The Way Of It Poem by Henry Grantland Rice

'THERE are roads that lead through valleys where the
grass is soft and green ;
There are lanes that lead through morning where the
friendly maples lean;
But for those who face the battle where the far height
holds its thrill

The only goal worth finding
Where the rock-filled road is winding,
Where the heavy burden's binding,
Is the goal upon a hill.

We may think of life as something that is built up from
a dream;
We may hear old songs that call us where the shafts of
morning stream;
But the storms beyond are waiting for the raw, un-
conquered will,

And though hearts and hopes are breaking
As we come to bitter waking,
Yet the only road worth taking
Is the road that leads uphill.