midnight
Having rested a bit he worked at his chasm , Till , the hour having passed , he was seized with a spasm . He raged and he cursed , ` I bore this at first , The rheumatics were awful , but this is the worst . ' With awful rage heated , The demon defeated , In his passion used words that ca n't be repeated . Feeling shaken and queer , In spite of his fear , At the dyke he worked on until midnight drew near . But when the glass turned for the last time , he found That the head of his pick was stuck fast in the ground . ` Cease now ! ' cried St Cuthman , ` vain is your toil !