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by Peter Burn

Work to-day, wait not to-morrow!
To the golden now attend;
Future joy and future sorrow
On the present hour depend:
Disappointment waits the sluggard,
Coming night reproves our play,
Let us ever upward, onward,
Let us work while it is day.

Much of life is lost in fretting,
We the future clothe with care:
Better far, the past forgetting,
We moved on to brave and dare;
Seasons gone, are gone for ever,
View them not with fond regret;
Fill the present with endeavour,
Great results may bless us yet.

Courage! courage! fainting brother,
Fortune, honour may be won!
Faith shall aid us in our labour—
Hear her voice, "It shall be done!"
Things which tell us of obstruction,
Shall depart before our tread;
If we will them to destruction,
They shall be to us as dead.

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