Blessed are they that have not seen!
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happy they whose hearts receiveThe implanted word with faith; believeBecause their fathers did before,Because they learnt, and ask no moreHigh triumphs of convictions wrought,And won by individual thought.The joy, delusive oft, but keen,Of having with our own eyes seen,What if they have not felt nor known?An amplitude instead they own,By no self-binding ordinance prestTo toil in labour they detest:By no deceiving reasoning tiedOr this or that way to decide. O happy they! above their headThe glory of the unseen is spread;Their happy heart is free to rangeThro’ largest tracts of pleasant change;Their intellects encradled lieIn boundless possibility.For impulses of varying kindsThe Ancient Home a lodging findsEach appetite our nature breeds,It meets with viands for its needs. O happy they! nor need they fearThe wordy strife that rages near:All reason wastes by day, and more,Will instinct in a night restore.O happy, so their state but giveA clue by which a man can live;O blest, unless ’tis proved by factA dream impossible to act.
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