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 sky5Sprang 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?10In 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: 15The 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, 20The 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 25Through 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.30And 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, 35My 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?40Our 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, 45For 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, 50But 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.
