And taking up the word around, above, below, Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low, We know not, sang they all, nor ever need we know; We know not, sang they, what avails to know? Whereat the questioning spirit, some short space, Though unabashed, stood quiet in his place. But as the echoing chorus died away And to their dreams the rest returned apace, By the one spirit I saw him kneeling low, And in a silvery whisper heard him say: Truly, thou know’st not, and thou need’st not know; Hope only, hope thou, and believe alway; I also know not, and I need not know, Only with questionings pass I to and fro, Perplexing these that sleep, and in their folly Imbreeding doubt and sceptic melancholy; Till that, their dreams deserting, they with me Come all to this true ignorance and thee. 1847 _BETHESDA._ A SEQUEL. I saw again the spirits on a day, Where on the earth in mournful case they lay; Five porches were there, and a pool, and round, Huddling in blankets, strewn upon the ground, Tied-up and bandaged, weary, sore and spent, The maimed and halt, diseased and impotent. For a great angel came, ’twas said, and stirred The pool at certain seasons, and the word Was, with this people of the sick, that they Who in the waters here their limbs should lay Before the motion on the surface ceased Should of their torment straightway be released. So with shrunk bodies and with heads down-dropt, Stretched on the steps, and at the pillars propt, Watching by day and listening through the night, They filled the place, a miserable sight. And I beheld that on the stony floor He too, that spoke of duty once before, No otherwise than others here to-day, Foredone and sick and sadly muttering lay. ‘I know not, I will do—what is it I would say? What was that word which once sufficed alone for all, Which now I seek in vain, and never can recall?’ And then, as weary of in vain renewing His question, thus his mournful thought pursuing, ‘I know not, I must do as other men are doing.’ But what the waters of that pool might be, Of Lethe were they, or Philosophy; And whether he, long waiting, did attain Deliverance from the burden of his pain There with the rest; or whether, yet before, Some more diviner stranger passed the door With his small company into that sad place, And breathing hope into the sick man’s face, Bade him take up his bed, and rise and go, What the end were, and whether it were so, Further than this I saw not, neither know. 1849 _HOPE EVERMORE AND BELIEVE!_