Man longs, through life's dark day of pain,
For one "far-off divine event."
The poet sings with soft lament,
And dreams he makes God's purpose plain.
The present, all bereft of power,
Is barren ground without a sign;
He searches for a scheme divine,
In far-off past and future hour.
On earth's lone isle for starving souls,
Poor Spirit-Crusoes thus lament,
And hold this life as banishment,
'Twixt past and future Heaven's poles.
