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Gerald Massey

Labor Song.

H! little they know of true happiness, they whom satiety fills, Who, flung on the rich breast of luxury, eat of the rankness that kills.

Ah! little they know of the blessedness toil-purchased slumber enjoys Who, stretched on the hard rock of indolence, taste of the sleep that destroys; Nothing to hope for, or labor for; nothing to sigh for, or gain; Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like, bosom and brain; Nothing to break life's monotony, rippling it o'er with its breath; He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his race, Who nerveth his arm for life's combat, and looks the strong world in the face.

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