by Mowbray [Joseph Mowbray Hawcroft].
Originally published in The Poet's Magazine (Leonard Lloyd) vol.1 #1 (Aug 1876).
It was good, it was kind, of the wise One above
To fling destiny's veil o'er the face of our years;
That we dread not the blow which shall strike at our love,
And expect not the beam which shall dry up our tears.
Did we know that the voices now gentle and bland,
Would forego the fond word and the whispering tone;
Did we know that the eager and warm-pressing hand
Would be joyfully forward in casting the stone;
Did we know the affection engrossing our breast
Would end, as it oft does, in madness and pain;
That the passionate heart does but hazard its rest,
To be wrecked on the shore it is panting to gain;
Oh! did we but know of the shadows so nigh,
The world would indeed be a prison of gloom:
All light would be quench'd in youth's eloquent eye,
And the pray'r-lisping infant would ask for the tomb.
Yes, 'tis well that the Future is hid from our sight,
That we walk in the sunbeam, nor dream of the cloud,
That we cherish a flow'r and think not of blight,
That we sport with the loom that may weave us a shroud.