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Doubt WHO but has seen Once in his life, when youth and health ran high, The fair, clear face of truth Grow dark to his eye ? Who but has known Cold mists of doubt and icy questionings Creep round him like a nightmare, blotting out The sight of better things. A hopeless hour, When all the voices of the soul are dumb, When o'er the tossing seas No ligh may come, When God and right Are gone, and seated on the empty throne Are dull philosophies and words of wind, Making His praise their own. Better than this, The burning sins of youth, the old man's greed, Than thus to live inane ; To sit and read, And with blind brain Daily to treasure up a deadly doubt, And live a life from which the light has fled, And faith's pure fire gone out. Until at last, For some blest souls, but never here for all, Burns out a sudden light, And breaks the thrall, And doubt has fled, And the soul rises, with a clearer sight For this its pain, its sorrow, its despair, To God and truth and right. Plead we for those Gently and humbly, as befitteth men On whom the same chill shade Broods now as then. So shall they learn How an eternal wisdom rules above, And all the cords of Being ar bound fast To an unfailing love. Lewis Morris's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1241 |
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