Yes, even on earth there’s a day When labor and toil must cease, The world at its birth received the mandate Of the seventh day of rest. When the sweet-toned Sabbath bells Break o’er the balmy air, Then sing⁠—sing⁠—sing That the morning stars may hear.

For the frugal table spread, For the crust and the humble bed, When He to whom all earth belongs Had not where to lay His head, Then toil for thy daily bread, Let thy heart like thy hands be clean, And rub⁠—rub⁠—rub Till thy bones all ache, I ween.