Thoughts jostled thoughts—By hill and glade
They scattered far and wide like sheep,
I stretched my arms—I cried—I prayed—
They heard not—I began to weep.[1]
My head grew giddy-weak—I tried
To drown my reason. All in vain.
I lay upon my face and cried
Most bitterly to God again.
God put a thought into my hand,
God gave me a resolve, an aim.
I blew it trumpet-wise—the band
Of scattered fancies heard and came.
They heard the bugle tones I blew—
The wandering thoughts came dropping in;
They took their ranks in silence due—
One hour, and would the march begin?
The march began; and once begun
The serious purpose, true design
Has held my being knit in one—
My being kept the thoughts in line.
- ↑ Later in life, Stevenson in looking over this poem drew a pencil mark under the last half of this line, and wrote "Bah!" after it.
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