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VOLTAIRE.
And feel that God alone can make all plain.
None other can expound His mysteries,
Console the feeble and illume the wise.
Left guideless, erring, where no way is seen,
Man seeks in vain some reeds on which to lean.
None other can expound His mysteries,
Console the feeble and illume the wise.
Left guideless, erring, where no way is seen,
Man seeks in vain some reeds on which to lean.
.......
"What of all this can wisest minds explain
Nothing—the book of fate must closed remain.
What am I, whence have come, and whither go?
This men still ask, and this can never know.
Atoms, tormented on this heap of earth,
Whom death devours, whom fate finds stuff for mirth,
Yet atoms that can think, whose daring eyes,
Guided by thought, have measured out the skies.
Depths of the infinite our spirits sound,
But never pierce the veil that wraps us round,
Nothing—the book of fate must closed remain.
What am I, whence have come, and whither go?
This men still ask, and this can never know.
Atoms, tormented on this heap of earth,
Whom death devours, whom fate finds stuff for mirth,
Yet atoms that can think, whose daring eyes,
Guided by thought, have measured out the skies.
Depths of the infinite our spirits sound,
But never pierce the veil that wraps us round,
"This scene of pride and error and distress,
With wretches swarms who prate of happiness;
Wailing, they comfort seek—none wish to quit
This life, nor, quitting, would re-enter it.
Sometimes while sighing our sad hours away,
We find some joy that sheds a passing ray;
But pleasure, wavering shadow, rests not long,
While griefs and failures come in endless throng,
Mournful the past, the present veiled in gloom,
If life and thought be ended in the tomb.
With wretches swarms who prate of happiness;
Wailing, they comfort seek—none wish to quit
This life, nor, quitting, would re-enter it.
Sometimes while sighing our sad hours away,
We find some joy that sheds a passing ray;
But pleasure, wavering shadow, rests not long,
While griefs and failures come in endless throng,
Mournful the past, the present veiled in gloom,
If life and thought be ended in the tomb.
"One day all will be well—our hope there see!
All is well now—behold a phantasy!
Humble in plaint, and patient to endure,
I doubt not Providence because obscure.
In strains less mournful did I erewhile raise
As gentle Pleasure's bard the song of praise;
But time brings change. Taught by my lengthening span,
Sharing the feebleness of feeble man,
Amid thick darkness seeking still for day,
I only know to suffer and obey.
All is well now—behold a phantasy!
Humble in plaint, and patient to endure,
I doubt not Providence because obscure.
In strains less mournful did I erewhile raise
As gentle Pleasure's bard the song of praise;
But time brings change. Taught by my lengthening span,
Sharing the feebleness of feeble man,
Amid thick darkness seeking still for day,
I only know to suffer and obey.
