For the cart so hard to draw is near its journey's end and drags over stony ground. All round the clock it labours up the broken steps, shattered and worn. Not many times can the sun rise and behold it still upon its weary road.

For the cart so hard to draw is near its journey's end and drags over stony ground. It labours up the broken steps, shattered and worn. Not many times can the sun rise and behold it still upon its weary road.
