Xvi

Our shadowy congregation rested still, As musing on that message we had heard And brooding on that "End it when you will;" Perchance awaiting yet some other word; When keen as lightning through a muffled sky Sprang forth a shrill and lamentable cry:--

The man speaks sooth, alas! the man speaks sooth: We have no personal life beyond the grave; There is no God; Fate knows nor wrath nor ruth: Can I find here the comfort which I crave?

In all eternity I had one chance, One few years' term of gracious human life: The splendours of the intellect's advance, The sweetness of the home with babes and wife;

The social pleasures with their genial wit: The fascination of the worlds of art, The glories of the worlds of nature, lit By large imagination's glowing heart;

The rapture of mere being, full of health; The careless childhood and the ardent youth, The strenuous manhood winning various wealth, The reverend age serene with life's long truth:

All the sublime prerogatives of Man; The storied memories of the times of old, The patient tracking of the world's great plan Through sequences and changes myriadfold.

This chance was never offered me before; For me this infinite Past is blank and dumb: This chance recurreth never, nevermore; Blank, blank for me the infinite To-come.

And this sole chance was frustrate from my birth, A mockery, a delusion; and my breath Of noble human life upon this earth So racks me that I sigh for senseless death.

My wine of life is poison mixed with gall, My noonday passes in a nightmare dream, I worse than lose the years which are my all: What can console me for the loss supreme?

Speak not of comfort where no comfort is, Speak not at all: can words make foul things fair? Our life's a cheat, our death a black abyss: Hush and be mute envisaging despair.--

This vehement voice came from the northern aisle Rapid and shrill to its abrupt harsh close; And none gave answer for a certain while, For words must shrink from these most wordless woes; At last the pulpit speaker simply said, With humid eyes and thoughtful drooping head:--

My Brother, my poor Brothers, it is thus; This life itself holds nothing good for us, But ends soon and nevermore can be; And we knew nothing of it ere our birth, And shall know nothing when consigned to earth: I ponder these thoughts and they comfort me.