Feeling the way,-and all the way up hill;
But on the open summit, calm and still,
The feet of Christ are planted; and they stand
In view of all the quiet land.
Feeling the way,-and though the way is dark,
The eyelids of the morning yet shall mark
Against the East the shining of his face,
At peace upon the lighted place.
Feeling the way,-and if the way is cold,
What matter?-since upon the fields of gold
His breath is melting; and the warm winds sing
While rocking summer days for him.