Every life has been a battle
That has won a noble guerdon—
Every soul that furls its pinions
In proud Fame's serene dominions,
Wearily has borne its burden.
Through long years of toil and darkness,
Years of trial and of sorrow—
Days of longing, nigh to madness,
Nights of such deep, rayless sadness,
Hope herself scarce dared to-morrow.