Somewhere between the lofty mounts —
Snow-covered, lone and still,
Where genius reaches Divine founts
Of wisdom at its will,
And Nature's boggy lowlands where
In embryotic state,
Enwombed in darkness and despair,
Unlighted millions wait; —
Somewhere between, Earth's meadows lie
Redemption waters roll;
Somewhere between, the ransomed try
The pinions of the soul.
There camp the saved and saving few;
There dwell thy richer kin;
There joy diviner waits than you
Have ever hoped to win.
Take, then, thy staff of faith, and seek
Those higher levels near,
And quit the low swine-fields that reek
With error, pain and fear.
He that aspires to know the way
Already answer hath;
Or swift or slow he shall not stray
From Truth embordered path.
Yet broader shall the turnpike be —
Thy guiding star more bright,
So be some brother lean on thee
Until he sees the light.