Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1874-04-25
THE UNKNOWN 4" ORLD.

n nv what glimmering light we view
Thai nnknowu world we're Fastening TO
God hath locked up the mystic page,
And curiained darkness round the stage.
We talk of Heaven, we talk OF He'll,
But what they mean no tongue can tell !!
Heaven is the realms where angels are,
And He'll the chaos of dispair.
But what these awful words imply
None of US know before we die;
Whether we will or not, we must
Take the succeeding world on trust.
Swift flies the soul-perhaps It's gone
Ten thousand leagues beyond the sun,
Or twrice ten thousand more thrice told,
Ere the forsaken clay is cold
But alb no notices they give,
Nor tell when nor how-they live;
Though conscious lille with us below
How much themselves desire TO know;
As if bound up, by solemn fate,
To keep this secret of their state,
To tell their joys or pains TO none,
That man may live by faith alone.
Well, let our Sovereign. if He please
Lock up his marvellous DEGREES;
Why should We wish him to reveal
What he thinks proper to conceal.
II Is enough that we believe
Heavens brighter far than we conceive;
And Oh may God our souls prepare
To meet and bless and praise Him there.
BYRONsS FAREWELL TO HIS
WIFE.
Fare thee well, and if forever,
Sill forever fare thee we'll
Even though unfOrgiven, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that my breast were bare before
thee,
I Where thy head so oft has lain,
While that placid slerp came DER thee,
Which thou ne'er canst know again.
Would that breast by thee glanced over,
Every inmust thought could show,
Then thou wOuldst at last discover
Twas not well TO spurn it so.
Though the world, for this, commend thee,
Though il smile upon the blow,
Even It's praises m ust offend thee
Found d on anOther's woe
Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inf1ict a cureless wOundi
Yet-oh, yet-thYself deceive not
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away.
Still thine own its life retaineth-
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat.
And the undying thought which paineth
Is-that we nOmore may meet
There are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wall above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wakes us from widows bed
And, when thou wOuldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say "Father.''
Though his care she must fOregO!
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is pressed
Think of him whose prayers shall bless
thee,
Think of him thy love had blessed.
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see
Then thy heart would softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchanee thou knowest-
All my madness none can know-
All my hopes where eer thou goest,
Thither yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride-which not world could bow
Bows 10 thee-by thee forsaken,
EYen my soul forsakes me now.
But it's dOne-all words are idle
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bride
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well-thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie
Scared IN heart, and lone-and blighted-
More than once scarce can die.