Classic Poem

I WANDERED on through field and fold,
The way was lone and chill.
Towards the East a mist lay rolled
Upon a distant hill —
That hill which once with boyish stride
I oft would climb to see
The dawn unfold the portals wide
Into infinity.

And from infinity no breath
Wakened my soul this morn;
As in a dream that whispereth
Vaguely of things forlorn,
I stumbled on — till lo, above
A gleam of sunlight kissed
The shoulder of the hill, and clove
A pathway through the mist.

And in that sudden cleft of light
Hewn through a world of cloud,
My trembling eyes beheld a sight
That made my heart beat loud;
For toiling there unseen till now
And toiling gently still,
A ploughman drove his early plough
In patience on the hill.

Oh sudden gleam too swiftly past!
Oh sudden gleam of red!
A moment now it seemed to cast
A halo round his head.
But now it flickered and grew dim,
Grew dim and died away;
Once more the mist enveloped him
Within its trackless gray.

Yet light of heart I journeyed now;
For, though once more the hill
Was lost, that unsuspected plough
Was surely plodding still —
As, in the mists of doubt that coil
Around the soul's high slope,
Unseen, undreamt, there still may toil
The patient plough of Hope.