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.

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.

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.