Page:Is Life Worth Living?.djvu/20

12 This chance was never offered me before;
 * For me the infinite past is blank and dumb:

This chance recurreth never, nevermore;
 * Blank, blank for me the infinite To-come.

And this sole chance was frustrate from my birth,
 * A mockery, a delusion; and my breath

Of noble human life upon this earth
 * So racks me that I sigh for senseless death.

My wine of life is poison mixed with gall,
 * My noonday passes in a nightmare dream,

I worse than lose the years which are my all: "What can console me for the loss supreme?

Speak not of comfort where no comfort is,
 * Speak not at all: can words make foul things fair?

Our life’s a cheat, our death a black abyss:
 * Hush, and be mute envisaging despair.–

This vehement voice came from the northern aisle
 * Rapid and shrill to its abrupt harsh close;

And none gave answer for a certain while,
 * For words must shrink from these most wordless woes;

At last the pulpit speaker simply said.
 * With humid eyes and thoughtful, drooping head,–

My Brother, my poor Brothers, it is thus: This life holds nothing good for us,
 * But it ends soon and nevermore can be;

And we knew nothing of it ere our birth, And shall know nothing when consigned to earth;
 * I ponder these thoughts and they comfort me.”