Calm in well-deserving,
Happy at the heart,
Duty does his part
Steadfast and unswerving.

How should it affect him
If some mocking-birds
Clamour at his words,
Or the world neglect him?

Conscience is the treasure
Lock'd within his breast,--
What were all the rest
To that inner pleasure?

Brother, sunk in sorrow,
Find thy balm within,
To-day a comfort win
Before the heavenly Morrow.

Feed upon this blessing
Though thy path be rough,
Let it be enough
Such a grace possessing:

And when wrongs come near thee
Crowding to the fight,
Let the Sense of Right
Make thee strong and cheer thee!