I know not—the way is so misty—
The joys or the griefs it shall bring,
What clouds are o’erhanging the future,
What flow’rs by the roadside shall spring;
But there’s One who will journey beside me,
Nor in weal nor in woe will forsake;
And this is my solace and comfort—
He knoweth the way that I take.

I stand where the two ways are meeting,
And know not the right from the wrong;
No beckoning fingers direct me,
No welcome floats to me in song;
But my guide will soon give me a token,
By wilderness, mountain or lake;
Whatever the darkness about me,
He knoweth the way that I take.

And I know that the way leadeth homeward
To the land of the pure and the blest,
To the country of ever fair summer,
To the city of peace and of rest;
And there shall be healing for sickness,
And fountains, life’s fever to slake;
What matters beside? I go heav’nward,
He knoweth the way that I take.