For a Certain Youngster

Never fear, my lad, the dark winter’s rages; Never the lightning, nor the blistering sun; Fear not the hideous, side racking stages Making the marathon that we must run. See that you waste no whining words upon The tiresome task of puzzling out the pages Filling Life’s textbook. We have but begun Struggles that tortured all the elder ages.

Were there no power, stronger than the forces Beating our weapons down, numbing the brain, We might go then without undue remorses To the hog level, forgetting our pain. Oh, the proud power bidding us rebel, Making from failure all we know of Hell!