The first one is “Truth” which is telling
The angels of heaven, it is day,
Its lustre most joyous, compelling,
Is guiding and keeping their way.
The other is “Faith,” which betoken
That night is advancing apace,
With rays that are dimmer and broken,
Like sunset through silvery haze.
And I pondered this much, till I ventured
The signs on this world to apply,
Though Rabbins of old might have censured,
And judged that for this I must die.
But the sign that is set on this creature—
The world—I perceive is the last,
The first may belong to the future,
When night’s gloomy vigils are past.
DESPAIR
Hence vain, illusive Hope,
Thou errant guide, thou jesting, mocking fool!
For thee should be the hangman’s rope,
Or drowning in the deepest pool,
Or everlasting prison in the darkest pit
Of Dante’s hell,
Where like a Siren thou should’st sit
And mock thyself by saying: all is well.
I henceforth choose black Melancholy’s aid,—
The only prophetess of real truth,
Who nothing promises, who never made
A fair illusion for aspiring youth;—
“All is nothing,” she doth whisper still,
A whisper from a Sibyl’s cave it seems,
A soothing balm for every human ill,
A true solution of man’s checkered dreams.
Thou sable sovereign of man’s destiny,
Thou cypress-crowned queen of night and grave,
Thou ruler of man’s woe and misery,—
The world’s great cry which like a wave
Breaks on the rocks of cruel Fate,—
Thou autocrat of all that overwhelms
Man’s soul with sorrow, disappointment, hate,
To thee belongs, at last, all worlds and realms.
HOPE
When mid the ruins of my life
I sit dejected and forlorn,
And think, how useless was the strife
That was by strong ambitions borne,
And count the years and reck the cost,
Which all seem idly spent and vain,
Fair Hope comes, saying: “Nought is lost,
Life’s failures bring the better gain!”