O Ancient Road

A poem about salvation

O ancient road, you narrow path, how few have trod on thee,
  Established by our Lord’s own hand, it stretches forth before me,
 
Thy entrance is as it has been, from time beyond my knowing
  Not hid by briers, nor overgrown, but few ever start their going.
 
O ancient trail, you are so straight, how do the throngs get lost?
  Is it that, though they begin, they failed to count your cost?
 
Perhaps it’s that, so few do find, the Truth to lead their way.
  They languish at thy very gate, even as they stand today.
 
O ancient road, if you would speak, what stories could you tell!
  Of battles fought, of saints besieged, by torture and travail.
 
And now it’s me, before thy gate, held by Christ lest I fall,
  The journey starts!  A cheer resounds! Thy traveled saints do call!

© 2022 Gary W Moore