 | The Way of the Winepress |  |
FAINT, YET PURSUING.
WEARY of strife without end for the gainingThat which no man upon earth ever won,
Weary of hoping, where hope there is none,
Worn with unfruitful aspiring, abstaining,
Jaded with travail and toil unattaining,
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Fain would we slumber awhile in the sun,
Cease for a space from our stress and our straining.
Yet that strange somewhat in us, that immortal
Is, will not suffer us rest and be still;
Nay, in us stirring, for ever renewing,
Onward it drives us and up, at its will:
Still must we follow, at Heaven's shut portal
Beating and fluttering, faint, yet pursuing.
| The Way of the Winepress | |