Here is the road that you must climb with me,
This road that winds between the hill and sea,
And leads to where our quiet home shall be.

Love waits us there–not proud, nor kingly clad,
Oh! just a little joyous country lad,
With tender wiles to make our tired hearts glad.

No barbèd arrow doth he hold for us–
But outstretched hands, divine and generous.
Would all sad wayfarers were welcomed thus!

The world hath tortured–yet immense our gain
To find enduring peace around us twain,
I, weary of my wanderings, you of your disdain.