THE RIDDLE OF LIFE
Oh, what a weak, sporadic thing is man,
Burst forth upon life’s troublous sea!
Unasked he comes, unwished therefrom he goes,—
Oh, whither is his destiny?
I put my riddle to the flying breeze
That flurried past with airy wing;
My words were borne back on the fleecy clouds
Who laughed to scorn my questioning.
I asked it of the lordful mountain peak
Who lays his hoar face to the sky;
He only shrugged his Atlan shoulders bare,
And answered me a mournful sigh.
I plied it to the deep and surging sea
Where myriads slept in her watery grave;
She roared and spumed, and splashed her surges higher,
And answer none to me she gave.
Then to the heavens with upturned face I gazed,
And reverent asked my God in prayer;
A still, small voice breathed back to me in love,
“Wait, child; thou shalt know better there.”