Through the Years

Through the Years The days reach out before me, filled with problems to be) solved^* With possibilities as yet unknown. Each hour like a golden stair unto my mind appears, On which to mount to heights where there are shown Those beacon lights that beckon mankind onward through the years. No need have I of ermine robes to clothe me for the way, No need of priceless gems to deck my brow; The courage born of purpose my heritage must be, The strength of zeal to bridge each where and how. The hours are mine, the hours are thine, Godship our destiny. Or we may be like beastial things in mire of the earth, Content to eat and sleep the time away; The choice is thine, the choice is mine, divinity's bequest, But each in turn, in full his debt must pay, The privilege ours to upward climb, a curse the sluggard's rest. Provo, Utah Grace Ingles Frost