Out of the murky valleys
By the sweat of brow and brain;
Out of the dank morasses--
On to the spreading plain:
Climbing the broken ranges--
Falling and driving through,
While the toil and tears of the countless years
Bid ye back to the task anew.
Glory and fame and honor
Perched on the distant peak--
Beckoning over land and sea
To the gaze of the men who seek.
Lifting the faltering footstep--
Bathing the tired brow,
Till out of the lanes of the sunken plains
Ye come to the golden Now.
Far spread the gleaming foot hills,
And the deep, green vales between;
Fair lift the distant coast-lines
And the water’s shifting sheen--
And weary, ye pause on the Summit
For the first victorious breath,
When a hand at your elbow beckons--
And ye know that the hand is Death.