I will wind up with a small bit of verse that is from Goethe also,
and has often gone through my mind. To me it has the tone of a modern
psalm in it in some measure. It is sweet and clear. The clearest
of sceptical men had not anything like so clear a mind as that man
had--freer from cant and misdirected notion of any kind than any man
in these ages has been This is what the poet says:--
The Future hides in it
Gladness and sorrow:
We press still thorow;
Nought that abides in it
Daunting us--Onward!
And solemn before us,
Veiled, the dark Portal,
Goal of all mortal.
Stars silent rest o'er us--
Graves under us, silent.
While earnest thou gazest
Comes boding of terror,
Come phantasm and error;
Perplexes the bravest
With doubt and misgiving.
But heard are the voices,
Heard are the Sages,
The Worlds and the Ages:
"Choose well: your choice is
Brief, and yet endless."
Here eyes do regard you
In Eternity's stillness;
Here is all fulness,
Ye brave, to reward you.
Work, and despair not.
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