ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH
ALL IS WELL
| Whate’er you dream, with doubt possessed, Keep, keep it snug within your breast, And lay you down and take your rest; Forget in sleep the doubt and pain, And when you wake, to work again. The wind it blows, the vessel goes, And where and whither, no ones knows. ’Twill all be well: no need of care; Though how it will, and when, and where, We cannot see, and can’t declare. In spite of dreams, in spite of thought, ’Tis not in vain, and not for nought, The wind it blows, the ship it goes, Though where and whither, no one knows. |
TO SPEND UNCOUNTED YEARS OF PAIN
| To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain The problem of our being here; To gather facts from far and near, Upon the mind to hold them clear, And, knowing more may yet appear, Unto one’s latest breath to fear, The premature result to draw— Is this the object, end, and law, And purpose of our being here? |
SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT AVAILETH
| Say not the struggle nought availeth, The labor and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly; But westward, look, the land is bright. |