WORK WHILE IT IS CALLED TO-DAY
Up! there's no time for rest to-day!
There's stubborn work to do
For every willing heart and hand
The blessed daylight through.
Nor must we loiter, slack, or sleep,
Save in the friendly night,
Which hides beneath its grateful shades
The labors of the light! Up! there's no chance for rest to-day!
Brothers of human kind
In many a dark and sterile spot
Are groping halt and blind.
And there are burdens to be borne,
And fetters to be broke,
And trees of evil to hew down
With many a toilsome stroke! Up! for the world is full of strife,
The earth is sown with sin,
Quick springing, like the noxious tares,
A noble field within.
And, though at first but tiny blades,
Of shower and sunshine born,
The laborer needs but rest, and straight
They overtop his corn! Then up! nor dream of rest to-day!
The foes are all around;
And some concealed in ambush lie,
And some dispute the ground.
Then let us gird the harness on
To wrestle or to toil:
The laborer reaps the golden grain,
The conqueror wins the spoil!