1850- GO.] ABBY ALLIN CURTISS, 441 Fond heart, why tremblest so ? Thou lov- est! Others have loved before ; That whole sweet bondage that thou prov- est, Hath this extent no more ! What though man presumptously, Look on thee reprovhigly — Casting glances pityingly ; "Go to, thou whited wall!" Cast thy pity otherwhere ; What am I that thou shouldst dare Reproach me with my thrall ? Woman ! thou most inhuman. To the weaknesses of woman ! Durst thou robe thyself in pride, Casting marah in my cup — Gathering thy garments up, Passine: on the other side ? 0, the strife, the struggle deep ! I am weary, I would rest ; Let me rock myself asleep. On the heavings of thy breast ; With the innocence of youth. With the purity of truth ; Let me then, all undefiled — Sheltered in thy watchful arms, Safe from all this life's alarms — Rest me, even as a child ! Thou high-priest of the inner shrine, Conscience, the realm is thine ! Make thou the choice — Thy still small voice — Heard round about me everywhere, Biddeth thee, true heart lean to prayer. As refuge and repose ; Not to vain refuges of lies, Turn thou thine eyes — Look upward to the skies, Poor soul, and find a close ! WORK WITH A WILL. Pull away cheerily, work with a will, Labor itself is pleasure and health ; Man is a creature of infinite skill. And contentment is seldom the handmaid of wealth. Life is at best but a rugged ascent. For ever, and ever, and ever up hill ; Yet nothing is gained to a man by dissent, Then pull away cheerily, work with a will! Pull away cheerily, work with a will, God is the Master urging us on ; Idleness bringeth us trouble and ill. Labor itself is happiness won ! Work with the heart, and work with the brain, Work with the hands, and work with the will ; Step after step we conquer the plain. Then pull away cheerily, work with a will! Pull away cheerily, work with a will, No one can tell the length of his stay ; Already the sun is climbing the hill ! Up and be doing, while it is day ! Never despair, though much must be done ; A river at birth is naught but a rill ; Another may finish what you have begun. Then pull away cheerily, work with a will ! Pull away cheerily, work with a will. Let not a drone-bee live in the hive ; The world driveth on like a busy old mill. And each with our web we busily sti-ive. Our Father, who scanneth the ocean and land, This beautiful world of valley and hill, Seeth naught but a six days' work of his hand — Then pull away cheerily, work with a will!
