Strong are our steeds and can carry two!”
But we find the road, so smooth at morning,
Rugged at night ’mid the lonely hills;
And all too late we recall the warning
Weary at last of the pace that kills....
The gallop of life was just beginning;
Strength we wasted in efforts vain;
And now, when the prizes are worth the winning,
We’ve scarcely the spirit to ride again!
The spirit, forsooth! ’Tis our strength has failed us,