The Impercipient

(AT A CATHEDRAL SERVICE)

-

That from this bright believing band
   An outcast I should be,
That faiths by which my comrades stand
   Seem fantasies to me,
And mirage-mists their Shining Land,
   Is a drear destiny.
Why thus my soul should be consigned
   To infelicity,
Why always I must feel as blind
   To sights my brethren see,
Why joys they've found I cannot find,
   Abides a mystery.
Since heart of mine knows not that ease
   Which they know; since it be
That He who breathes All's Well to these
   Breathes no All's-Well to me,
My lack might move their sympathies
   And Christian charity!
I am like a gazer who should mark
   An inland company
Standing upfingered, with, "Hark! hark!
   The glorious distant sea!"
And feel, "Alas, 'tis but yon dark
   And wind-swept pine to me!"
Yet I would bear my shortcomings
   With meet tranquillity,
But for the charge that blessed things
   I'd liefer have unbe.
O, doth a bird deprived of wings
   Go earth-bound wilfully!
* * *
Enough.  As yet disquiet clings
   About us.  Rest shall we.