Canada and Other Poems/Things Mysterious
THINGS MYSTERIOUS.
This earth's a mystery profound.Its movements, make, and changes all—A mystery which none can sound,Who dwell upon the whirling ball.
And deeper far than all the rest,Is man; a mystery unsolvedSince the first heave of ocean's breast.Since the first course our earth revolv'd.
His thoughts, and e'en his actions too,Possess a subtle meaning, whenThat meaning others may construe,As plain and open to their ken.
There is a place in every heart,As secret as the silent tomb,Where others have no lot nor part,Where none may gaze, where none may room.
It seemeth strange, that flesh and bloodShould hold such ghostly, hellish things.And also things supremely good,Which might not shame an angel's wings.
Yet so it is, for ev'ry throbThat man's pulsating bosom gives,And ev'ry smile, and ev'ry sobSpeaks of a mystery that lives.
There is a tale in ev'ry flow'r,Which none may whisper, none may tell,A secret thing in ev'ry bower,Which ev'ry tenant hideth well.
There is a tale of joy and woe,Round ev'ry hearth, in ev'ry land.Which ne'er may ever further go.Than round that humble, home-like band.
And shall we seek to draw the screenWhich hides the good, and eke the ill?No, it is better far, I ween,To let them keep in hiding still.
For unknown good is virtue still.And virtue shows a richer bloom.As violet, or daffodil,When growing 'mid the grass or broom.
And he who hides within his heartA secret sin, all unconfess'dTo God or man, no glossing artCan quiet the distracting guest.