Art thou idle? Canst thou play?

Foolish soul, who sinn’d to-day!

He that loseth gold, though dross,

Tells to all he meets his loss:

What for shadows hast thou given?

Peace, and joy, and love, and heaven.

Art thou idle? Sits there now

Giddy mirth upon thy brow?

If thou hast no sighs and tears,

Well thou hadst no guilt or fears:

Tears for living mourners plead;

Nought avails the hopeless dead.

If thou still canst idle be,

Foolish soul, who died for thee?

Who forsook His throne on high,

Laid His every glory by,

Drank the dregs of wrath Divine?

Lord, was ever love like Thine!

Idle mirth, where art thou now?

Where the giddy, thoughtless brow?

Hast thou sinn’d? Lament and grieve:

Hath God died? Believe, and live:

Mirth, adieu, and laughter vain!

Laughter was not made for man.