8
A MYSTERY.
The lips in honeyed phrases bland, Or lowly spoken vow,Have in the outward ear of man, The soul in homage bowed.
What! though the future's vast expanse, Be hidden from man's mortal eye,The grandeur of the immortal soul, Was never born to die.Within each heart, however seamed and scarred, By black crime's foul impress;Within each nature, rude or rough, There dwells some germ of loveliness.
No heart e'er beat in human breast, But sometime held a love most dear,No human eye, e'er beamed with light, But sometime glistened with a tear.Each life holds something pure and good, Though deeply buried it may lie,And though hid from Earth's mortal view, 'Twill bloom in vast Eternity.
