Poems (Blind)/Aspirations/III.

by Mathilde Blind

III.

Weeping, weary, did I wander
 Thro' the world's wide weird wood;
Wet my cheeks with drops of sorrow;
 Wet my soles with drops of blood;

Tumbling here, and stumbling yonder,
 Bramble-bruised, with thorns all torn,
For the path I groped despairing,
 For a light I sighed forlorn.

But thou took'st me, strong and tender,
 Oh my master, by the hand;
Pity, cheer, reproach, and rousing
 In thy words did sweetly blend.

Tho' the way is wild as ever,
 Still I falter not, nor fear;
Led by thee, I'll pierce the forest,
 See the vaulting skies appear.