  Rutted by wheels and scarred by hoofs And by rude footsteps trod, The old road winds through glimmering woods Unto the house of God. How many feet, assembling here From each diverse abode, Led by how many different aims, Have walked this shadowy road! How many sounds of woe and mirth Have thrilled these green woods dim— The funeral’s slow and solemn tramp, The wedding’s joyous hymn. Full oft, amid the gloom and glow Through which the highway bends, I watch the meeting streams of life, Whose mingled current tends Toward where, beyond the rock-strewn hill, Against the dusky pines That rise above the churchyard graves, The white spire soars and shines. Here pass bowed men, with blanching locks, World-weary, faint, and old, Mourning the ways of reckless youths Far-wandering from the fold. There totter women, frail and meek, Of dim but gentle eyes, Whom heaven’s love has made most kind, Earth’s hardships made most wise. Apart, two lovers walk together, With words and glances fond, So happy now they scarce can feel The need of bliss beyond. Gaunt-limbed, his shoulders stooped with toil, His forehead seamed with care, Adown the road the farm hand stalks With awed and awkward air. The sermon glimmers in his mind, Its truths half understood, And yet from prayer and hymn he gains A shadowy dream of good That sanctifies the offering His bare life daily makes— His tender love for wife and child, And toil borne for their sakes. Thus through the bleakness and the bloom, O’er snows and freshening grass, Devout, profane, grief-worn or gay, The thronged church-goers pass, Till, one by one, they each and all, Their earthly journeyings o’er, Move silent down that well-known road Which they shall walk no more. |
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