Classic Poem

It is a universal law
That whatso'er the thing
To which our aspirations soar,
The same to us will cling.

And if it be for selfish gain
Or sensuous thing we live,
It will to us, whate'er our plane,
A sordid coarseness give.

But if there be a trace of gold
In our poor mortal clay,
'Twill in life's panning gleams unfold
That will not wash away.

E'en from the deepest, darkest mine
Where is nor wind nor wing,
A Godsome deed will rise and shine
To awe the proudest king.

So those who think their fortune “Fate”
This truth should early know:
That be it soon, or be it late,
God pays us as we go.