The Grey Road

A sun-flash on his mounting wing,

    A wild note soaring high—

The lark is up, the minstrel king,

    The poet of the sky.

To thrill, to sing of Youth and Spring

    Those golden numbers flowed.

            What message then

            Has he for men

    Who tread the long grey road?

Knee-deep in grass the cattle stand,

    The river winds along,

And chants through sunny meadow land

    A low mysterious song.

Ah! sunlit vale and lover’s tale

    Youth’s day is quickly gone—

            Past current-beat

            And meadow-sweet

    The grey road stretches on!

Grim bastions frowning down below—

    And rising, tier on tier,

Sublime, and crowned with ageless snow

    The awful peaks appear.

The heights belong unto the strong

    Who scale, by crags untried,

            The great cliffs face—

            But at its base

    The grey road turns aside!

No hope in Heaven, no minstrel strain,

    No vales where summer shone

A leaden sky, a silent plain,

    The grey road stretching on.

O Christ, who trod the thorny path,

    And bore the bitter load,

            Have mercy then

            On weary men

    Who tread the long grey road!