'Twas the voice of a sluggard;
I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon!
I must slumber again."
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed
turns his sides, and his shoulders,
and his heavy head.
"A little more sleep, and a little more slumber..."
Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number;
And when he gets up,
he sits folding his hands,
or walks about sauntering,
or trifling he stands.
I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier,
the thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher.
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;
And his money still wastes til he starves or he begs.
I made him a visit,
still hoping to find that he took better care
for improving his mind;
He told me his dreams,
talked of eating and drinking,
But he scarce reads his Bible,
and never loves thinking.
Said I then to my heart,
"Here's a lesson for me;
That man's but a picture of what I might be.
But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,
Who taught me betimes to love working
-by Isaac Watts (1674-1748)