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?
Oh, 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.
