Did we but know what lurks beyond the NOW;
Could we but see what the dim future hides;
Had we some power occult that would us show
The joy and sorrow which in THEN abides;
Would life be happier,—or less fraught with woe,
Did we but know?
I long, yet fear to pierce those clouds ahead;—
To solve life's secrets,—learn what means this death.
Are fresh joys waiting for the silent dead?
Or do we perish with am fleeting breath?
If not; then whither will the spirit go?
Did we but know.
'Tis all a mist. Reason can naught explain,
We dream and scheme for what to-morrow brings;
We sleep, perchance, and never wake again,
Nor taste life's joys, or suffer sorrow's stings.
Will the soul soar, or will it sink below?
How can we know.
"You must have Faith!"—How can a mortal weak,
Pin faith on what he cannot comprehend?
We grope for light,—but all in vain we seek,
Oblivion seems poor mortal's truest friend.
Like bats at noonday, blindly on we go,
For naught we know.
Yet, why should we repine? Could we but see
Our lifelong journey with its ups and downs!
Ambition, hope and longings all would flee,
Indifferent alike to smiles and frowns.
'Tis better as it is. It must be so.
We ne'er can know.