The Road That Has No End

Joseph Burrows

HAST ever tramped along the road
    That has no end?
The far brown winding road,—your one
    Fast friend
A tattered weather-beaten swag,
    A silent mate
    To send
His dumb warm comfort to the heart,
    A fount where dreams ascend.

There’s wondrous freedom on the road
    That has no end;
A man’s heart glows, his spirit leaps
    To blend
Its joy of life with fierce wind’s gust
    Upon his face:
    To lend
Its cry to Nature’s tumult, full
    And shrill, as twilight shades descend.

The flowers bloom along the road
    That has no end
Cool breezes blow, the gum trees sway
    And bend;
The wild doves woo, and softly coo
    Their soothing notes,
    And mend
Heart’s throbbing pain to sweet content,
    And peace lights on the mind’s sad trend

There’s pain and toil along the road
    That has no end;
A sinking heart, and weary feet
    That spend
Their strength, and lag and crave respite;
    And dim tired eyes
    That tend
To close their heavy lids upon
    The stinging dusts that upward wend.

There are sweet still hours along the road
    That has no end
’Neath twinkling stars when night’s deep shades
A man’s eyes shine with gathered tears,
    And memories come
    To rend
His straining heart strings, while above
    The paling lights his mood commend.

I love the road, the swagman’s road
    That has no end;
I love its joys, that pains and toils
It is my dreams, the life that fills my heart
And when death comes and would
    My peacefulness
I pray that God may let my soul depart
    With my tattered swag beside me,
    ’Mid my friends that never chide me,
And my face towards the distant clouded hill,
Where leads the far brown winding road
    That has no end.

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