Arthur Hugh Clough

Through a Glass Darkly

Arthur Hugh Clough

What we, when face to face we see

The Father of our souls, shall be,

John tells us, doth not yet appear;

Ah! did he tell what we are here!

 

A mind for thoughts to pass into,

A heart for loves to travel through,

Five senses to detect things near,

Is this the whole that we are here?

 

Rules baffle instincts—instinct rules,

Wise men are bad—and good are fools,

Facts evil—wishes vain appear,

We cannot go, why are we here?

 

O may we for assurance’s sake,

Some arbitrary judgement take,

And wilfully pronounce it clear,

For this or that ’tis we are here?

 

Or is it right, and will it do,

To pace the sad confusion through,

And say:—It doth not yet appear,

What we shall be, what we are here?

 

Ah yet, when all is thought and said,

The heart still overrules the head;

Still what we hope we must believe,

And what is given us receive;

 

Must still believe, for still we hope

That in a world of larger scope,

What here is faithfully begun

Will be completed, not undone.

 

My child, we still must think, when we

That ampler life together see,

Some true result will yet appear

Of what we are, together, here.

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