Poem#Hope
Through a Glass Darkly
Poem byArthur Hugh Clough · 1819–1861
Commonly attributed — not confirmed in an authoritative edition. Text from PoetryDB's public-domain archive; not yet checked against a printed edition.
English (original)
What we, when face to face we see The Father of our souls, shall be, John tells us, doth not yet appear; Ah! did he tell what we are here! A mind for thoughts to pass into, A heart for loves to travel through, Five senses to detect things near, Is this the whole that we are here? Rules baffle instincts--instinct rules, Wise men are bad--and good are fools, Facts evil--wishes vain appear, We cannot go, why are we here? O may we for assurance's sake, Some arbitrary judgement take, And wilfully pronounce it clear, For this or that 'tis we are here? Or is it right, and will it do, To pace the sad confusion through, And say:--It doth not yet appear, What we shall be, what we are here? Ah yet, when all is thought and said, The heart still overrules the head; Still what we hope we must believe, And what is given us receive; Must still believe, for still we hope That in a world of larger scope, What here is faithfully begun Will be completed, not undone. My child, we still must think, when we That ampler life together see, Some true result will yet appear Of what we are, together, here.
— Arthur Hugh Clough
More from Arthur Hugh Clough
There Is No God, the Wicked Sayeth
"There is no God," the wicked saith, "And truly it's a blessing, For what He might have done with us It's better only guessing."
Across the Sea Along the Shore
Across the sea, along the shore, In numbers more and ever more, From lonely hut and busy town, The valley through, the mountain down,
Loving—if the answering breast Seem not to be thus possessed, Still in hoping have a care; If it do, beware, beware! But if in yourself you find it, Above all things—mind it, mind it!
Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange being’s party-coloured web.
Thought may well be ever ranging, And opinion ever changing, Task-work be, though ill begun, Dealt with by experience better; By the law and by the letter Duty done is duty done
’Twas on a sunny summer day I trod a mighty city’s street, And when I started on my way My heart was full of fancies sweet; But soon, as nothing could be seen, But countenances sharp and keen,