There are who fear the loosing of the knot
That ties our labouring brother to the oar.
Release him, say they, and he will not soar;
Full- fed and idle, he will fall and rot.
Give him his share — let sharp need scourge him not —
Let cruel spur of hunger prick no more,
But all have bounty of the rich world's store —
And wreck and ruin is our certain lot!

But ease the toil- worn arm, the anxious brain,
And Reason, set more firmly on her throne,
Should guide more truly the enfranchised will.
Though want depart, divine desires remain;
Man, born of God, lives not by bread alone,
And realms of Knowledge are to conquer still.