If we can not climb the mount­ain
Where the strong and dar­ing go,
We can stand be­side the Fount­ain
Whence the liv­ing wa­ters flow;
If our fee­ble foot­step ling­ers,
Tempted by some song of earth,
We can hear the heav’n­ly sing­ers
Chanting of a Sav­ior’s birth.

If the path be dim and wind­ing,
Should we stum­ble on the way?
If the mist be thick and blind­ing,
We can seek a heav’n­ly ray;
If the days be damp and chil­ly,
If the light be faint and low—
We are pass­ing thro’ the val­ley
Where the steps are always slow.

Oh, we hear of mount­ain pass­es
Where His way­worn foot­steps led;
Of Beth­sa­ida’s dewy grass­es,
Where the mul­ti­tude was fed;
Every path His feet have tak­en,
And His lov­ing voice says, Come;
Let His way be ne’er for­sak­en,
Till we reach our heav’n­ly home.