Volume 4 — "DEO OPT. MAX"
Reading edition
Art thou drowsy, dull, indifferent, Folder of the hands, Dreaming o'er the silent falling Of life's measured sands? Living without aim or motion, Save thyself to please, Careless as the beasts that perish, Sitting at thine ease? Not for thee the mighty message Rings in startling tone; Vainly would its peeling accents Strike through hearts of stone. Sounding o'er the clash and clatter Of this earth's vain din, Unto you, that live in earnest, And that work to win, Thus it speaks: "Aspirants, toilers For some lofty gain, See ye spend not strength and spirits, Hope and faith, in vain! "All that soars past self is noble— Every upward aim— Make it nobler yet—the noblest! And immortal fame! "Let not good or great content ye— Higher and still higher, Only for the best, the greatest, Labor and aspire! "Spurning all that's partial, doubtful, All your vigor bend (Worthiest aim and worthiest effort) To a perfect end! "Thus have all true saints before ye, All true heroes striven, Reaching for the best, the highest, Beyond earth to heaven."
{641}