From the small insect, the rich coral bower;
Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.
3. Labor is life!—’Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth[278],
Keep the watch wound; for the dark dust assaileth[279]
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labor is glory!—the flying cloud lightens;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens;
Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune.