The Path

Wasted Days 

O well for him who lives at ease 

 With garnered gold in wide domain, 

 Nor heeds the splashing of the rain, 

The crashing down of forest trees. 

O well for him who ne’er hath known 

 The travail of the hungry years, 

 A father grey with grief and tears, 

A mother weeping all alone. 

But well for him whose feet hath trod 

 The weary road of toil and strife, 

 Yet from the sorrows of his life 

Builds ladders to be nearer God. 

- Oscar Wilde