There is no day but leads me to
A peak impossible to scale,
A task at which my hands must fail,
A sea I cannot swim or sail.
There is no night I suffer thro
But Destiny rules stern and pale:
And yet what I am meant to do
I will do, ere Death drop his veil.
And it shall be no little thing,
Tho to oblivion it fall,
For I shall strive to it thro all
That can imperil or appal.
So at each morning's trumpet-ring
I mount again, less slave and thrall,
And at the barriers gladly fling
A fortitude that scorns to crawl.