On the bloom-crowned hills of the heavenly land;
“After the toil,” when each slumberer wakes,
’Neath the glorified touch of the Infinite Hand.
2 “After the toil,” when the dim earth sinks,
Like a worn-out pebble in eternity’s sea;
“After the toil,” when each thirsty soul drinks
Of the River that flows through Immensity.
3 “After the toil,” O shadowing cloud
Of time o’er the face of the Infinite;
When thou shalt be dropped like a worm-eaten shroud,