Sometimes the path I walk upon

is bathed in golden sun,

Meanders through bright meadows

Where pure streams of water run.

Sometimes a fog obscures the view,

And rocks and thorns prevail,

The gradient makes progress slow,

Or rings with rain and hail.

Both are crucial to my road,

Both must have their place –

To one, I owe refreshment,

The other, strength and grace.

So whether I am stepping light

Or struggling as I roam,

I know each bend and every climb

Will bring me closer home.