An Overworked Official

I climbed yon northern hills;
Plucked medlars on the way.
Strong, hale must be the officer
Who works from dawn till end of day.
And the king's service dureth long with me;
And sorrow-stricken must my parents be.

Beneath the great wide Heaven
The king owns every land.
Go round each border — everywhere
His servants at his bidding stand.
Scant justice yet to me his Chiefs have shown;
For I must work as were all wit my own.

On, on, my four male steeds!
King's service brooks no rest.
Well that I have not weight of years;
For few with strength like mine are blest.
While my backbone as yet its strength retains,
Work for my head and hands all round remains.

Some live content, in tranquil ease;
Some for their country their full vigour spend.
Some rest recumbent on their beds;
And some have journey ings that know no end.

Some know not clamours and alarms;
And some have miserable toil and pain.
Some idly roost, or lie supine;
Some serve their king, and scarcely bear the strain.

Some give themselves to mirth and wine;
Some live in miserable fear of blame.
Some gad about, and criticize;
While some have all to do that bears a name.