I hurt my foot the other day
While climbing up a hill.
I struck a stone which seemed to me
Was there to do me ill.
I wanted so to reach the top
And see what lay ahead.
I found no smooth path leading there
But rocks and stones instead.
Now why should one be hindered so
Who seeks to scale the heights
Where he might bathe his weary soul
In heaven’s purest light?
I stopped a while to reason why;
My mind went on a quest.
No answer came—the more I sought
the greater my unrest.
The more I nursed my foot I found
The greater was the pain;
To clear my path of rocks and stones
Was also all in vain.
At last I found through suffering
That only faith can see
Beyond the rocky path I tread
A place of liberty.
The rocks may tower rough and steep
And bear a bloody stain,
They only lift the mountain high
Above the sandy plain.
By faith I find that healing comes,
My weary feet to soothe;
And when I cease to nurse my wounds,
The very rocks are smooth.
Without the rocks and· stones I know
The mount becomes a plain.
No rocks—no mount; no mount—no view,
Then life has lost its aim.
Where vision fails, the life is lost,
And vision costs me sore.
But 0, the outlook from the top,
Repays me o’er and o’er.