VIS ULTIMA

There is no day but leads me to A peak impossible to scale, A task at which my hands must fail, A sea I cannot swim or sail. There is no night I suffer thro But Destiny rules stern and pale: And yet what I am meant to do I will do, ere Death drop his veil.

And it shall be no little thing, Tho to oblivion it fall, For I shall strive to it thro all That can imperil or appal. So at each morning's trumpet-ring I mount again, less slave and thrall, And at the barriers gladly fling A fortitude that scorns to crawl.