To Venus’ star! nor yet the spheric laws
Self-chanted—nor the angels’ sweet “all hails,”
Met in the smile of God! Nay, none of these!
Speak, Christ at His right hand, and fill this pause.
III.
What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil!
Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines
For all the heat o’ the sun, till it declines,
And Death’s mild curfew shall from work assoil.