THE stars are gone out spark by spark; A cock crows; up the cloudy lane, A cart toils creaking through the dark: Lord, in Thy sight all roads are plain, Or run they up or down, Sheep-tracks, highways to town, Or even that little one, Beneath the hedge, where seldom falls the sun. If it were light, I would go west; I would go east across the land; But it is dark; I needs must rest Till morn breaks forth on every hand: Lord, choose for me, The road that runs to Thee. |