I shall succeed, although Fate rules to-day,
And heaps up thorns and thistles in my way.
I bear the yoke and tread them with a smile,
For I am sure it is but for awhile.

Each day that dawns I strive to break the chain,
Although to-day it seems so massive strong;
Although it seems my labors are in vain,
I'll strive and wait, it matters not how long.

For like the drip that falls upon the millstone,
So soft it strikes at first it seems but play;
But drip on drip a tiny dent will come—
We turn at length and find it washed away.

Thus will I beat Fate's chains, though strokes be feeble,
To hasty men it all may seem but play.
The hand of man though soft as drops is able,
To wear at length the hardest stone away.