Life is what we make it,

Life is what we make it,
Death we do not know;
Christ's acquaintance with him
Justifies him, though.

He would trust no stranger,
Other could betray,
Just His own endorsement
That sufficeth me.

All the other distance
He hath traversed first,
No new mile remaineth
Far as Paradise.

His sure feet preceding,
Tender Pioneer—
Base must be the cowards
Dare not venture now.