This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.

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.

Carry on! Carry on! Fight the good fight and true; Believe in you mission, greet life with a cheer.

Ah! the clock is always slow; it is later than you think.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.

This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.