Let those sore wounded with the spears of life
Crave for oblivion; those who gasp for breath
In the hot whirl of this perplexing strife
Pray God to cease from striving after d**h!
To each his heaven: but what have we to do
With rest from labour, we whose dearest thought
Is still to match our model with the true,
Whose joy in life is in achievement wrought?
God, if Thy pity lean towards man's hope,
And Thou wouldst see Thy creatures each content,
Give us no resting, but a larger scope
To strive and battle with impediment.
Give strength to fill our loftiest desire,
That we may triumph where we now aspire.