Behold the sight: a golden light
is shining over yonder,
while here I stand in darkened land;
directionless, I wander.

The golden light, though pure and bright
illumines not my trail
I seek it still, ’round rock and rill
but bound, I fear, to fail.

For others yon, the light shines on
and shows the pathway certain.
Their way seems plain, a smooth terrain
concealed by no dark curtain.

In younger days, with youthful gaze
my path seemed thus apparent:
a tranquil road toward warm abode
with ne’er a turning errant.

And while I see ’twas not for me
to walk the pathway steady,
I fathomed not a road so fraught;
for dark I was not ready.

Blindly then, through moor and fen
I’ve trudged and trekked, dejected,
(and though I know it isn’t so)
my pleas for aid rejected.

But if for those the light yet glows
and shows the path for treading,
perhaps I yet, in days unmet,
may gain again my heading.

So hope I keep, through shadows deep,
that soon the light will find me,
that I may stay in brighter way
and leave the dark behind me.