Our human nature could not be
Content with rest like this,
And even bliss could cloy, if we
Had nothing else but bliss.

Great Nature's hand, in every plan,
Had laid in wise design,
But what design, or use, is in
This theory of thine?

If, when our earth-career is done,
All conscious life must cease,
And we drift on, and on, and on,
In endless, dreamy peace--

If Heaven is but a mystic spell,
Whose glowing visions thrall,
Why should we have a life beyond?
Why have a Heaven at all?




CONSOLANCE.

"Be brave?" why, yes, I will; I'll never more despair;
Who could, with such sweet comforting as yours?
How, like the voice that stilled the tempest air,
Your mild philosophy its reasoning pours.