Up the narrow winding stairway,
Weather-beaten, bronzed, and grim,
Goes the keeper of the lighthouse,
In his hand, a candle dim.

Master, cries the little taper,
Whither do we go so high?
To the tower, to warn the sailor
Where the hidden dangers lie.

But my light is small and feeble,
’Twill not serve, alas, to show.
Where the cruel rocks lie ambushed.
Lurking like a stealthy foe!

Though your rays, so faintly glowing,
Cannot shine far out to sea,
Keep on burning, brave and steady,
Do your part, then trust to me.

In the gloomy tower chamber,
Twilight deepens into dark.
Then the keeper to the lantern
Lifts the candle’s tiny spark.

And far out across the waters,
Flashing, streaming, goes the light:
Every crested wave is glittering
With its radiance, clear and bright.

And the ships, its warning heeding.
Steer far from its ruddy glare,
Entering soon the sheltered harbor;
Every heart a silent prayer.

’Tis a lesson for God’s people.
Is your chance for great deeds small?
Do your duty, leave the rest to
Him who marks the sparrow’s fall.

Up then! rouse your flagging courage!
Think not any effort slight!
Bravely shining, you may kindle
Into life, a beacon light!

Pauline Frances Camp
Poems, 1904