Whatever that aim may be,
Whether it’s wealth or whether it’s fame,
It matters not to me.
Let him walk in the path of right,
And keep his aim in sight,
And work and pray in faith alway,
With his eyes on the glittering height.
Give me a man who says,
“I will do something well,
And make the fleeing days
A story of labor to tell.”
Though the aim he has be small,
It is better than none at all;
With something to do the whole year through,
He will not stumble and fall.
But satan weaves a snare
For the feet of those who stray,
With never a thought or care
Where the path may lead away.
The man who hath no aim
Not only leaves no name
When life’s done, but ten to one
He leaves a record of shame.
Give me a man whose heart
Is filled with ambition’s fire;
Who sets his mark in the start,
And keeps moving it higher and higher.
Better to die in the strife,
The hands with labor rife,
Than to glide with the stream in an idle dream
And lead a purposeless life.
Better to strive and climb
And never reach the goal,
Than to drift along with time
An aimless, worthless soul.
Ay, better to climb and fall,
Or sow, though the yield be small,
Than to throw away day after day,
And never to strive at all. —Anonymous