FAIN would I climb the heights that lead to God, But my feet stumble and my steps are weak, Warm are the valleys, and the hills are bleak: Here, where I linger, flowers make soft the sod, But those far paths that martyr feet have trod Are sharp with flints, and from their farthest peak The still, small voice but faintly seems to speak, While here the drowsy lilies dream and nod. I have dreamed with them, till the night draws nigh In which I cannot climb: still high above, In the blue vastness of the awful sky, Those unscaled heights my fatal weakness prove -- Those shining heights which I must reach, or die Afar from God, unquickened by His love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TALL NETTLES by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. O THOU WHOSE FORM by EDWARD CARPENTER THE PERNICKETY WIFE by J. KNOX CHRISTIE LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SNOW PATTERN by EMILY R. DENTON OLTON POOLS (TO G. C. G.) by JOHN DRINKWATER RECIPROCITY by JOHN DRINKWATER LINES PRINTED UNDER THE ENGRAVED PORTRAIT OF MILTON by JOHN DRYDEN |