by Gerald Massey
At times I had to tread
Where not a Star was found
To lead or light me, overhead;
Nor footprint on the ground.
I toiled among the sands
And stumbled with my feet;
Or crawled and climbed with knees and hands
Some future path to beat.
I had to feel the flow
Of waters whelming me:
No foothold to be touched below,
No shore around to see.
Yet, in my darkest night,
And farthest drift from land,
There dawned within the guiding light;
I felt the unseen hand.
Year after year went by,
And watchers wondered when
The diver, to their welcoming cry
Of joy, would rise again.
And still rolled on Time's wave
That whitened as it passed:
The ground is getting toward the grave
That I have reached at last.
Child after child would say--
"Ah, when his work is done,
Father will come with us and play--"
'Tis done. But Play-time's gone.
A willing slave for years,
I strove to set men free;
Mine were the Labours, Hopes, and Fears,
Be theirs the Victory.