The Cross

The cross I bear no man shall know--
No man shall see 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 ease my cross-bowed head:
Deep night is in the heart of me,
And in my soul is 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
Of thought, the paucity of power,
Each past day’s retrospect makes black
Each onward-coming hour.

Now in my youth would I could die!
Would God that I could lay me down
And pass away without a sigh,
Oblivious of renown!