The Cross

The cross I bear no man shall know-- No man shall see the cross I bear!-- Alas! the thorny path of woe Up the steep hill of care!

There is no word to comfort me; No sign to ease my cross-bowed head: Deep night is in the heart of me, And in my soul is dread.

To strive, it seems, that I was born, For that which others shall obtain; The disappointment and the scorn Alone for me remain.

One half my life is overpast; The other half I contemplate-- Meseems the past doth but forecast A darker future state.

Sick to the heart of that which makes Me hope and struggle and desire, The aspiration here that aches With ineffectual fire:

While inwardly I know the lack Of thought, the paucity of power, Each past day’s retrospect makes black Each onward-coming hour.

Now in my youth would I could die! Would God that I could lay me down And pass away without a sigh, Oblivious of renown!