Part 4

I wait the summons; gladly go Against the rain; They will be seated row on row Here once again: And in that brave, loved company What song and laughter there will be, When I resume my minstrelsy!

THE LONELY ROAD

O will you take the lonely road, The upward road, Among the many stars? Its pavement is by Pain bestowed, Your feet shall find the scars! Your feet shall know the scars, my friend: It is a path without a bend.

It leadeth not by pastures green, Through meadows green, Nor near the little hills; Gaunt granite cliffs it runs between, Dark Fear that chaos fills With cloud and storm and shadowings Of vigilant unfolded wings.

It windeth not along the streams, The laughing streams; It leadeth straight and far Beyond the mirrored pool of dreams In peril to a star: Who comes this way must go alone, Steadfast and strong nor making moan.

It is the path called Perilous, Named Perilous, The path that heroes tread Who hear the cry: "O come with us!"-- Brave voices of the dead-- For they are compassed by a throng Of Harpers harping to a song:

Follow afar Past cliff and scar, Finding your star!

Brave in the night, Up to the light, Proving your might!

Though the foot fail, And the heart wail; Though the brow pale;

Follow afar Where the gods are, Finding your star!

Along this way Lord Jesu went, Christ Jesu went; Hither came Socrates, And all who were with tears forspent-- The shining companies Of those who lifted high the heart Beyond the lure of any mart.

And would you fare this lonely way, This starry way? Take but a scrip and staff, With sandals for your feet, to-day; Though fools in folly laugh, Deriding that you leave the less-- Their idle dream of happiness!

If you would find the way of wings, Wide-open wings, That lift one to a star, You must be free from hamperings Of lock and bolt and bar; Cast care of gold and silk aside With pomp of place and rank and pride.

If on your path there be a cross, A wayside cross, With nails and sponge and spear, A gambling Guard who turn to toss Dice for the robe you wear; Avoid not that appointed place, Though thorns with crimson stain your face!

But if you take this road, my friend, My wistful friend, Your world will wake to song, And all high, holy angels bend To hail you of their throng: And where the Sons Eternal are, You shall be throned upon your star.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Piper and the Reed, by Robert Norwood