A VOW

                                      I might not ever scale the mountain heights
                                      Where all the great men stand in glory now;
                                       I may not ever gain the world's delights
                                        Or win a wreath of laurel for my brow;

                                         I may not gain the victories that men
                                       Are fighting for, nor do a thing to boast of
                                        I may not get a fortune here, but then,
                                       The little that I have I'll make the most of.

                                         I'll make my little home a palace fine,
                                         My little patch of green a garden fair,
                                     And I shall know each humble plant and vine
                                     As rich men know their orchid blossoms rare.

                                        My little home may not be much to see;
                                        Its chimneys may not tower far above;
                                         But it will be a mansion great to me,
                                        For in its walls I'll keep a hoard of love.

                                        I will not pass my modest pleasures by
                                     To grasp at shadows of more splendid things,
                                        Disdaining what of joyousness is nigh
                                        Because I am denied the joy of kings.

                                        But I will laugh and sing my way along,
                                       I'll make the most of what is mine today,
                                         And if I never rise above the throng,
                                          I shall have lived a full life anyway.