The Mountain Trail

Life is like a mountain trail

that every man must try

To follow from the flowery dale

 into the mountains high

And at the end of life's long climb

 he sits him down to rest

And there looks back across his time

 while the sun sets in the west.

He sees the fields, the farms and trees,

 the land he thought he knew,

Amazed by how much more he sees

 than when he travelled through,

For then he walked with eyes downcast

so seldom turning back,

But now his journey done at last

he surveys his winding track.

And all life's steep and slippery crags -

how small they seem from here,

The many sharp and brambly snags -

how harmless they appear.

The places where he lost his way

he now recalls with smiles,

How could he go so far astray

along such well-worn miles.

For the footpath rises sure and slow

to meet this rocky brow,

Too barren for a tree to grow

too stony for the plough.

A place so cold and so severe

that bears no vein of gold

And all man gains for climbing here

is the prospect to behold.

Fertile vales and mountains grand

the sun sets over all,

Lays its gold upon the land

like woodlands in the fall,

Wealth enough for any man

Who comes this way to roam

to sit content, his long day spent,

'Neath heaven's starry dome.