Some plod through dusty lowlands, and some fly
On even wings beneath a constant sky;
Yet surely this is very good to know:
Little the Master recks of how we go;
Not His to mark the devious, winding ways
Of that long journey through the little days;
Not His to plan the separate road for each,
Who judges only by that goal we reach.

Nor do I think the angels smile to see
How blindly some may grope and awkwardly;
Nor do I think their high approval springs
For those who know the glorious gift of wings.
Only I think that, all exultant, one
Glad watcher from the ramparts of the sun
May cry, “Rejoice! Another valiant soul
Unaided and alone hath reached the goal!”