Toil On, My Boy

Keep toiling up the hill my son,

     There’s room enough on top;

Think not your journey is nigh done,

     And that you soon must stop.

Ah, no; keep toiling on my boy,

     There’s souls on every side;

Who push their way like you to-day,

     With long and rapid stride.

There’s blessings at the top my son,

     Which laggards never see;

So push ahead, you will have won,

     A mighty victory.

Your sires have cleared the thorny path,

     Gird on your armor now;

Cease not pursuit, but grasp the fruit,

     That decks the topmost bough.

  Sep. 19, ‘91

Pub. in “Boston

Daily Standard”,

   March 30,

      1895