I sometimes feel that life contains
Nothing, in all its wealth, to pay
For half the sorrows and the pains
That haunt our day.

Ambition lures us on and on,
A dangerous and a treacherous guide!
With every vict'ry that is won
Goes humbled pride!

And, still, we labor, love, and trust,
And seek to conquer as we go!
We reap at last repose in dust—
Naught else we know!

We leave the gewgaws of our power,
The hearts that hate us, and adore!
And after life's distressing hour—
We know no more!