Classic Poem

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy weary task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.

Hurts thee now no harsh behest,
Toil or shame or sin or danger;
Trouble's storm has got to rest,
To his place the wayworn Stranger.

Want is done, and grief and pain,
Done is all thy bitter weeping;
Thou art safe from wind and rain,
In thy Mother's bosom sleeping.

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy weary task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.