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THE,SOUTHEEN PLANTER. 



[July 



Daily Work. 



Who lags for dread of daily work, 

 And his appointed task would shirk, 

 Commits a folly and a crime ; 

 A soulless slave— 

 A paltry knave — 

 A clog upon the wheels of time. 

 With work to do. and store of health, 

 The man's unworthy to be free, 

 Who will not give. 

 That he may live, 

 His daily toil for daily fee. 



No ! Let us work ! We only ask 

 Reward proportioned to our task: 

 We have no quarrel with the great; 

 No feud with rank — 

 With mill or bank — 

 No envy of a lord's estate. 

 If we can earn sufficient store 

 To satisfy our daily need, 

 And can retain, 

 For age and pain 

 A fraction, we are rich, indeed. 



No dread of toil have we or ours ; 

 We know our worth and weigh our powers; 

 The more we work the more we win: 

 Success to Trade ! 

 Success to Spade ! 

 And to the Corn that's coming in ! 

 And joy to him who, o'er his task, 

 Remembers toil is God's ov^n plan; 

 Who, working, thinks — 

 And never sinks 

 His independence as a man. 



Who only asks for humblest wealth, 

 Enough for competence and health ; 

 And leisure when his work is done, 

 To read his book 

 By chimney nook, 

 Or stroll at setting of the sun. 

 Who toils as every man should toil 

 For fair reward, erect and free : 

 These are the men — 

 The best of men — 

 These are the men we mean to be ! 



Work. 



Attend, oh man, 

 Uplift the banner of thy kind; 

 Advance the ministry of mind! 

 The mountain height is free to climb, 

 Toil on — man's heritage is time ! 



Toil on ! 



Work on and win ; 

 Life without work is unenjoyed ! 

 The happiest are the best employed ! 

 Work moves and moulds the mightiest birth, 

 And graps the destinies of earth ! 



Work on. 



Work sows the seed; 

 Even the rock may yield its flower — ' 

 No lot so hard but human power, 

 Exerted to one end and aim. 

 May conquer fate, and capture fame ! 



Press on. 



Press onward still : 

 In nature's centre lives the fire 

 That slow, though sure, doth yet aspire ; 

 Through fathoms deep of mould and clay 

 It splits the rock that bars its way! 



Press on ! 



If Nature then. 

 Can tame beneath her weight of earth, 

 When would her hidden fire know birth ? 

 Thus man, through granite Fate must find 

 The path — the upward path of mind ! 



Work on. 



Pause not in fear ; 

 Preach no desponding, servile view — 

 Whate'er thou will'st tliy will niay do! 

 Strengthen each mighty nerve to bend 

 Truth's bow, and bid its shaft ascend! 



Toil on. 



Be firm of heart; 

 By fusion of unnumber'd years 

 A Continent its witness rears; 

 A drop 'tis said, through flint will wear; 

 Toil on, and Nature's conquest share! 



Toil on. 



Leaf by Leaf the Eoses Fall. 



Leaf by leaf the roses fall, 



Drop by drop the springs run dry 

 One by one, beyond recall. 



Summer beauties fade and die ; 

 But the roses bloom again, 



And the spring will gush anew, 

 In the pleasant April rain, 



And the summer sun and dew. 



So in hours of deepest gloom, 



When the springs of gladness fail, 

 And the roses in their bloom. 



Droop like maidens wan and pale. 

 We shall find some hope that lies 



Like a silent gem apart, 

 Hidden far from careless eyes. 



In the garden of the heart. 



Some sweet hope to gladness wed. 



That will spring afresh and new. 

 When griefs winter shall have fled. 



Giving place to rain and dew- 

 Some sweet hope that breathes of spring 



Through the weary, weary time 

 Budding for its blossoming. 



In the spirit's glorious clime. 



