One Mystery, The. 
By Mangan, James Clarence. 


'Tis idle! -we exhaust and squander
The glittering mine of thought in vain;
All-baffled reason cannot wander
Beyond her chain.
The flood of life runs dark -dark clouds
Make lampless night around its shore:
The dead, where are they? In their shrouds - 
Man knows no more!

Evoke the ancient and the past - 
Will one illuming star arise?
Or must the film, from first to last,
O'erspread thine eyes?
When life, love, glory, beauty, wither
Will freedom's page, or science's chart,
Map out for thee the region whither
Their shades depart?

Supposest thou the wondrous powers
To high imagination given,
Pale types of what shall yet be ours,
When earth is heaven?
When this decaying shell is cold,
Oh! sayest thou the soul shall climb
That magic mount she trod of old,
Ere childhood's time?

And shall the sacred pulse that thrilled
Thrill once again to glory's name?
And shall the conquering love that filled
All earth with flame
Reborn, revived, renewed, immortal,
Resume his reign in prouder might,
A sun beyond the ebon portal
Of death and night?

No more, no more -with aching brow,
And restless heart, and burning brain,
We ask the When, the Where, the How,
And ask in vain.
And all philosophy, all faith,
All earthly, all celestial, lore,
Have but one voice, which only saith,
Endure -adore!