Classic Poem

What we, when face to face we see
The Father of our souls, shall be,
John tells us, doth not yet appear;
Ah did he tell what we are here!

A mind for thoughts to come into,
A heart for loves to travel through,
Five senses to detect things near,—
Is this the whole that we are here?

Rules baffle instincts, instincts rules,
Wise men are bad and good are fools,
Facts evil, wishes vain appear,—
We cannot go,—why are we here?

O may we, for assurance-sake
Some arbitrary judgement take,
Make up our minds, and call all clear,
For this or that that we are here?

Or is it right, and will it do
To pace the dim confusion through,
And say,—It doth not yet appear
What we shall be, what we are here?