4. Labor is rest—from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations[280] that meet us;
Rest from sin-promptings[281] that ever entreat us;
Rest from world Sirens[282] that lead us to ill.
Work—and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work—thou shalt ride o’er care’s coming billow;
Lie not down wearied ’neath woe’s weeping willow:
Work with a stout heart and resolute[283] will.
5. Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish[284] are round thee;
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee;