“After the toil,” when the morning breaks

On the bloom-crowned hills of the heavenly land;

“After the toil,” when each slumberer wakes,

’Neath the glorified touch of the Infinite Hand.

2 “After the toil,” when the dim earth sinks,

Like a worn-out pebble in eternity’s sea;

“After the toil,” when each thirsty soul drinks

Of the River that flows through Immensity.

3 “After the toil,” O shadowing cloud

Of time o’er the face of the Infinite;

When thou shalt be dropped like a worm-eaten shroud,

What a morning will dawn on us after the night!

4 “After the toil,” and the cross that we bear

Way-worn and weary through life’s creeping years;

Angels will smile on the crown we shall wear,

And the songs of salvation will follow our tears.

5 “After the toil,” O! thou who art faint,

Rise from the shadows that darken thy way—

Rise while thy faith’s raptured pencil shall paint

All its glorified dream of the Infinite Day.