FAIN would I climb the heights that lead to God, But my feet stumble and my steps are weak, Warm are the valleys, and the hills are bleak: Here, where I linger, flowers make soft the sod, But those far paths that martyr feet have trod Are sharp with flints, and from their farthest peak The still, small voice but faintly seems to speak, While here the drowsy lilies dream and nod. I have dreamed with them, till the night draws nigh In which I cannot climb: still high above, In the blue vastness of the awful sky, Those unscaled heights my fatal weakness prove -- Those shining heights which I must reach, or die Afar from God, unquickened by His love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SWEET LULLABY by NICHOLAS BRETON THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK by EMMA LAZARUS DISARMAMENT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SONNET: 6 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |