Poems (Blind)/Aspirations/III.

by Mathilde Blind

III.

Weeping, weary, did I wander Thro' the world's wide weird wood;Wet my cheeks with drops of sorrow; Wet my soles with drops of blood;

Tumbling here, and stumbling yonder, Bramble-bruised, with thorns all torn,For the path I groped despairing, For a light I sighed forlorn.

But thou took'st me, strong and tender, Oh my master, by the hand;Pity, cheer, reproach, and rousing In thy words did sweetly blend.

Tho' the way is wild as ever, Still I falter not, nor fear;Led by thee, I'll pierce the forest, See the vaulting skies appear.