Or through forest, or dusty highway, lay the road,
Or the feet be bleeding and sore.
But hand in hand we see them still,
When the sun had drunk up the dew;
They were toiling steadfastly up the hill,
Ever keeping the end in view.
They scaled the crags of the mountain steep
When the noontide sun was high;
And they forded the flood of the canyon deep,
When the sun lay low in the sky.