I could walk by woods and through the bog,
And smell the rain drops in the fog,
But that's another day,
I could sit and ponder maths I'm taught,
My hand at pace at every thought,
But that's another day,
I could burn the midnight oil and wake,
And place within it, all my stakes,
But that's another day,
Not mine, but His to order: He knows time,
Far better than I know days my own.