An uphill path, sun-gleams between the showers, <br /> Where every beam that broke the leaden sky <br />Lit other hills with fairer ways than ours; <br /> Some clustered graves where half our memories lie; <br />And one grim Shadow creeping ever nigh: <br /> And this was Life. <br /> <br />Wherein we did another's burden seek, <br /> The tired feet we helped upon the road, <br />The hand we gave the weary and the weak, <br /> The miles we lightened one another's load, <br />When, faint to falling, onward yet we strode: <br /> This too was Life. <br /> <br />Till, at the upland, as we turned to go <br /> Amid fair meadows, dusky in the night, <br />The mists fell back upon the road below; <br /> Broke on our tired eyes the western light; <br />The very graves were for a moment bright: <br /> And this was Death.<br /><br />John McCrae<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pilgrims/
