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The path was rough, but the hedges' bloom
Sent forth a sweet and a rare perfume.
If the thorns wounded your naked feet,
The birds' songs were in your ear full sweet.
Did you close your eyes in black despair,
You oped on the hills—and God was there.
Did you weep with fear when the night came on,
The face of Hope in the darkness shone.
‘O stay,’ I cried, ‘for a moment stay—
Till I pluck from the hedge a wild-rose spray.
Hark, the sweet birds! For a moment stay—
No song I hear on the world's highway,
But cries of women and men alway.’

My other self thus replied to me:
‘Then the hill of Fame you will never see,
Nor hear the songs so wondrous there’—
And I passed the road that I deemed so fair.
Suspicion, envy, and jealousy,
I oft in my neighbours' eyes could see.
Alas! in my heart the serpent grew—
I smiled lest others should see it too.
A woman staggered, and falling cried
As I paused a moment by her side:
‘Too late, too late! I am lost for aye,
I have passed God's road on the great highway
I have missed the treasure that lies before,