MAN LABORS FOR GLORY.
Man labors for glory! The poor and the rich,
The proud and the humble in name,
Reach their hands out to grasp the sharp sickle with which
They would reap the rich harvest of fame.
Alas! of the many, how many remain
To toil on through sorrows and fears!
They sow their hearts deep with a rich golden grain,
But reap disappointment and tears.
The proud and the humble in name,
Reach their hands out to grasp the sharp sickle with which
They would reap the rich harvest of fame.
Alas! of the many, how many remain
To toil on through sorrows and fears!
They sow their hearts deep with a rich golden grain,
But reap disappointment and tears.
Man labors for glory I The statesman bows low
To the shrine that ambition hath raised,
Till his heart is as hard as the cold, frozen snow,
Or the idol on which he hath gazed.
He sees, passing o'er him, the bright laurel crown
That for years he hath struggled to clasp;
It falls on a far humbler brow that his own,
And forever escapes from his grasp.
To the shrine that ambition hath raised,
Till his heart is as hard as the cold, frozen snow,
Or the idol on which he hath gazed.
He sees, passing o'er him, the bright laurel crown
That for years he hath struggled to clasp;
It falls on a far humbler brow that his own,
And forever escapes from his grasp.
Man labors for glory! The soldier with joy
Hears the sound of the trumpet afar,
And follows Fame's steps, as the glad sailor-boy
Eyes the beams of the bright morning star.
Hears the sound of the trumpet afar,
And follows Fame's steps, as the glad sailor-boy
Eyes the beams of the bright morning star.
