There is no place so lofty in its height
But there are pathways, fashioned to be trod
By human feet—who know not fear nor doubt,
But all unseeing, trusting, hunt them out,
These paths that lead to understanding God.
There is no true ambition, howe'er lost
In all the little human hurts that give
Depression to our hearts and shatter dreams,
Or wreck the moulding of mere human schemes,
But can be found again, and proved to live.
I sometimes think that all these little things
That seem unjust, the failures that we know,
Are but to mix the mortar of resolve
More firm, so mortal hurts cannot dissolve
Our purpose,—if we would but see it so.
All things that live are part of the divine.
This much I know—there is no strife,
Save in this sense of mine,
Can hide the lofty pathway I would climb,
Ever athrob with love and glad with life.
