"Lead, kindly light," The words are lightly spoken by the young, whotread life's pathway with nimble feet, whose eager hands areoutstretched to gather life's roses, regardless of thorns, whose voiceis rippling with laughter and mirth, with blood coursing through theveins and bright eyes looking fearlessly into the future; the words havemerely a joyous, musical ring. "Lead, kindly light."
"Lead, kindly light." The words are gravely spoken by the middle-aged,whose feet have grown a trifle weary, whose hands have gathered theroses, only to find them turned to ashes, whose laughter has moresadness than mirth, whose eyes have grown dim, whose lips tremblinglyplead, "Lead, kindly light." "Lead, kindly light." The words arewhispered by the old, whose tired feet are unable to move, whose palsiedhands are helpless, whose head is bowed by the weight of years, whoseeyes are sightless, from whose trembling lips are scarcely heard thewhispered prayer, "Lead, kindly light."
"Lead, kindly light." The sunken eyes are closed in death, the tiredhands are folded, the heart has ceased to beat, the mute lips arestilled, the weary feet are at rest, a look of ineffable peace restsupon the still face, while all the air is filled with sweet music andthe murmur of gentle voices pleading, "Lead, kindly light."