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Title: The Sluggard
Author: Isaac Watts [
More Titles by Watts]
'Tis the voice of the 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 past by his garden, and saw the wild bryar
The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher:
The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;
And his money still wasts, still he starves, or he begs.
I made him a visit, still hoping to find
He had took better care for improving his mind:
He told me his dreams, talk'd 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 and reading!
[The end]
Isaac Watts's poem: Sluggard
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