Poems (Cook)/The Future

by Eliza Cook

For works with similar titles, see The Future.

THE FUTURE

It was good, it was kind, in the Wise One above,
 To fling Destiny's veil o'er the face of our years;
That we dread not the blow that shall strike at our love,
 And expect not the beams that shall dry up our tears.

Did we know that the voices, now gentle and bland,
 Will forego the fond word and the whispering tone;
Did we know that the cager and warm-pressing hand
 Will be joyfully forward in "casting the stone:"

Did we know the affection engrossing our soul
 Will end, as it oft does, in sadness and pain;
That the passionate breast will but hazard its rest,
 And be wreck'd on the shore it is panting to gain:

Oh! did we but know of the shadows so nigh,
 The world would indeed be a prison of gloom;
All light would be quench'd in youth's eloquent eye,
 And the prayer-lisping infant would ask for the tomb.

For if Hope be a star that may lead us astray,
 And "deceiveth the heart," as the aged ones preach;
Yet 'twas Mercy that gave it, to beacon our way,
 Though its halo illumes where we never can reach.

Though Friendship but flit, like a meteor gleam,
 Though it burst, like a morn-lighted bubble of dew;
Though it passes away, like a leaf on the stream,
 Yet 'tis bliss while we fancy the vision is true.

Oh! 'tis well that the Future is hid from our sight;
 That we walk in the sunshine, nor dream of the cloud;
That we cherish a flower, and think not of blight;
 That we dance on the loom that may weave us a shroud.

It was good, it was kind, in the Wise One above,
 To fling Destiny's veil o'er the face of our years;
That we dread not the blow that shall strike at our love,
 And expect not the beams that shall dry up our tears.