Duty's Path

Out from the harbour of youth's bay          There leads the path of pleasure;     With eager steps we walk that way          To brim joy's largest measure.     But when with morn's departing beam          Goes youth's last precious minute,     We sigh "'Twas but a fevered dream -          There's nothing in it."     Then on our vision dawns afar          The goal of glory, gleaming     Like some great radiant solar star,          And sets us longing, dreaming.     Forgetting all things left behind,          We strain each nerve to win it,     But when 'tis ours -alas! we find          There's nothing in it.     We turn our sad, reluctant gaze          Upon the path of duty;     Its barren, uninviting ways          Are void of bloom and beauty.     Yet in that road, though dark and cold,          It seems as we begin it,     As we press on -lo! we behold          There's Heaven in it.