Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/223

Makes man a mere machine; at last to scare
All thinkers, and their futile efforts mock,
And, as it were, the ruin to achieve
Of all philosophy, comes the German Kant:
A spectre in the fogs and clouds of eve,
Not without eloquence, but arrogant,
He sees heaven empty, and the end of all
Chaos and nothingness. Oh, can it be!
Must human science tumble thus and fall?
Is this the fate of proud philosophy?
After five thousand years of cruel doubt,
After such bold and persevering toil,
Is that the last word? Every hope shut out;
Must speculation thus, alas! recoil?
Oh, senseless efforts, miserable pains,
That sought the truth in such erratic rings!
Pinions we need to reach the heavenly plains;
What is the wish, without faith's eagle wings?
I pity you, O speculators wise!
Your wounded pride and torments have I known,
And felt the sudden shudder and surprise,
Before the Infinite, as I stood alone!
Ah well!—Together let us pray, we must,
For all our labours have been vain, we feel;
Or if your bodies be reduced to dust,
Let me upon your tombs devoutly kneel.
Come, pagan sages, in all science great,
Dreamers bygone, and dreamers of to-day,
Prayer is a cry—the cry of hope elate,
That God may answer us. Oh, let us pray!
Our pains and efforts note, O Holy One!
The rest forget, O Merciful and True!
If heaven be empty, prayer offend can none,
If some One hear us, may He pity too!