I hold that a man should strive to the uttermost for his life's set prize.
Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
Be sure that God Ne'er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart.
How good is life, the mere living!
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.