By earth hemmed in, by earth oppressed,

’Tis hard to labor,—hard to pray;

And of the week, for prayer and rest,

We’ve but one Sabbath day.

But purer spirits walk above,

Who worship alway; who are blest

With an upspringing might of love

That makes all labor, rest.

Father, while here, we would arise

In spirit to that realm; and there

Be every act a sacrifice,

And every thought a prayer!