THE PATH.
"Are they not all ministering spirits?"
TO H. B. S.HERE is a path, whose radiant trail
Unwinds from worlds supreme,
And up and down the noiseless feet
Pass as in Jacob's dream.
Unwinds from worlds supreme,
And up and down the noiseless feet
Pass as in Jacob's dream.
To some a golden street it seems,
To some a silver thread;
Alas! to most, a long dark bridge
Swung o'er a sea of dead.
To some a silver thread;
Alas! to most, a long dark bridge
Swung o'er a sea of dead.
To me how dear that shining path,
Adown whose glittering way,
I see the loved, the shadowy forms
Of those who've passed away.
Adown whose glittering way,
I see the loved, the shadowy forms
Of those who've passed away.