Human Life’s Mystery

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    <strong>Human Life’s Mystery</strong>

    We sow the glebe, we reap the ,

    We build the house where we may rest,

    And then, at moments, suddenly,

    We look up to the great wide sky,

    Inquiring wherefore we were born…

    For ear or for jest?

    The senses folding thid dark

    About the stifled soul within,

    We guess divihings beyond,

    And yearn to them with yearning fond;

    We strike out blindly to a mark

    Believed in, but not seen.

    We vibrate to the pant and thrill

    Wherewith Ete<details>99lib.</details>rnity has curled

    In serpent-twine about God’s seat;

    While, freshening upward to His feet,

    In gradual growth His full-leaved will

    Expands from world to world.

    And, iumult and excess

    Of ad passion under sun,

    We sometimes hear—oh, soft and far,

    As silver star did touch with star,

    The kiss of Pead Righteousness

    Through all things that are done.

    God keeps His holy mysteries

    Just oside of man’s dream;

    In diapason slow, we think

    To hear their pinions rise and sink,

    While they float pure beh His eyes,

    Like swans adown a stream.

    Abstras, are they, from the forms

    Of His great beauty?—exaltations

    From His great glory?—strong previsions

    Of what we shall be?—intuitions

    Of what we are—in calms and storms,

    Beyond our pead passions?

    Things nameless! which, in passing so,

    Do stroke us with a subtle grace.

    We say, ‘Who passes?’—they are dumb.

    We ot see them go or e:

    Their touches fall soft, cold, as snow

    Upon a blind man’s face.

    Yet, toug so, they draw above

    Our<u>藏书网</u> on thoughts to Heaven’s unknown,

    Our dai<figure>99lib?</figure>ly joy and pain advance

    To a divine significe,

    Our human love—O mortal love,

    That light is not its own!

    And sometimes horror chills our blood

    To be so near such mystic Things,

    And we  round us for defe.

    And sometimes through life’s heavy swound

    We grope for them!—with strangled breath

    We stretch our hands abroad and try

    To reach them in ony,—

    And widen, so, the broad life-wound

    Which soon is large enough for death.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

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