The Golden Way

The garden of our sorrows built

In the soil of everlasting spring

Where the flowers of our dreams all wilt,

Is only a false and fleeting thing

For where love is our nature blooms

And sadness lives unwatered long,

There are a million starlit rooms

And singing faith's eternal song

The soul outlasts the body's brief

But fragrant years in its house of clay.

No longer have we time for grief

And hardly time enough to pray

For pressing on the earth a force

Intolerant of time's delay

Follows its unerring course

Hewing for man the golden way.