Life’s a Battle, full of stress,
Full of Change,
Struggle, Combat, Weariness,
Circling range—
Be limbs and heart sore heavy, yet
Foe on foe is set.
Give me fingers for the Fight
Keen and strong;
Give a Mind that swerves no mite
’Mid the Throng;
Beget me Valour, stiffly-grown,
Hewn to stand alone.
Grant such Virtue so to be
So to dare,
That tho’ all may faint or flee
—Howsoe’er
The Fight may turn—I yet shall stand
Firm in Eye and Hand.
Let some Purpose thro’ my tears
Gleam and glow,
Ah! let not the ruining Years,
Full of woe,
Engulf then in their dim embrace
That high spectral Grace.
Yet, all Boon of boons above,
This I crave,
Let a tender ample Love
My Spirit save
Forth from the harsh ungentle chains
Fight so oft attains.