Jane Wilde

27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896

La Via Dolorosa

I wander here, I wander there,
Through the desert of life, all wearily;
No joy on earth for the pilgrim soul
On, on for ever drearily;
O’er the mountain height,
In the tempest night,
Through the mist and the gloom,
We press on to the tomb,
While the death‐like pall of a midnight sky
Hangs over past and futurity.
And the echo of wandering feet I hear,
And human voices and hearts are near;

But lonely, lonely each one goeth
On his dark path, and little knoweth
Of love, kind words, or sympathy.
Oh! fain would I lay me down and die;
For the upward glance of a tearful eye,
Is all I have known of humanity.
Yet must I on, tho’ darker and drearer
And lonelier ever the pathway seems,
And the spectral shadow of death draws nearer,
And rare and faint are the sun‐light gleams;
An unseen power impelleth us on
No pause, no rest for the weary one,
Till we reach the shores of that fathomless sea
Where Time poureth down to Eternity.
182 Total read