No help is given, no safe abiding-place,
No idling in the pathway hard and slow:
I must go forward, or must backward go!
I will go up then, though the limbs may tire,
And though the path be doubtful and unseen;
Better with the last effort to expire
Than lose the toil and struggle that have been,
And have the morning strength, the upward strain,
The distance conquered, in the end made vain.
Ah, blessed law! for rest is tempting sweet,