Beset with hovering doubts,—Art Thou the way?
Art Thou the way, Lord? Yet the way is long!
Year follows year while we are journeying still,
The limbs are feeble grown which once were strong,
Dimmed are the eyes and quenched the ardent will,
The world is veiled with shadows sad and gray;
Yet we must travel on,—Art Thou the way?
Art Thou the way, Lord? Then the way is sweet,
No matter if it puzzle or distress,
Though winds may scourge, or blinding suns may beat,