POETRY.
THE "UNDO() SCEPTIC.
I THINK till I weary with thinking,
Said the sad-eyed Hindoo King. And 1 see but shadows around me,— Illusion in everything.
How kuowest thou aught of God, Of his favour or his wrath?
Can the little fish tell what the lion thinks, Or man out the eagici'ii path ?
Can the finite the Infinite search, Did the blind discover the stars ? Is the thought that I think a thought, Or a throb of the brain in its bars?
For aught that my eye can discern, Your God is what you think good, Yourself flashed back from the glass, When the light pours on it in flood.
You preach to me to be just ;
And this is His realm you say, And the good are dying of hunger And the bad gorge every day.
You say that He loveth mercy, And the famine is not yet gone ; That Ho hateth the shudder of blood, And ho slayeth us everyone.
You say that my soul shall live, That the spirit can never die,— If lie were content when I was not, Why not when I have passed by ?
You say I must have a meaning ; So must dung, and its meaning is flowers. What if our souls are but nurture For lives that are greater than ours ?
When the fish swims out of the water, When the bird soars out of the blue, Man's thought may transcend man's knowledge, And your God bo no reflex of you.
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