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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