TOIL.
When Man from Eden's blissful bowers
Was driven before the vengeful sword,—
Stern Toil, companion of his hours,
With him the sterile Earth explored.
But lo! the frowning desert smiled,
His hardy hand its thorns expell'd,
He deck'd with fruits the wondering wild,
And the invading billow quell'd.
Fresh streams o'er Egypt's vales he led,
Assyria's hanging gardens drest,
Cloth'd fruitful Israel's fields with bread,
And roused her shepherd sons from rest.
Even now, he hails the vernal star,
Bids fervid Summer own his sway,
Binds Autumn to his harvest-car,
And makes even hoary Winter gay.
First in his train is jocund Health,
Content, who o'er her distaff sings,
And from the plough that honest Wealth
Which scorns the tear-bought robe of kings.—
Pour forth His praise ye hymning choir,
Who makes stern Toil a blessing prove,
And wisely like a pitying Sire
Ordains his discipline in love.