1. The very thing you dread at first,
O monk, nay, fugitive from the throng,

2. Is tedium which has the knack
Of sapping your strength, feigning you are lazy,

3. And makes your cosy place seem frightening,
So you may slacken the reins and depart,

4. Roaming like a vagrant, undermining
Cloisters, so you may be hunted down and slain,

5. Between the blade of dire despair,
Or the stab of procrastination’s dagger.

6. The cure is handiwork, praying,
Reciting the Gospels of the Most High, devout.