Oh, great as she was, best of all our time,
Mighty as tender, meek as she was wise,
How can we pay our thanks to her who stood
Alone upon the peak of her dark day,
Questing the quiet worlds of brooding Love,
Then spoke the word of waking to our vales;
And those that slept in village, field, and street
Lifted to walk with her upon the heights,
To let Love's earliest rays their dreams destroy,
Healing their sickness, giving dawn for dusk?
We too can tread that spiritual track,
Can on the dawn-illumined ridges walk,
Kindling our torches at the light of Mind
To rouse the dreamers from their doubt and heal
The sorrow and the sickness and the sin,
Earth's mindless shadows fleeing still the day;
We too can claim the wonder of the morn,
The miracle of His uprising sun,
Dropping the mask for music, in that May,
Knowing an endless summer for mankind.
So let us journey, not as fainting, dull,
Nor by the wayside weary or distressed,
But in the glory of our new-found God
Loosing the burdens, bearing still the joy,
Seeing the city naught can take away;
So let us journey with no staff but Soul,
No scrip but meekness, and no coin but love,
Lighting the world we tread but will not know,
Lifting the eye turned earthward, piercing through
Earth's monstrous mist until the dawn be day,
And hiding place of all earth's lies be clean.
