For what are we toiling, dear friend, you and I,
As we mark the swift years in the hours that fly?
When we close up the page with another year done,
Have we finished the battle, the victory won? No! still as the days in their swift flight move on,
We gird on our armor, the contest unwon;
Now hopeful, now fainting, our earth-weary souls,
We stem the wild billow that over us rolls. For what are we toiling? When senseless and dumb,
To our bed in the greensward we slowly come,
Shall this be the end of our joys or our fears,
The toil of a lifetime, the struggle of years? For what are we toiling, ’mid doubting and strife?
Is it merely to live, that we cling unto life?
As we add day to day in the path we have trod,
Are we nearer the kingdom, and nearer to God?