As I go through the Valley all alone,
(Though many walk beside me, and before,
And many follow, yet alone is each),
I hear low voices in an undertone
Striving on wounded human hearts to pour
The balm and solace of Celestial speech.
So long it seemed a blurred, unmeaning sound,
But now I grasp its import--tense--profound
    As I go through the Valley.

As I go through the Valley whose deep streams
Are fed by tears, that flow from human eyes,
(Those rivers without bridges to the past,
Save as we build them of our fragile dreams),
I see an Arc of Triumph dimly rise
Through which my shadowed path will wind at last.
The Voices whisper--'Just beyond that Gate
The souls you hunger to behold, await,'
    As I go through the Valley.

As I go through the Valley, life makes clear
Three radiant truths like torches for my mind:
   The road to Knowledge is the road of Prayer.
The tranquil heart creates the listening ear.
God tells His secrets but to souls resigned.
So patiently upon my way I fare,
With emptied pitcher moving on my course,
Knowing that I shall fill it at the Source,
    As I go through the Valley.

Poems of affection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1920.

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