BEHOLD us toiling up a mountain side, Its summit we attain; Then with increasing impetus descend, And breathless reach the plain. And so the steeps of life are slowly passed, Until, its zenith won, Adown its slopes we glide — its years like trees Flit by — and life is done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ULTIMA VERITAS by WASHINGTON GLADDEN FIFTY YEARS (1863-1913) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO MR. GAY, WHO WROTE HIM A CONGRATULATORY LETTER ON FINISHING HOUSE by ALEXANDER POPE TELLING THE BEES (A COLONIAL CUSTOM) by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE A LAMENT FOR PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |