The greatest task doth fast approach,
Prepared to rain its great reproach.
And all who hazard thru its path,
Feign their strength to meet its wrath.
We oft assuage our conscience mean,
With careful rage we stroke it clean.
The demons arch their back of thorns,
As felinae all others scorns.
So battle plods into the braegen,
And on it prods old fears to waken.
Waken, but, too soon while sleeping,
The demons rise, all saneness reaping.
Now morning grasps its being new,
No beauty found within its dew.
For spheres of silver that once shone,
Now lift aloft a heavy tone.
The beads that clothed the earth in beauty,
Now press the mind, tribute to duty.
The drops that know the past as thankless,
Are monument to dwelling anxious.
A glance ahead, time doth remain!
The siren call begins to wane.
Apathy its cushions branding,
All enthrallment now commanding.
Incumbancies doth evanesce,
As body, soul crave common rest.
And sublunary lusts’ elation,
Takes a hold in domination.
But then the words of others spoken,
Serve to render languor broken.
Refreshing anew to faculty,
Our duty’s true utility.
And zeal again doth raise its head,
The aspiration not left dead.
Our calling now, though momentary,
Will serve the goal auxiliary.
Thanks be for duty, it’s eye restored,
That life’s true end be not ignored.
And purpose summed as glory given,
That good works be not vainly striven.
So must we search our recondite soul,
Insuring aims be utmost whole.
For tempting tis the want to amble,
To a fray on which to gamble.
The pen is mighty o’er the sword,
Yet scorned of those who cherish war.
Let war come only when demand,
Be stout so to oblige the hand.
(“And that relates?” they all might ask,
“Art thou much prone to wag the flask?”)
They all will scorn who know not truth.
Twas mere a fable on the tooth.
So the moral of the extract be,
Consider well that thou dost see:
Duty excludes an insensible bask,
Contented diligence is the greatest task.