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THE SLUGGARD'S REVEILLÉ.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


20

THE SLUGGARD'S REVEILLÉ.

[_]

[Adapted to music.]

Wake, thou sluggard!—see the morning
Through the window peeping!
Time and nature do their work,
Whilst you lie idly sleeping.
The bramble climbs your garden-wall;
Within it grows the thistle tall,
The weed,—the nettle, sting and all!
A harvest for your reaping.
Awake,—behold the lovely morning
Through the world diffusing
Light and beauty, health and joy,
Which you 're in torpor losing.
Up! from heaven the golden glory
Over earth is streaming;
Hill and vale are wide awake,
With life and music teeming:
The bee comes laden to the hive;
But when, or how, are you to thrive,
Who thus lie smouldering, half alive,
In leaden slumber dreaming?
Arise!—your heavy clay bestirring,
Use your eyes for seeing;—
Quick! put off the stolid sloth,
And prove your nobler being.

21

Make the little ant your teacher,—
From her wisdom borrow:
She for future want provides,
To save her future sorrow.
And if you 've naught for time to crave,
O, have you not a soul to save,
Whilst every step is toward the grave,
That may be yours to-morrow?
Awake, if in you dwells a spirit
Born to live for ever;
Lest the stealthy spoiler come,
Your dull life-string to sever!
Haste!—the precious, rosy moments
Flee beyond o'ertaking;—
Each, a swift-winged witness, goes
Where your account is making.
And what if this sweet flower and dew
Of life and time, allowed to you,
Be found perverted, in review,
When you 're for ever waking?
Arise!—dig up your buried talent;
Learn for what you 're sowing,
Ere the Great Reveillé sound,
When Time has done his mowing!