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.