Every life has been a battle
That has won a noble guerdon--
Every soul that furls its pinions
In proud Fame's serene dominions,
Wearily has borne its burden.
Through long years of toil and darkness,
Years of trial and of sorrow--
Days of longing, nigh to madness,
Nights of such deep, rayless sadness,
Hope herself scarce dared to-morrow.
Therefore bear up, O brave toiler
In the world's benighted places!
Though Truth's glory light your forehead,
Purer souls than yours have sorrowed,
Tears have flowed on angel-faces.
Therefore, bear up, O ye toilers!
Teachers of the earth's dull millions.
_Keep_ Truth's glory on each forehead,
And the way so blank and sorrowed
Shall lead on to heaven's pavilions.
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