by Edgar Guest
There is in life this golden chance
for every valiant soul,
the un-penned poem or romance—
the undiscovered goal.
Beyond the sum of all we know
and all that man has done,
life holds a never-ending row
of glories to be won.
Still waits the canvas for the paint,
the paper for the pen;
still searches Faith to find a saint
among the ranks of men.
Though man, it seems, has traveled far
along achievement’s way,
his conquests and his triumphs are
but splendors for a day.
In all that is of paint and print,
and marvels which we see,
life gives us but the faintest hint
of splendors yet to be.
On still untraveled roads of fame
the feet of men shall climb,
far nobler goals than ours to claim
from the rich lap of time.
Unreckoned genius yet unborn
undreamed-of deeds shall do.
Night ends the old; with every morn
life bids us start the new.
From the Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest
© 1934 by the Reilly & Lee Company