VIS ULTIMA

By Cale Young Rice

There is no day but leads me to

A peak impossible to scale,

A task at which my hands must fail,

A sea I cannot swim or sail.

There is no night I suffer thro

But Destiny rules stern and pale:

And yet what I am meant to do

I will do, ere Death drop his veil.

And it shall be no little thing,

Tho to oblivion it fall,

For I shall strive to it thro all

That can imperil or appal.

So at each morning's trumpet-ring

I mount again, less slave and thrall,

And at the barriers gladly fling

A fortitude that scorns to crawl.