The Riddle Head Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

World of sorrow, care, and change,
Even to myself I seem,
As adown thy vale I range,
Wandering in a dream:
All things are so strange.

For, the dead who died this day,
Fair and young, or great and good,
Though we mourn them, where are they?
-- With those before the flood;
Equally past away!

Living hearts have scantly time
To feel some other heart most dear,
Scarce can love the love sublime
Unselfishly sincere,--
Death nips it in its prime!

Minds have hardly power to learn
How much there is to know aright,
Can dimly through the mist discern
Some little glimpse of light,--
The order is, Return!

Willing hands but just begin
Wisely to work for God and man,
And some poor wages barely win
As one who well began,--
The Master calls, Come in!

Well,-- this is well : for well begun
Is all the good man here may do;
He cannot hope to see half done,
A furlong is crept through,
And lo, the goal is won!

This is the life of sight and sense,
And other brighter lives depend
On all we here can just commence;
But long before an end
God calls His servant hence.

Take courage, courage: not in vain
The Ruler hath appointed thus;
Account it neither grief nor pain
His mercy taketh us--
It is the labourer's gain.

Here we begin to love and know;
And when God's willing grace perceives
The plant of Heav'n hath roots to grow,
He plucks the ranker leaves,
And doth transplant it so!