For Every Hill. . .

For every stone that bruised my feet,

For all the blood and sweat and grime,

For blinding storms and burning heat

My heart sings but a grateful song —

These were the things that made me strong!

For all the heartaches and the tears,

For all the anguish and the pain,

For gloomy days and fruitless years,

And for the hopes that lived in vain,

I do give thanks, for now I know

These were the things that helped me grow!

‘Tis not the softer things of life

Which stimulate man’s will to strive;

But bleak adversity and strife

Do most to keep man’s will alive,

O’er rose-strewn paths the weaklings creep,

But brave hearts dare to climb the steep.

Author Unknown