Excerpt from The Upward Path: The Evolution of a Race
Slow Through The Dark
Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race;
Their footsteps drag far, far below the height,
And, unprevailing by their utmost might,
Seems faltering downward from each won place.
No strange, swift-sprung exception we; we trace
A devious way thro' dim, uncertain light -
Our hope, through the long vistaed years, a sight
Of that our Captain's soul sees face to face.
Who, faithless, faltering that the road is steep,
Now raiseth up his drear insistent cry?
Who stoppeth here to spend a while in sleep,
Or curses that the storm obscures the sky?
Heed not the darkness round you, dull and deep;
The clouds grown thickest when the summit's high.
- Paul Lawrence Dunbar
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