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UNDE ET QUO?

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

AH! how shall end this life of mine

That opens without hope?

I stand, at twenty, on the line

Of manhood, and discern no sign

That plans, or human or divine,

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Include me in their scope.

For though I feel that God exists, -

A God whom men call kind, -

The thought no love of Him enlists;

My heart indifferent persists;

My brain is shrouded in the mists

That cloud a doubting mind.

Despair hath now familiar grown

As any well-known friend.

My childhood's cherished hopes are flown;

Life offers me for bread a stone;

Its hours are bitter, sad, and lone, -

Alas! how shall they end?

C. H. H., '82.

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