THC ROAb TO THE SEA 
OAST brier and rose, past heath and rill, 
Through weary sand, amid bowlders gray, 
The old road winds its toilsome way 
Out under the shade of the firs on the hill 
To the strand of the sunlit sea. 
Where the white sails gleam, and all the day 
The waves make melody. 
So may thy progress be, O soul. 
That toilest through heavy sands, oppressed ; 
Still onward strive, till thy tired feet rest 
On the beach where the heavenly breakers roll 
Ever in from the bosom of God : 
Earth's shadows behind thee, upon His breast 
There is balm for the rough ways trod. 
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