Silent, like men in solemn haste,

Girded wayfarers of the waste,

We press along the narrow road

That leads to life, to bliss, to God.

2 We fling aside the weight and sin,

Resolved the victory to win;

We know the peril, but our eyes

Rest on the splendor of the prize.

3 No idling now, no wasteful sleep;

We trim our lamps, our vigils keep;

No shrinking from the desperate fight,

No thought of yielding or of flight;

4 No love of present gain nor ease,

No seeking man nor self to please.—

With the brave heart and steady eye,

We onward march to victory.

5 Night is far spent, and morn is near—

Morn of the cloudless and the clear;

’Tis but a little and we come

To our reward, our crown, our home.

6 Another year—it may be less—

And we have crossed the wilderness,

Finished the toil, the rest begun,

The battle fought, the triumph won.