Awake! This is the day of days
Your duties to perform.
The sun sends out its healing rays,
And makes men's hearts hrow warm.
Ah-ha! a ruffled landscape there.
'Tis trouble. Am I right?
Well, Grit your teeth, and toss your hair,
And fight a noble fight.
The battle's on, and fear and blight
Are clutching at your heart;
But right is might; so if you're right
Your troubles will depart.
And if you're wrong;-- What's done is past.
There is no use to grieve.
Pack up that sorrow and at last
Its profits you'll receive.
The sun for you will always shine,
If you allow it to.
And all your cares will fall in line
To fade away from view.
Come rain, come shine, to end of time,
Make this your purpose blest,
"I'll squarely face this life of mine,
And find, and give the best."