ON A SWISS MOUNTAIN

By Frank Oliver Call

Lad, the mighty hills are calling,

Hills of promise gleaming bright,

And the floods of sunshine falling

Fill their deepest vales with light.

There the young dawn's golden fire

Beckons to a brighter day,

Untrod paths of youth's desire,

Heights unconquered far away.

Steep and dark and spectre-haunted

Winds the pathway to the height;

Sturdy youth with heart undaunted

Deems the toiling short and light.

Short or long, an easy Master,

Gives each tired toiler rest,

Counts not failure or disaster

If the striving be the best.

Go lad, go,‘ tis Life that calls you,

Mates of old must soothe their pain,

Mindless of whate'er befalls you

If but honour still remain.