II.
As we wander down the valleys where the griefs of life assail,
We will find a few obstructions that are heaping in the road;
But with feet that never weary and with hearts that never quail,
We shall mount the glory-summits to the Summer-lands' abode.
O, my children! Don't you weary
As you go along;
Climb the path-ways to the hill-tops,
And you'll hear the Song!