'Tis toil of day, that brings sweet rest at night,
And mingled joys make e'en our sorrows light:
The bliss we taste is bliss but just begun.
From height of age we gaze on years gone by;
The fruits of many a deed of good appear,
From which new plants are waving to the eye.
Forward we look; no terrors we descry,
But all is light, and peace, and pleasures dear:
One step will gain the glories of the sky!