After our labor is finished,
After the struggle is done,
A restful surcease awaits us
At the setting of life's sun.
If when our toil seemed the sorest
The heart refused to retreat
From a grand and noble purpose,
Till the vic'try was complete,
Then shall joyous crown await us,
Resplendent with jewels rare,
And a radiance of honor
The face shall benignly wear;
Not that our works were all faultless
And free from error and wrong,
But because our sincere purpose
Made us brave and true and strong.

Results of labor thus rendered,
Are safely trusted to Heaven,
For He who knows ev'ry motive,
Understands why we have striven.
If to man were given the balance
To adjust with equity,
His weakness and imperfection,
His greed and his jealousy,
Might sway the poise from adjustment,
And his judgment go astray,
Through the frailties of his nature—
Imperfect humanity

The Infallible in knowledge,
Whose true balance never swerves,
Knows every man's Gethsemane,
And the merit he deserves.
He will not ask figs of the thorns;
Of talents will not demand
A greater increase than is just
From a faithful steward's hand.
Feeling the weight of the mission
Incumbent upon our care;
Searching the heart's deep recesses
That vice may not shelter there;
Working courageously onward
The truth and right to defend;
And asking a perfect guidance,
We calmly welcome the end.