“Who knoweth aught that is certain
    Veil’d behind mystery’s curtain? 
    Seeing the wisest of guesses
    Foolishness only expresses.

    “Ancestry? ruthlessly moulding
    Bodies and souls in unfolding;
    How such a mixture confuses
    Judgment’s indulgent excuses,—­

    “While the derivative nature,
    Still a responsible creature,
    Yields individual merits,
    Biassed by what it inherits.

    “Circumstance? mighty to fashion
    Instant occasion for passion,
    Gripping with clutch of a bandit
    Weakness too weak to withstand it,—­

    “What? shall it mar me or make me? 
    Neither, till faith shall forsake me—­
    For, with good courage to nerve me,
    Circumstance only can serve me!

    “Destiny? doth it then seem so? 
    Or can the will we esteem so,
    Change the decree at a bidding,
    Us of that destiny ridding,—­

    “If with no fatalist weakness,
    Battling in boldness and meekness,
    We are determined to master
    Every defeat and disaster?

    “Providence? ordering all things,
    Both of the great and the small things,
    Equally each of us guiding,
    Guarding, destroying, providing,—­

    “Fixt, beyond human forecasting,
    Both as to blessing and blasting,—­
    Yet, though we darkly discern Him,
    Quick’ning the prayer that may turn Him!

    “Evil?—­O direst enigma,
    Whispered and terrible stigma
    By fools to the Good One imputed,
    As if everlastingly rooted!

    “How so? shall wrong to no ending
    Still with the Right be contending? 
    Must not the bitterest leaven
    Melt in the mercy of Heaven?

    “Or can old Baal, the sun-god,
    Boast there are two gods, not one god,
    Satan, the rebel infernal,
    Regent with Christ the Supernal?

    “Come, blessed end, through the ages,
    When no more wickedness rages,
    When no iniquity hinders,
    But sin is burnt down to its cinders!—­

    “Cruelties?—­somehow permitted,—­
    With its mute victims unpitied,
    Tortured in nature’s defiance
    On the false pretext of science,—­

    “Shall not some aeon of gladness,
    Balance the throes of pain-madness,—­
    Must not the crime of the cruel
    Burn into souls as its fuel?

    “Never can wisdom’s creation
    Be stultified annihilation,
    But every poor unit that liveth
    Shall live in the life that He giveth,—­

    “Yea, for that aeon of glory,
    Revealed in millennial story,
    When earth with beatified features,
    Shines the new Heaven of creatures.

    “Death?  Is it all things, or nothing? 
    Either the Spirit unclothing
    Unto new living for ever,—­
    Or the dread penalty—­never!