the flow of the golden sands
That run through a single hour.
But the morning dews must fall,
And the sun and summer rain
Must do their part, and perform it all
Over and over again.
Over and over again,
The brook through the meadow flows;
And over and over again
The ponderous mill-wheel goes.
Once doing will not suffice,
Though doing be not in vain;
And a blessing, failing us once or twice,
May count if we try again.
