Just when the path is lost to me,
Bewildered wanderer in the maze,
Upon some unexpected tree
I spy the Woodman’s blaze;
A mystic rune of sight or sound,
A message quick from sense to soul,
That lifts the spirit from the ground
And speeds it to the goal.
A wind-flower nodding by an oak
Has given assurance from afar;
Once in the dark a fragrance spoke,
And once it was a star.
The silver fluting of a thrush;
The bursting of a sunken flame;
A sigh of wind, a sudden hush—
Out of the depths I came.
A burning challenge to despair
Flashed from an idly-open book;
A small dumb creature’s silent prayer,
A friend’s revealing look;
And all the doubtful horrors fade,
The weary heart leaps up again.
Through tangled thickets in the shade,
The Trail shows broad and plain.