Heart's Ease

Give me work for my hands to do,
Whenever I have a grief;
There's no other balm so good I ween
For a wounded Heart's relief.

And give me something to think about,
Something beside my pain;
And let me labor throughout the day
With a busy hand and brain.

From the flush of morn till the gloom of night
With never a time to weep;
And then in the gloaming let me turn
Like a weary child to sleep.