I have no doubt at all the Devil grins,As seas of ink I spatter. Ye gods, forgive my “literary” sins –The other kind don’t matter.
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
No man can be a failure if he thinks he’s a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.
Of Books and Scribes there are no end:This Plague–and who can doubt it?Dismays me so, I’ve sadly pennedAnother book about it.
The Wanderlust has got me… by the belly-aching fire
A half-dead thing in a stark dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold.
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars?-Then you’ve a hunch was the music meant…hunger and night and the stars.
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones who win in the lifelong race.
This is the Law of the Yukon that only the strong shall thrive That surely the weak shall perish and only the fit survive.
It’s the plugging away that will win you the day So don’t be a piker old pard! Just draw on your grit it’s so easy to quit- It’s the keeping your chin up that’s hard.
Ah! the clock is always slow it is later than you think.
The happy man is he who knows his limitations yet bows to no false gods.
It’s the plugging away that will win you the day So don’t be a piker old pard! Just draw on your grit it’s so easy to quit- It’s the keeping your chin up that’s hard.
It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.
Be sure your wisest words are those you do not say.
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones who win in the lifelong race.