Classic Poem

Thou dost make the pathway easy
For thy saints to travel in;
Though it seem but steep and tiresome,
When the journey they begin.

Not the path of ease and pleasure
Have they chosen here to go;
But the way that upward leadeth,
From the flowery vale below.

Thou dost tax their powers of action,
Powers of body and of mind;
Till the world they have forsaken,
Left each pleasing lure behind.

Then the way Thou makest easy
To their worn and weary feet;
And doth cheer their spirit's fainting,
Showing them thy glorious seat!

Far below they see the cities
Of the low and darksome plain;
Where the sons of earth-born pleasure,
In their bondage, still remain.

Noble forms appear around them,
Heavenly voices cheer them on;
And thy holy mountain's summit,
By their feet is quickly won.