Duty

Duty’s Path

Out from the harbor 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.

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox