The Trail

Back there on the Trail where life began
Each wayside was made up of flowers
Each song held a dream--golden--supreme
Miles past 'mid golden hours.

But the Trail kept winding and winding
The flowers gave way to the thorn
And the song of the lark as the road grew dark
Seemed hushed--forever seemed gone.

And the road is still winding and winding
Not a star in the black vault o'er head
To light up the road to lighten the load
To point our the pitfalls ahead.

Perhaps 'twill cease abruptly
Perhaps I'll drop by the way
Unburdened to lie 'neath the black of the sky
A traveler grown weary and gray.

But the Master who laid out the Trail
Who guided our footsteps along
Will bring back the flowers, the bright sunny hours
'Mid the burst of a deathless song.

R.J. Colton • © 1929