Classic Poem

Philosophy assumes to tell
How happened this, how happened that;
Reasons of sequence passing well,
By process none may cavil at.

If this be true, then that must be;
And so on, which seems very plain;
But what rules human destiny
We ask and cannot ascertain.

The deeds we do, the words we say,
May serve our purpose, or may not;
Some soul may be a wreck to-day
Through some slight word, long since forgot.

“Mistakes,” says Science; yet the wise,
Whose far gaze tracks the rolling spheres,
Grope blindly through life's mysteries,
And weep, with others, human tears.

Philosophy cannot forecast
The workings of one human breast;
Nor trace the springs of actions past;
Life is a riddle at the best.

We plan what we shall be and do,
While bars of fate around us close.
That strain or stroke may not break through;
We plan and purpose, but—who knows?