I will go back, and find the path I lost,
I will seek patiently wherein I strayed;
I must go back; for all these flowery ways
End but in desolation, and the maze
Of trackless forest where the blind bat flies.
Footsore and weary, tears of hope betrayed
Are in my eyes.
Wash thou my feet, O Love! and take away
The dust of roads that never led to Thee,
The moldering ashes of false altar fires,
Of stubborn mortal beliefs, vagrant desires,
Mire of that broad highway where I have been—
Only my feet, O Love! that I may be
Every whit clean.
Give me the raiment of Thy righteousness;
The rags that never clothed are snatched away,
Caught on the winds of heaven, and I am free
To wear the garment of humility—
The truth that man has nothing of his own,
But, clad in mirrored loveliness alway,
Walks not alone.
