  Oh dread uncertainty! Life-wasting agony! How dost thou pain the heart, Causing such tears to start, As sorrow never shed O'er hopes for ever fled. For memory hoards up joy Beyond Time's dull alloy; Pleasures that once have been Shed light upon the scene, As setting suns fling back A bright and glowing track, A glory o'er the past; But thou, tormenting fiend, Beneath Hope's pinions screened, Leagued with distrust and pain, Makest her promise vain; Weaving in life's fair crown Thistles instead of down. Who would not rather know Present than coming woe? For certain sorrow brings A healing in its wings. The softening touch of years Still dries the mourner's tears; For human minds inherit A gay, elastic spirit, Which rises in the hour Of trial, with such power, Sorrow is less unkind; That human hearts can bear All evils but despair, Or that anticipated grief Which, for a season, mocks relief. Uncertainty still clings To earth's fair but fleeting things; And mortals vainly trust In fabrics formed of dust! We look into life's waste, And tread its paths in haste; The past—for ever flown; The present—scarce our own; While, cold and dim, before Stretches the shadowy shore, The dark futurity, which lies Beyond the glance of mortal eyes, Which canopies the tomb. But faith can pour a light On the spirit's earthly night, And break that sullen shroud; As a star bursts through the cloud, To show the upward eye The clear, but distant, sky; The land of joy and peace, Where doubts and sorrows cease. |
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