Duty

Thorny the ways that lead to Duty's shrine, Thro' grim ravines, o'er iron crags they pass, And sandy waste with never a blade of grass, And densest forests where no sun can shine. But he who lays unmurmuring at her feet All earthly joys that make life sweet to live, And says: 'I give thee all I have to give,' Shall find the memory of good deeds more sweet Than years of useless pleasure; and for him Shall those stern eyes with sudden love grow dim, And she shall stoop, all mercy, from her throne, And clasp him in her arms, and say: 'Well done!'