IV. 2.

Yes, frail of hand and faint of eye,

Our lives the glimmer of a wing

That glistens in the summer sky,245

Shines and is gone,—in vain we cling

To Time, in vain we grasp the veil

That hides the mystic Source of All.

We strive; the founts of being fail;

The terrors of the Deeps appal;250

Amid the dim uncertain shows