A VOW

I might not ever scale the mountain heights

Where all the great men stand in glory now;

I may not ever gain the world's delights

Or win a wreath of laurel for my brow;

I may not gain the victories that men

Are fighting for, nor do a thing to boast of;

I may not get a fortune here, but then,

The little that I have I'll make the most of.

I'll make my little home a palace fine,

My little patch of green a garden fair,

And I shall know each humble plant and vine

As rich men know their orchid blossoms rare.

My little home may not be much to see;

Its chimneys may not tower far above;

But it will be a mansion great to me,

For in its walls I'll keep a hoard of love.

I will not pass my modest pleasures by

To grasp at shadows of more splendid things,

Disdaining what of joyousness is nigh

Because I am denied the joy of kings.

But I will laugh and sing my way along,

I'll make the most of what is mine to-day,

And if I never rise above the throng,

I shall have lived a full life anyway.