"Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race; / Their footsteps drag far, far below the height,”

No strange, swift-sprung exception we; we trace I A devious way thro' dim, uncertain light,-

"Heed not the darkness round you, dull and deep; / The clouds grow thickest when the summit's nigh.”

"Who stoppeth here to spend a while in sleep / Or curseth that the storm obscures the sky?”.