The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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| II. | No. II.
“MAN OF TOIL.” |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
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No. II. “MAN OF TOIL.”
Man of Toil, wouldst thou be free?
Lend thine ear to Reason's call;
There's folly in the Drunkard's glee—
There's madness in the midnight brawl;
The ribald jest, the vulgar song,
May give a keener sting to care;
The riot of a reckless throng
May lead to ruin and despair:
Let Truth unloose thy fettered soul,—
There is no freedom in the bowl.
Lend thine ear to Reason's call;
There's folly in the Drunkard's glee—
There's madness in the midnight brawl;
The ribald jest, the vulgar song,
May give a keener sting to care;
The riot of a reckless throng
May lead to ruin and despair:
Let Truth unloose thy fettered soul,—
There is no freedom in the bowl.
Man of Toil, wouldst thou be wise?
The paths of moral right explore;
Pierce the human heart's disguise,
And track its motives to the core;
Creation's boundless beauties scan,
Observe its wonders—search its laws;
Look on the vast, harmonious plan,
And learn to love the Eternal Cause:
Let Truth illume thy darkened soul,—
There is no wisdom in the bowl.
The paths of moral right explore;
Pierce the human heart's disguise,
And track its motives to the core;
Creation's boundless beauties scan,
Observe its wonders—search its laws;
Look on the vast, harmonious plan,
And learn to love the Eternal Cause:
Let Truth illume thy darkened soul,—
There is no wisdom in the bowl.
Man of Toil, wouldst thou be blest?
Give thy purest feelings play;
Bring all that's noble to thy breast,
Let all that's worthless pass away.
Let generous deeds bid sorrow cease,
Let gentlest words thy lips employ;
Scatter the seeds of love and peace,
And reap a harvest full of joy:
Let Truth make glad thy harassed soul—
There are no blessings in the bowl.
Give thy purest feelings play;
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Let all that's worthless pass away.
Let generous deeds bid sorrow cease,
Let gentlest words thy lips employ;
Scatter the seeds of love and peace,
And reap a harvest full of joy:
Let Truth make glad thy harassed soul—
There are no blessings in the bowl.
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |