Behind the Veil."Mysteries! crowding around us,How ye perplex and confound us,—Each our ignorance screeningHidden in words without meaning!"Who knoweth aught that is certainVeil'd behind mystery's curtain?Seeing the wisest of guessesFoolishness only expresses."Ancestry? ruthlessly mouldingBodies and souls in unfolding;How such a mixture confusesJudgment's indulgent excuses,—"While the derivative nature,Still a responsible creature,Yields individual merits,Biassed by what it inherits."Circumstance? mighty to fashionInstant occasion for passion,Gripping with clutch of a banditWeakness 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 masterEvery 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 stigmaBy fools to the Good One imputed,As if everlastingly rooted!"How so? shall wrong to no endingStill with the Right be contending?Must not the bitterest leavenMelt 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 defianceOn the false pretext of science,—"Shall not some æon of gladness,Balance the throes of pain-madness,—Must not the crime of the cruelBurn into souls as its fuel?"Never can wisdom's creationBe stultified annihilation,But every poor unit that livethShall live in the life that He giveth,—"Yea, for that æon 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 unclothingUnto new living for ever,—Or the dread penalty—never!"Death,—if thou art but the portal,Leading to glories immortal,Why should we tremble to near thee,How be the cowards to fear thee,"Since the worlds blazing above us,Peopled by angels who love us,Stand our fatherly mansions,Fitted for spirits' expansions?"Where are the dead? and what doing?Still their old trifles pursuing?Or in the trance of a slumber,Crowded by dreams without number?—"Dreams of unspeakable sadness,Breams of ineffable gladness,—As the quick conscience remembersEvil and good in their embers,—"As it lives over in quiet,Time and its orgies of riot,Or the good gifts and good graces,Bright'ning its happier phases,—"As it sees photograph'd clearly,Crystalised sharply and nearly,Life and its million transactions,Fancies and feelings and factions,—"Every prayer ever uttered,Every curse ever muttered,All the man's lowest and highest,—These are thyself, when thou diest!"Filling thee, after thy measure,From the full river of pleasure,Or, as the fruit of thy sowing,Pangs of remorse ever growing,—"In thee all Heaven upspringing,Or its dread opposite flingingBlackness and darkness about thee,—Both are within, not without thee!"Yet,—in that darkness, we grope forSomewhat far off, yet to hope for,That through some future repentance,Justice may soften its sentence."Ere from the dead He had risen,'He preached to the spirits in prison,'—Is this a text that His aid isStill to be hoped for in Hades?"'Wrath may endure for a season,'Both in religion and reason,—But if its end must be never,Where is His mercy for ever'?"Ay,—after long retribution,Mercy may drag from pollutionSouls that have suffered for ages,Working out sin's bitter wages,—"So that the end shall be glorious,Good over evil victorious,And this black sin-night of sorrow,Blaze into gladness to-morrow!"
Behind the Veil.
"Mysteries! crowding around us,How ye perplex and confound us,—Each our ignorance screeningHidden in words without meaning!
"Who knoweth aught that is certainVeil'd behind mystery's curtain?Seeing the wisest of guessesFoolishness only expresses.
"Ancestry? ruthlessly mouldingBodies and souls in unfolding;How such a mixture confusesJudgment's indulgent excuses,—
"While the derivative nature,Still a responsible creature,Yields individual merits,Biassed by what it inherits.
"Circumstance? mighty to fashionInstant occasion for passion,Gripping with clutch of a banditWeakness 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 masterEvery 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 stigmaBy fools to the Good One imputed,As if everlastingly rooted!
"How so? shall wrong to no endingStill with the Right be contending?Must not the bitterest leavenMelt 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 defianceOn the false pretext of science,—
"Shall not some æon of gladness,Balance the throes of pain-madness,—Must not the crime of the cruelBurn into souls as its fuel?
"Never can wisdom's creationBe stultified annihilation,But every poor unit that livethShall live in the life that He giveth,—
"Yea, for that æon 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 unclothingUnto new living for ever,—Or the dread penalty—never!
"Death,—if thou art but the portal,Leading to glories immortal,Why should we tremble to near thee,How be the cowards to fear thee,
"Since the worlds blazing above us,Peopled by angels who love us,Stand our fatherly mansions,Fitted for spirits' expansions?
"Where are the dead? and what doing?Still their old trifles pursuing?Or in the trance of a slumber,Crowded by dreams without number?—
"Dreams of unspeakable sadness,Breams of ineffable gladness,—As the quick conscience remembersEvil and good in their embers,—
"As it lives over in quiet,Time and its orgies of riot,Or the good gifts and good graces,Bright'ning its happier phases,—
"As it sees photograph'd clearly,Crystalised sharply and nearly,Life and its million transactions,Fancies and feelings and factions,—
"Every prayer ever uttered,Every curse ever muttered,All the man's lowest and highest,—These are thyself, when thou diest!
"Filling thee, after thy measure,From the full river of pleasure,Or, as the fruit of thy sowing,Pangs of remorse ever growing,—
"In thee all Heaven upspringing,Or its dread opposite flingingBlackness and darkness about thee,—Both are within, not without thee!
"Yet,—in that darkness, we grope forSomewhat far off, yet to hope for,That through some future repentance,Justice may soften its sentence.
"Ere from the dead He had risen,'He preached to the spirits in prison,'—Is this a text that His aid isStill to be hoped for in Hades?
"'Wrath may endure for a season,'Both in religion and reason,—But if its end must be never,Where is His mercy for ever'?
"Ay,—after long retribution,Mercy may drag from pollutionSouls that have suffered for ages,Working out sin's bitter wages,—
"So that the end shall be glorious,Good over evil victorious,And this black sin-night of sorrow,Blaze into gladness to-morrow!"
And so I make an end of this autobiography, with the humble prayer that I may have grace given to finish my course in this life usefully and with honour, at peace with God and man; mindful of that caution of Tellus, the Athenian, as recorded by Herodotus, "not to judge any man happy until he is dead;"—the Christian adds, "and is alive again!"
Let me conclude with some noble lines of Ovid in his Epilogue to the Metamorphoses, which I have Englished below:—
"Jamque opus exegi: quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignes,Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.Cum volet illa dies, quæ nil nisi corporis hujusJus habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat ævi,—Parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennisAstra ferar: nomenque erit indelebile nostrum.Quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris,Ore legar populi; perque omnia sæcula famâSi quid habent veri vatum præsagiavivam.""Now have I done my work: which not Jove's ireCan make undone, nor sword nor time nor fire.Whene'er that day, whose only powers extendAgainst this body, my brief life shall end,Still in my better portion evermoreAbove the stars undying shall I soar.My name shall never die; but through all timeWhenever Rome shall reach a conquer'd clime,There, in that people's tongue, shall this my pageBe read and glorified from age to age:—Yea, if the bodings of my spirit giveTrue note of inspiration, I shall live!"
"Jamque opus exegi: quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignes,Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.Cum volet illa dies, quæ nil nisi corporis hujusJus habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat ævi,—Parte tamen meliore mei super alta perennisAstra ferar: nomenque erit indelebile nostrum.Quaque patet domitis Romana potentia terris,Ore legar populi; perque omnia sæcula famâSi quid habent veri vatum præsagiavivam."
"Now have I done my work: which not Jove's ireCan make undone, nor sword nor time nor fire.Whene'er that day, whose only powers extendAgainst this body, my brief life shall end,Still in my better portion evermoreAbove the stars undying shall I soar.My name shall never die; but through all timeWhenever Rome shall reach a conquer'd clime,There, in that people's tongue, shall this my pageBe read and glorified from age to age:—Yea, if the bodings of my spirit giveTrue note of inspiration, I shall live!"
There was an illustration of the author as the frontispiece, but it was scanned too poorly to include here. The caption reads "Martin F. Tupper.Elliott & Fry, Photographers."Page 44: added closing parenthesis after "contempt]!"Page 296: added closing parenthesis after "patriotic but peculiar"Page 297: removed opening parenthesis after "Rifledom—were once to a comma"