If your soul climbing towards the peak outstrips
My feebler spirit that so vainly toils
To follow where your feet have trod, and slips
And stumbles, and with lagging paces foils
Your aspirations; if o'er chasm and crag
My spirit stays your eager spirit's speed,
Cut you the cord that binds us ere it drag,
And cast me off, and go your way, nor heed
Though I should perish on the barren slope;
And turn not, even though my forsaken cry
Should follow you when in my clutch the rope
Slackens: far better is it one should die
Than neither scale the peak. If you attain
The summit and look over the promised land,
It is enough, I have not toiled in vain.

The life-line strains — my soul is in your hand!