Oh hard are the tasks life gives us all
From the hour of birth to death.
And though in our cup sweets mix with gall,
And our sorrows are soothed by faith,
Yet the happiest life seems sometimes gray
And the brightest sun looks wan,
And three little words are all we can say--
    'I'll carry on!'

You wake from a beautiful dream some morn,
A dream of pleasure and youth--
And you find yourself in a world forlorn
Where pain is the only truth.
Or you find that love with Fate has fled,
And you are alone in the dawn:
And you say to the pitiless days ahead--
    'I'll carry on!'

You pride yourself on your vigour and health,
And the power to do your bit:
But the pilfering years creep in by stealth,
And lo! you are found unfit.
But you must not give up the game, my friend,
Or cry that all hope is gone;
But call on God and say--'To the end
    I'll carry on!'

And after the beautiful end comes near,
And you stand so close to the gate
You can dimly see, and faintly hear
The glories for which you wait.
You may bring a smile to the angels' eyes
If you say as the veil is drawn,
And you see work waiting in Paradise--
    'I'll carry on!'

Poems of affection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1920.

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