Classic Poem

What would we do in this world of ours
—Were it not for the dreams ahead?
For thorns are mixed with the blooming flowers
—No matter which path we tread.

And each of us has his golden goal,
—Stretching far into the years;
And ever he climbs with a hopeful soul,
—With alternate smiles and tears.

That dream ahead is what holds him up
—Through the storms of a ceaseless fight;
When his lips are pressed to the wormwood's cup
—And clouds shut out the light.

To some it's a dream of high estate;
—To some it's a dream of wealth;
To some it's a dream of a truce with Fate
—In a constant search for health.

To some it's a dream of home and wife;
—To some it's a crown above;
The dreams ahead are what make each life—
—The dreams—and faith—and love!

What would we do in this world of ours
—Were it not for the dreams ahead?
For thorns are mixed with the blooming flowers
—No matter which path we tread.

And each of us has his golden goal,
—Stretching far into the years;
And ever he climbs with a hopeful soul,
—With alternate smiles and tears.

That dream ahead is what holds him up
—Through the storms of a ceaseless fight;
When his lips are pressed to the wormwood's cup
—And clouds shut out the light.

To some it's a dream of high estate;
—To some it's a dream of wealth;
To some it's a dream of a truce with Fate
—In a constant search for health.

To some it's a dream of home and wife;
—To some it's a crown above;
The dreams ahead are what make each life—
—The dreams—and faith—and love!