"Say not the struggle nought availeth,
The labor and the wounds are vain;
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight come, comes in the light,
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright."
The picture of the horse struggling, but not giving up in the deep snow captured the essence of this post for me. As the poet declares, often our struggles seem in vain, but we never know when our last attempt may be the one that possess the victory.
Poem by Arthur Hugh Clough - photo by Rian Houston