SLOW moves the pageant of a climbing race; Their footsteps drag far, far below the height, And, unprevailing by their utmost might, Seem faltering downward from each hard won place. No strange, swift-sprung exception we; we trace A devious way thro' dim, uncertain light, -- Our hope, through the long vistaed years, a sight Of that our Captain's soul sees face to face. Who, faithless, faltering that the road is steep, Now raiseth up his drear insistent cry? Who stoppeth here to spend a while in sleep Or curseth that the storm obscures the sky? Heed not the darkness round you, dull and deep; The clouds grow thickest when the summit 's nigh. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CROTALUS by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE WORLD: A CHILD'S SONG by WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 101. THE ONE HOPE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI RECOLLECTIONS by BERNARD BARTON BEYOND THE ATOM by JANICE BLANCHARD A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 6 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE COY, SELECTION by WILLIAM BROOME |