We
have not wings, we cannot
soar;
But
we have feet to scale and climb
By
slow degrees, by more and more,
The
cloudy summits of our time.
The
mighty pyramids of stone
That
wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When
nearer seen, and better known,
Are
but gigantic flights of stairs.
The
distant mountains, that uprear
Their
solid bastions to the skies,
Are
crossed by pathways, that appear
As
we to higher levels rise.
The
heights by great men reached and kept
Were
not attained by sudden flight,
But
they, while their companions slept,
Were
toiling upward in the night.
Standing
on what too long we bore
With
shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We
may discern-unseen before-
A
path to higher destinies
