The sun is hot, the day is long, and slow is the reward
The time is not for us to rest until we meet our Lord
‘Tis only then when we shall know the worth of what we did
Was it wood or was it gold – our works or what He bid?
Don’t worry now that none should praise, or give you what you’re due
If men applaud and earth approves, will heaven praise you too?
We’re better off, if all we do, elicits slightest praise
And through it all our Lord does teach to have a single gaze
The night soon comes, when none can work, and each will give account
Before the Judge of all the earth, where secrets are found out
So labor without weariness until your parting breath
Though not a soul should tip their cap to you in life or death
A sweet reward is held in store for those who labored on
With nothing else to buoy them up, but eye toward yonder dawn