The Cross.

The cross I bear no man shall know
No man can ease the cross I bear!
Alas! the thorny path of woe
Up the steep hill of care!
There is no word to comfort me;
No sign to help my bended head;
Deep night lies over land and sea,
And silence dark and dread.
To strive, it seems, that I was born,
For that which others shall obtain;
The disappointment and the scorn
Alone for me remain.
One half my life is overpast;
The other half I contemplate
Meseems the past doth but forecast
A darker future state.
Sick to the heart of that which makes
Me hope and struggle and desire,
The aspiration here that aches
With ineffectual fire;
While inwardly I know the lack,
The insufficiency of power,
Each past day's retrospect makes black
Each morrow's coming hour.
Now in my youth would I could die!
As others love to live, go down
Into the grave without a sigh,
Oblivious of renown!