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,
"Retain 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 bread
      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.

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hans: 2; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-color: initial;">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 in this wearying game,
Still my child with a humble face
      Behold thy foes and friends the same.
And then if thou becomest a man
      A manly man who dreads not pain,
Ah, I feel I have not lived
      This transient life in complete vain!"