Distrust not every form without,
Than live through life such living death,
In the betraying fiend of Doubt
Have Faith.
Though through a blind-man's-buff we're led.
Or though in dusky paths we grope,
In a blest something, just ahead,
Have Hope.
The treacherous blocks we may not see
O'er which our stumbling brothers fall,
So then have God-like Charity
For all.
With these—the three—we may be blest,
And leave behind us when we go,
Around Life's sunset in the west,
A glow.
Then onward press, though for the grave,
And calmly meet the closing strife,—
Death is the only proof we have
Of life.
