| |
| IT cannot be that He who made | |
| This wondrous world for our delight, | |
| Designed that all its charms should fade | |
| And pass forever from our sight; | |
| That all shall wither and decay, | 5 |
| And know on earth no life but this, | |
| With only one finite survey | |
| Of all its beauty and its bliss. | |
| |
| It cannot be that all the years | |
| Of toil and care and grief we live | 10 |
| Shall find no recompense but tears, | |
| No sweet return that earth can give; | |
| That all that leads us to aspire, | |
| And struggle onward to achieve, | |
| And every unattained desire | 15 |
| Were given only to deceive. | |
| |
| It cannot be that, after all | |
| The mighty conquests of the mind, | |
| Our thoughts shall pass beyond recall | |
| And leave no record here behind; | 20 |
| That all our dreams of love and fame, | |
| And hopes that time has swept away,— | |
| All that enthralled this mortal frame,— | |
| Shall not return some other day. | |
| |
| It cannot be that all the ties | 25 |
| Of kindred souls and loving hearts | |
| Are broken when this body dies, | |
| And the immortal mind departs; | |
| That no serener light shall break | |
| At last upon our mortal eyes, | 30 |
| To guide us as our footsteps make | |
| The pilgrimage to Paradise. | |
| |
