To His Son

He was so proud of his growing son

Climbing the stairs of life with grit,

And by thrashing the trammels of onerous run

Moving ahead through cold and heat.

“Dearest son, my valorous sword”,

Stated the ardent heart of Dad,

“Remember for aye my arduous words

To live a life with risen head.

For life is a strenuous boundless test,

The one where lasts is eternal gold;

And with a single triumph, a sole conquest,

A thousand masteries remain untold.

So stroll like brave and earn thy breads

With a colossal breast to learn and teach,

And weave thy name with golden threads

Where no hearts dare to plod nor reach.

But never follow a vicious mood,

Nor allow thyself in an odious crime;

Nay, pull someone for thy own good

In a stygian ditch which is hard to climb.

And never do whine for things thy lack,

Nor compare thy luck with the blooming rest;

But drive ahead in thy own track,

For thou art in thy own way best.

And keep thy foes greater than friends

To live like living a conscious life,

For only then with thy own hands,

Thou shalt learn to cease thy strife.

And believe for aye and hark thy heart,

But never keeping thy head in dark;

And never be vain of glories nor art,

But be modest and cherish thy work.

And finally in the ending phase

If you succeed this wearying game,

Still my child with a humble face

Behold thy foes and friends the same.

And then if thou becom’st a man,

A manly man who dread not pain;

Ah! I feel I have not lived

This transient life in complete vain!”