The Way Home

I know a way which leads home.
This way is hard to walk.
Each traveller there becomes a poor man
and little and ugly and grey.

I know a way which leads home.
This way is bare and pure.
It is like leaning your warm cheek
against a merciless stone.

But the one who has known this stone
against his cheek's iced blood,
shall notice, how mild its hardness is,
how faithful and firm and good.

And he shall thank the stone
and hold its hardness dear
and praise the one tournament
which was worth its victory.