The Man of Letters
ON bravely through the sunshine and the showers,
Time hath his work to do, and we have ours.
SO nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man;
When Duty whispers low ‘Thou must,’
The youth replies, ‘I can.’
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ON bravely through the sunshine and the showers,
Time hath his work to do, and we have ours.
SO nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man;
When Duty whispers low ‘Thou must,’
The youth replies, ‘I can.’