There, heedless of fatigue, his footsteps move
In ceaseless toil; nor from his view conceal'd
Lies hid the peril, when God's truth reveal'd
The worshipper is sham'd in idol's grove.
Brave man! toil on; thou shalt not toil in vain:
Thy master's promise trust; the good seed sow;
A glorious harvest thou wilt help to gain.
And should the madmen's dagger lay thee low,
Yet from thy outpour'd blood may spring the truth,
Life's nutriment to Old men and to Youth!