IT'S forth across the roaring foam, and on towards the west, <br />It's many a lonely league from home, o'er many a mountain crest, <br />From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold, <br />To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold. <br /> <br />Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn, <br />Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn; <br />It's there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and cold, <br />In yon distressful city beside the Gates of Gold. <br /> <br />I slept as one that nothing knows; but far along my way, <br />Before the morning God rose and planned the coming day; <br />Afar before me forth he went, as through the sands of old, <br />And chose the friends to help me beside the Gates of Gold. <br /> <br />I have been near, I have been far, my back's been at the wall, <br />Yet aye and ever shone the star to guide me through it all: <br />The love of God, the help of man, they both shall make me bold <br />Against the gates of darkness as beside the Gates of Gold.<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-s-forth-across-the-roaring-foam/
