Still was the night, and clear the moon
Lay crescent in a velvet sky;
But not for me that drowsy peace,
The silent midnight harmony,
For many days my spirit blind
Had sought a guide, but none could find.
There lay before me divers paths,
But each soon wound away from sight;
Long time I questioned passers-by
Which was the golden Road of Right,
But, though each said he surely knew,
None from my soul an echo drew.
And some passed on, and some remained
And urged that they should be my guide,
But unresponsive was my soul,
And earnestly again I cried—
"Can none this bitter doubt believe,
"Whom shall I follow—whom believe?"
Then sudden through the summer night
A low sweet voice fell on mine ear,
The veil was lifted from mine eyes,
And there the golden Road lay clear—
"Thy spirit's course to none confide;
"Within thyself seek thou a guide."