Poems (Denver)/Man labors for Glory
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.
And though he may flash like a meteor by,
Unscathed 'mid a tempest of wrath,
The red lightning gleams through the dark mid- night sky,
And leaves not a trace of its path.
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.
And though he may flash like a meteor by,
Unscathed 'mid a tempest of wrath,
The red lightning gleams through the dark mid- night sky,
And leaves not a trace of its path.
Man labors for glory! The student's pale light
Burns feebly at midnight's lone hour;
Yet what does it matter! is not his heart bright
With a high intellectual power?
Rich treasures flow forth from the stores of his mind,
And flash like the stars in the sky;
But, ah! they are jewels that few care to find,
Though thick in their pathway they lie.
Burns feebly at midnight's lone hour;
Yet what does it matter! is not his heart bright
With a high intellectual power?
Rich treasures flow forth from the stores of his mind,
And flash like the stars in the sky;
But, ah! they are jewels that few care to find,
Though thick in their pathway they lie.
Man labors for glory, and labors in vain!
Yet toil on, young dreamer! for though
Thy lofty aspirings may all end in pain,
A splendor may still round thee glow;
The breath of rich incense that swells from thy cup
May one weary spirit beguile
From treasuring life's bitter memories up,
Or teach to forget with a smile.
Yet toil on, young dreamer! for though
Thy lofty aspirings may all end in pain,
A splendor may still round thee glow;
The breath of rich incense that swells from thy cup
May one weary spirit beguile
From treasuring life's bitter memories up,
Or teach to forget with a smile.