by Henry Van Dyke
Let me but live from year to year
With forward face and unreluctant soul,
Not hastening to, nor turning from the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear
From what the future veils; but with a whole
And happy heart that pays its toll
To youth and age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down;
Though rough or smooth, the journey will be joy,
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy:
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown!
I shall grow old, but never lose life’s zest,
Because the road’s last turn will be the best.
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