Classic Poem

Far , far I've strayed me in the long endeavor
To find the way of Truth;
All unfamiliar grow the paths, and ever
I lose the step of youth,

Until it seems I am foredoomed to wander
In fruitless, weary quest,
While strength and time and hope I do but squander,
Seeking the final rest.

Sometimes poor mortals, forest-bound, have plodded
Along an unblazed trail,
And felt strange fears and seen weird shapes embodied,
That made their courage fail;

Then suddenly have found they circled blindly,
And were not far astray,
Led by some hand invisible but kindly
Into a wonted way.

So, haply, I, sore spent with ceaseless trying,
Too tired to longer roam,
May sudden see the path before me lying,
And just ahead, my home.