We have great reason;
For He provides a balm for all our woes.
He has made Death. Thrice blessed be His name!
PEASANT.
WALTER.
To yawn eternities.
Did I say death? O God! there is no death.
When our eyes close, we only pass one stage
Of our long being.—Dost thou wish to die?
PEASANT.
I trust in God to live for many years,
Although with a worn frame and with a heart
Somewhat the worse for wear.
WALTER.
O fool! fool! fool!
These hands are brown with toil; that brow is seamed,
Still must you sweat and swelter in the sun,
And trudge, with feet benumbed, the winter's snow,
Nor intermission have until the end.
Thou canst not draw down fame upon thy head,
And yet would cling to life! I'll not believe it;
The faces of all things belie their hearts,
Each man's as weary of his life as I.
This anguish'd earth shines on the moon—a moon.
The moon hides with a cloak of tender light
A scarr'd heart fed upon by hungry fires.
Black is this world, but blacker is the next;
There is no rest for any living soul:
We are immortals—and must bear with us
Through all eternity this hateful being;
Restlessly flitting from pure star to star,
The memory of our sins, deceits, and crimes,
Eating into us like a poisoned robe.
Yet thou canst wear content upon thy face
And talk of thankfulness! O die, man, die!
Get underneath the earth for very shame.
[During this speech the Child draws near; at its close her Father presents her to Walter.
Is this thy answer? [Looks at her earnestly.
O my worthy friend,
I lost a world to-day and shed no tear;
Now I could weep for thee. Sweet sinless one!
My heart is weak as a great globe, all sea.
It finds no shore to break on but thyself:
So let it break.
[He hides his face in his hands, the Child looking fearfully up at him.