That comes at the end of the hunger and cold;

That comes at the end of the awful thirst;

That comes through the pain and torture accurst

Of limbs that are racked and minds o’erthrown,

The gold lies there and is all our own,

Be we mighty or meek,

If we do but seek.

For the hunger is sweet and the cold is fair

To the man whose riches are past compare;

And the o’erthrown mind is as good as sane,