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Poems

By Robert Leighton: 2nd ed

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THE WORLD'S FALSENESS.
  
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217

THE WORLD'S FALSENESS.

Had'st thou, O World, aught of a lasting nature;
Did'st taste as sweet as thou art sweet to see;
O if thy heart bore out thy outward feature,
Then would I live for thee.
But thou art false! thy pleasures leave us longing;
Our longings, got, are not what we desired:
We throng towards things that fade and mock our thronging—
Shadows that leave us tired!
And I am wearied of them! I have follow'd
Earth's vanities too long; all earth can give,
Have tasted; its deep draughts of joy have swallow'd,—
Yet discontented live!
Its sweetest sweets, half tasted, turn to sour;
E'en lasting sweets bring loathing with their sweetness;
Most potent spells of pleasure lose their power—
Showing their incompleteness.
Most treacherous ice is all around! to which
A venturous thought is e'en too great a load;
And all gives way beneath our shivering touch—
Until we come to God.

249

And even He may be a dream! Our faith,
Our love of Him, our wonder, and our trust,
May into air, by the bleak wind of death,
Be blown away as dust.
Yet in this doubt is there not more reality
Than in the most substantial thing of sense?
Not more of truth and heart-sustaining quality
Than aught else can dispense?
O nothing is more real! all beside,
Our breath can blow away; but this it cannot:
And, knowing nought so strong in this world wide,
O why not rest upon it!