“The world owes me a living,” p’r’aps you’ve heard a body say,

“It is best to take life easy—’tis, in fact, the only way.”

So with loiterers and sluggards he in base contentment lies,

While the man who works and struggles is the one who wins the prize.

Some grope always in the valley—really can they ever stop

To consider what enchantment hovers round the mountain top?

But the man who clambers upward, step by step the weary rise,

Obtains vistas only dreamed of—he’s the one who wins the prize!

Some wait ever for the morrow—let the present hours slip by:

“So little can be done to-day, what’s the use to try?”

Notice, he who grasps the moments, lad, every one that flies,

Is the man in life’s sharp contest who obtains the victor’s prize.