That had best been faced in earlier years:

The fact of life with dependence placed
On the human heart's resource alone,
In brotherhood bonded close and graced

With loving-kindness fully blown,
And visioned help unsought, unknown.

Other poems that express what is and what ought to be the attitude of
man toward God are _New Year's Eve, To Sincerity_, and the
beautiful lyric, _Let Me Enjoy_, where Mr. Hardy has been more
than usually successful in fashioning both language and rhythm into a
garment worthy of the thought. No one can read _The Impercipient_
without recognizing that Mr. Hardy's atheism is as honest and as
sincere as the religious faith of others, and that no one regrets the
blankness of his universe more than he. He would believe if he could.

Pessimism is the basis of all his verse, as it is of his prose. It is
expressed not merely philosophically in poems of ideas, but over and
over again concretely in poems of incident. He is a pessimist both in
fancy and in fact, and after reading some of our sugary "glad" books,
I find his bitter taste rather refreshing. The titles of his recent
collections, _Time's Laughingstocks_ and _Satires of
Circumstance_, sufficiently indicate the ill fortune awaiting his
personages. At his best, his lyrics written in the minor key have a
noble, solemn adagio movement. At his worst--for like all poets, he
is sometimes at his worst--the truth of life seems rather obstinately
warped. Why should legitimate love necessarily bring misery, and
illegitimate passion produce permanent happiness? And in the piece,