And I see the twilight fade,
And I see the night come on,
And then, in the gloom and shade,
I weep for the day that's gone--
Weep and wail in pain,
For the misspent day
That has flown away,
And will not come again.
Another morning beams,
But I forget the last,
And sit in my idle dreams
Till the day is over--past.
Oh, the toiler's heart is glad!
When the day is gone
And the night comes on,
But mine is sore and sad.
For I dare not look behind!
No shining, golden sheaves
Can I ever hope to find:
Nothing but withered leaves.
Ah! dreams are very sweet!
But will it please
If only these
I lay at the Master's feet.
And what will the Master say,
To dreams and nothing more?
Oh, idler all the day!
Think, ere thy life is o'er!
And when the day grows late,
Oh, soul of sin,
Will He let you in
There at the pearly gate?
Oh, idle heart beware!
On, to the field of strife!
On, to the valley there,
And live a useful life.
Up! do not wait a day!
For the old brown clock,
With its "tick, tick, tock,"
Is ticking your life away.
[FOR HIM WHO BEST SHALL UNDERSTAND IT.]
I know a "righteous Christian,"
(That is, he thinks he's one,)
He goes to church on Sunday
And thinks his duty done.
And always at prayer-meeting,
He sighs, and groans, and prays;
And talks about the sinners,
And warns them from their ways.
And many of his neighbors,
He knows are bound for hell;
Although they love their Master,
And do their duty well.
But they pray within their closet,
And do not own a "pew,"
And he's sure they'll not be numbered
Among God's chosen few.
He exhorts men to be careful
And keep from worldly strife.
And he thinks a race for riches
The worst thing in this life.
"Do good," he cried, "with money,
Ye who have aught to spare,"
And he preaches quite a sermon,
And ends it with a prayer.
Well! he has bonds with coupons,
And lots of cash on hand,
And when the fierce Fire Demon,
Went raging through our land,
The neighborhood was canvassed,
For money, clothes, and food,
To send the starving people,
And the man who cries, "Do good,"--