And that upon two millions odd Transgressors in sad plenty, Mercy will of a gracious God Be shown—because of twenty. ‘_PERCHÈ PENSA? PENSANDO S’INVECCHIA._’ To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain The problem of our being here; To gather facts from far and near, Upon the mind to hold them clear, And, knowing more may yet appear, Unto one’s latest breath to fear, The premature result to draw— Is this the object, end and law, And purpose of our being here? ‘_O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH._’ It may be true That while we walk the troublous tossing sea, That when we see the o’ertopping waves advance, And when we feel our feet beneath us sink, There are who walk beside us; and the cry That rises so spontaneous to the lips, The ‘Help us or we perish,’ is not nought, An evanescent spectrum of disease. It may be that indeed and not in fancy, A hand that is not ours upstays our steps, A voice that is not ours commands the waves; Commands the waves, and whispers in our ear, O thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt? At any rate, That there are beings above us, I believe, And when we lift up holy hands of prayer, I will not say they will not give us aid. ‘_THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY._’ What we, when face to face we see The Father of our souls, shall be, John tells us, doth not yet appear; Ah! did he tell what we are here! A mind for thoughts to pass into, A heart for loves to travel through, Five senses to detect things near, Is this the whole that we are here? Rules baffle instincts—instincts rules, Wise men are bad—and good are fools, Facts evil—wishes vain appear, We cannot go, why are we here? O may we for assurance’ sake, Some arbitrary judgment take, And wilfully pronounce it clear, For this or that ’tis we are here? Or is it right, and will it do, To pace the sad confusion through, And say:—It doth not yet appear, What we shall be, what we are here? Ah yet, when all is thought and said, The heart still overrules the head; Still what we hope we must believe, And what is given us receive; Must still believe, for still we hope That in a world of larger scope, What here is faithfully begun Will be completed, not undone. My child, we still must think, when we That ampler life together see, Some true result will yet appear Of what we are, together, here. _AH! YET CONSIDER IT AGAIN!_ ‘Old things need not be therefore true,’ O brother men, nor yet the new; Ah! still awhile the old thought retain, And yet consider it again! The souls of now two thousand years Have laid up here their toils and fears, And all the earnings of their pain,— Ah, yet consider it again! We! what do we see? each a space Of some few yards before his face; Does that the whole wide plan explain? Ah, yet consider it again!