Of head from pillow tells us the good gift
Of Sabbath rest is more than half in vain.
Tired! Tired! In flesh, bone, brain,
Heart, fancy, pulse, and nerve!
Such is our doom who stand and serve
The unrewarding public, thoughtless they
Of slaves whose souls they slay!
Oh, that long standing—standing—standing yet!
With the flesh sick, the inmost soul a-fret,
Pale, pulseless patiences, our very sex,