Spend and be spent would we,
While lasteth life’s brief day;
No turning back in coward fear,
No lingering by the way.
Onward we press in haste,
Upward our journey still;
Ours is the path the Master trod,
Through good report and ill.
The way may rougher grow,
The weariness increase;
We gird our loins and hasten on,
The end, the end is peace.