The Lamp of Life
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lways we are following a light,Always the light recedes; with groping handsWe stretch toward this glory, while the landsWe journey through are hidden from our sightDim and mysterious, folded deep in night,We care not, all our utmost need demandsIs but the light, the light! So still it standsSurely our own if we exert our might.Fool! Never can'st thou grasp this fleeting gleam,Its glowing flame would die if it were caught,Its value is that it doth always seemBut just a little farther on. Distraught,But lighted ever onward, we are broughtUpon our way unknowing, in a dream.
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