human
And is this all?-- Trouble, old age and simpleness, and sin-- This all? It might be all some other night; But this night, if a voice said 'Give account Whom hast thou with thee?' then must I reply, 'Young manhood have I, beautiful youth and strength, Rich with all treasure drawn up from the crypt Where lies the learning of the ancient world-- Brave with all thoughts that poets fling upon The strand of life, as driftweed after storms: Doubtless familiar with Thy mountain heads, And the dread purity of Alpine snows, Doubtless familiar with Thy works concealed For ages from mankind--outlying worlds, And many moonèd spheres--and Thy great store Of stars, more thick than mealy dust which here Powders the pale leaves of Auriculas. This do I know, but, Lord, I know not more. Not more concerning them--concerning Thee, I know Thy bounty; where Thou givest much Standing without, if any call Thee in Thou givest more.' Speak, then, O rich and strong: Open, O happy young, ere yet the hand Of Him that knocks, wearied at last, forbear; The patient foot its thankless quest refrain, The wounded heart for evermore withdraw.