PILGRIM, THE
Charlotte Wilson, in Scribner’s, writes a song of the pilgrim who minds not the hardships or fortunes of the road so he but reaches the goal of the journey:
Ah, little Inn of Sorrow,
What of thy bitter bread?
What of thy ghostly chambers,
So I be shelterèd?
’Tis but for a night, the firelight
That gasps on thy cold hearthstone;
To-morrow my load and the open road
And the far light leading on!