Poems (Henderson)/A Mystery
For works with similar titles, see Mystery.
A MYSTERY.
Is there a hell? where black-browed spirits reign, Whose atmosphere is smoke and fire;Where tortured souls do writhe in pain, 'Mid fumes of brimstone, dark and dire.Where light nor sound can never reach, Nor voice of mercy pierce the depths profound,Where devils hold their carnivals, O'er fallen souls chained down.
Must the undying, and immortal soul, That glorious map, of mind and thought,Planned by the Architect of light, By whose great hand was wrought,Each latent power of heart and brain, That, guided by great Will,Did fill Earth's limitless domain, With triumphs of inventive skill.
Be lost forever? though the knee, Bow not in church, or shrine,Though not in vaulted priestly hall, Filled with the organ's chime, 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.
