It lies before him—valley of decision—
Fateful between his wandering feet and home;
He must go down, past lauding, through derision,
Nor can he tarry when his hour is come.
Strait is the gate, narrow the way assigned him,
No room upon its path for more than one;
So he who goes leaves kin and friend behind him,
He cannot walk there till he walks alone.
And in its dark if he shall turn regretting
The light from comrades' eyes that on him shone,
Will he go back to them again, forgetting—
Reaping the harvest which the past has sown?
He who has gathered tares and felt surround him
The abysmal shadows when the earth lights die,
Will bide the darkness till a light break round him,
That never was on earth or sea or sky!
Then shall he rise again above the valley,
And be companioned as he was before;
And to him all the hosts of heaven shall rally,
That he may bear and spread this light the more.
For this his joy—that shared, the light shall brighten,
Scattered abroad can nevermore grow dim,
Lighting the others, him shall better lighten,
Saving his people shall have rescued him.
