XVII.
THE PILGRIM.
“Some fell by the wayside.”
Not yet, not yet, oh, pilgrim! cast aside
The dusty sandal, and the well-worn staff;
Athirst and fainting, yet must thou abide
One peril more, and strength in thy behalf
Shall once again be born—it is the last!
Thou sinkest by the lonely way-side down,
And life o'er-spent, and weary, ebbeth fast—
The lengthening shadows on thy path are thrown,
And thou wouldst rest, forgetful of life's dream,
Deluding, vain, and empty, and here die.
Not yet, not yet, there still is left one gleam
To onward lure thy too despairing eye:
Gird on thy staff, the shrine is yet unwon,
Oh, lose not then the prize, by this last work undone.
