And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.
Robert W. ServiceThis is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.
Robert W. ServiceThe lonely sunsets flare forlorn Down valleys dreadly desolate; The lonely mountains soar in scorn As still as death, as stern as fate.
Robert W. Service