XXXI
THE YEAR'S GOAL
THE YEAR'S GOAL
Rest thee awhile to-night, my soul,
Turn from the dusty road aside,
Nor think to look beyond the goal
Where dim to-morrows hide.
Turn from the dusty road aside,
Nor think to look beyond the goal
Where dim to-morrows hide.
Sweet is this wayside resting-place
Upon the margin of the year;
Avail thee, then, of pilgrim grace
And rest a little here.
Upon the margin of the year;
Avail thee, then, of pilgrim grace
And rest a little here.
Lay down thy burden and thy staff,
Breathe deep and free thee of the past,
Stoop to the springs of time and quaff
These moments while they last.
Breathe deep and free thee of the past,
Stoop to the springs of time and quaff
These moments while they last.
Feel the fresh wind that comes from yon,
Blown from a neighboring land unknown;
Yet haste thee not, but wait upon
A morrow not thine own.
Blown from a neighboring land unknown;
Yet haste thee not, but wait upon
A morrow not thine own.
Thank God he gives no endless way,
But lays his hand across the road,
Calls many a halt, and bids thee stay
And rest thee of thy load.
But lays his hand across the road,
Calls many a halt, and bids thee stay
And rest thee of thy load.
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