To yon vast world of endless woe, Unlighted by the cheerful day, My soul shall wing her weary way; To those dread depths where aye the same Throughout the waste of darkness, glow The glimmerings of the boundless flame. And yet I cannot here below Take my full cup of guilt, as some, And laugh away my doom to come. I would I’d been all-heartless! then I might have sinn’d like other men; But all this side the grave is fear, A wilderness so dank and drear, That never wholesome plant would spring; And all behind — I dare not think!
