FROM some dim height of being, undescried, Shall I look back and trace the weary way By which my feet are journeying to-day, -- The toilsome path that climbs the mountain-side Or leads into the valley, sun-denied, Where, through the darkness, hapless wanderers stray, Unblessed, uncheered, ungladdened by a ray Of certitude their errant steps to guide? Shall I look back, and see the great things small; The toilsome path, God's training for my feet, The pains that never had been worth my tears? Will some great light of rapture, bathing all, Make by-gone woe seem joy; past bitter, sweet? Shall I look back and wonder at my fears? |