Sic Passim

The Angel. Now here's the road to Allencourt,

And here's the road to Tyre.

And he who goes to Allencourt

Is purged of all desire.

The Youth. But what of him who goes to Tyre,

Among the cedar trees?

The Angel. Why, he who goes to Tyre has none

But just himself to please.

While he who goes to Allencourt

Across the Hills of Pain

Must love his fellow very well,

And count no thing as gain

That wounds another. He must keep

His eyes upon the crest

Of that high hill, where he at last

Through virtue shall find rest.

The Youth. But what of him who goes to Tyre,

Along the road of ease?

The Angel. Why, he who goes to Tyre has none

But just himself to please;

While he who goes to Allencourt,

And does not lose his way

Among the thorns and brambles, comes

To rich reward some day.

The Old Man. Ah, why are thorns and brambles set

To make the road a care?

The Angel. Why, man himself, most carelessly,

Has placed the brambles there.

The Youth. But what of him who goes to Tyre

Beside the sunny seas?

The Angel. Why, he who goes to Tyre has none

But just himself to please.

The Old Man. And what's the toll to Allencourt?

The Youth. And what's the toll to Tyre?

The Angel. Why, he who goes to Allencourt

Is purged of all desire.

The toll is love-a brother's love-

For man in full sincerity.

And all the peace that God has willed

Is the reward-eternally.

But toll upon-the other road

Is crucible of burn and freeze:

For he who goes to Tyre has none

But just himself to please.

While he who goes to Allencourt

Is purged of all desire . . .

The Old Man. Lord, lead me on to Allencourt!

The Youth. For me, I go to Tyre.