Through cloudy gloom, through pale moonlight,
Two men still press along.
Not hiding, as the wolf and hind,
From blinding snow and bitter wind
Nor, like the Indian, crouching low
Above a brush-fire's feeble glow
But, vigorous and strong,
Hasting their bidden task to close
Whate'er obstructions interpose
And parrying Fortune's adverse blows