While mother's toil and father's thrift

His weighty problems did uplift;

And this one's work, and that one's wine,
Were moulded into types divine.

The needy fishers were his friends,
Unlearned companions in his ends;
And stripe, and shame, and felon tree
Aided his deathless victory.

So, Soul, be steadfast in thy lot,

In marble shade or rustic cot:

Permit the wealth the Fates bestow,

But in its void no pining know.

The richest human treasury,
The mine of thought, to all is free.
Let Pleasure mix her shallow drink

While twines Desert the iron link

Whose firmness, over time and space,

Transmits the virtue of the race.

Though fortunes fail, and prospects frown,

May Duty keep her matchless crown,

Nor Desolation bid depart

The glories of a guileless heart.

THE HOUSE OF REST.

I WILL build a house of rest,
Square the corners every one :
At each angle on his breast
Shall a cherub take the sun;
Rising, risen, sinking, down,
Weaving day's unequal crown.

In the chambers, light as air, Shall responsive footsteps fall: Brother, sister, art thou there? Hush! we need not jar nor call; Need not turn to seek the face

Shut in rapture's hiding-place.

Heavy load and mocking care

Shall from back and bosom part;

Thought shall reach the thrill of prayer,

Patience plan the dome of art.

None shall praise or merit claim,

Not a joy be called by name.

With a free, unmeasured tread
Shall we pace the cloisters through :

Rest, enfranchised, like the Dead;

Rest till Love be born anew.

Weary Thought shall take his time,

Free of task-work, loosed from rhyme.

No reproof shall grieve or chill;

Every sin doth stand confest;

None need murmur, "This was ill:"

Therefore do they grant us rest;

Contemplation making whole

Every ruin of the soul.

Pictures shall as softly look
As in distance shows delight;

Slowly shall each saintly book
Turn its pages in our sight;
Not the study's wealth confuse,
Urging zeal to pale abuse.

Children through the windows peep, Not reproachful, though our own; Hushed the parent passion deep, And the household's eager tone.

One above, divine and true,

Makes us children like to you.

Measured bread shall build us up

At the hospitable board;

In Contentment's golden cup

Is the guileless liquor poured.
May the beggar pledge the king

In that spirit gathering.