Streams tear the Hills; the Sea invades the Sand;
All Water wages endless War on Land.

Though well you Row, the River, ever flowing,
Will bear you back unless you Keep On Rowing.

D OWN the Stream he poled the Raft;
All the little Fishes laughed.

T HE Day is drear with Rain? Remember, then,
The Parched-up Spring that shall be full again.

W HEN you have dipped your Cup, remembering
That other Trailsmen thirst, Respect the Spring.