The Impercipient

(At A Cathedral Service)     That from this bright believing band     An outcast I should be,     That faiths by which my comrades stand     Seem fantasies to me,     And mirage-mists their Shining Land,     Is a drear destiny.     Why thus my soul should be consigned     To infelicity,     Why always I must feel as blind     To sights my brethren see,     Why joys they've found I cannot find,     Abides a mystery.     Since heart of mine knows not that ease     Which they know; since it be     That He who breathes All's Well to these     Breathes no All's-Well to me,     My lack might move their sympathies     And Christian charity!     I am like a gazer who should mark     An inland company     Standing upfingered, with, "Hark! hark!     The glorious distant sea!"     And feel, "Alas, 'tis but yon dark     And wind-swept pine to me!"     Yet I would bear my shortcomings     With meet tranquillity,     But for the charge that blessed things     I'd liefer have unbe.     O, doth a bird deprived of wings     Go earth-bound wilfully!     * * *     Enough. As yet disquiet clings     About us. Rest shall we.