SONG 1.—The Sluggard.
I
'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,
‘You have wak'd me too soon, I must slumber again;’
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.
II
‘A little more sleep and a little more slumber;’
Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number;
And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands,
Or walks about sauntring, or trifling he stands.
III
I pass'd by his garden, and saw the wild brier,
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher:
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;
And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs.
IV
I made him a visit, still hoping to find,
He had took better care for improving his mind:
He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking:
But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.
V
Said I then to my heart, ‘Here's a lesson for me;’
That man's but a picture of what I might be:
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,
Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.
