Classic Poem

Come, sweetheart, come! across the road
Are the great rocks that all must pass;
You may not lay aside your load,
And though you cry, “Alas, alas!”
No hand may help you in this hour;
We stand aside, you make your moan,
But this is your allotted dower,
This pain must be your very own.

The rocks are there, so cold and gray;
Your feet are tender, they will bleed;
O sweetheart, must you go this way?
Our hearts cry out, “What need? What need?”
But come! make haste! your name is called;
It seems in love and not in wrath;
Smile now on us, and unappalled,
Go slowly up the narrowing path!

Now, sweetheart, turn your peaceful eyes,
The cold, gray rocks you crossed alone,
Are gleaming fair beneath the skies,
By vines and mosses overgrown.

Repeat the tale so often told;
Just in the darkest, loneliest place,
Your path became as burnished gold,
And angels met you face to face.

Come, sweetheart, come! across the road
Are the great rocks that all must pass;
You may not lay aside your load,
And though you cry, “Alas, alas!”
No hand may help you in this hour;
We stand aside, you make your moan,
But this is your allotted dower,
This pain must be your very own.

The rocks are there, so cold and gray;
Your feet are tender, they will bleed;
O sweetheart, must you go this way?
Our hearts cry out, “What need? What need?”
But come! make haste! your name is called;
It seems in love and not in wrath;
Smile now on us, and unappalled,
Go slowly up the narrowing path!

Now, sweetheart, turn your peaceful eyes,
The cold, gray rocks you crossed alone,
Are gleaming fair beneath the skies,
By vines and mosses overgrown.

Repeat the tale so often told;
Just in the darkest, loneliest place,
Your path became as burnished gold,
And angels met you face to face.