Classic Poem

The stars are gone out spark by spark;
A cock crows; up the cloudy lane,
A cart toils creaking through the dark:
Lord, in Thy sight all roads are plain,
Or run they up or down,
Sheep-tracks, highways to town,
Or even that little one,
Beneath the hedge, where seldom falls the sun.

If it were light, I would go west;
I would go east across the land;
But it is dark; I needs must rest
Till morn breaks forth on every hand:
Lord, choose for me,
The road that runs to Thee.