  He cannot sweep away the mist However he may toil, Content to weary years persist It would his efforts foil. There is a place of vision clear Where earth and sky are blending, Impelling him to persevere, From height to height ascending. How good it is when man can rise Above the mist-hung valley, He must, who on his worth relies, To his own rescue rally. He murmurs not at rocks ahead But vaulting lightly o’er them, Will triumph over foemen dread Or better yet ignore them. Not seeking to the mist dispel Thus precious moments wasting, He marvels not that others fell While upward, onward, hasting. He hears the sound on ev’ry hand Of people vainly shouting, But knowing where he soon may stand Gives not a thought to doubting. He pushes on with heart athrill; Though weaker souls may taunt him, Succeed he must, succeed he will, No obstacle can daunt him. There is a place for all who climb He cannot fail to find it, The mist must veil a truth sublime For there’s the sun behind it. |
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