Tell me, strange heart, so mysteriously beating-
Unto what end?
Body and soul so mysteriously meeting,
Strange friend and friend;
Hand clasped in hand so mysteriously faring,
Say what and why all this dreaming and daring,
This sowing and reaping and laughing and weeping,
That ends but in sleeping-
Only one meaning, only-the End.

Ah! all the love, the gold glory, the singing,-
Unto what end?
Flowers of April immortally springing,
Face of one's friend,
Stars of the morning and moon in her quarters,
Shining of suns and running of waters,
Growing and blowing and snowing and flowing,-
Ah! where are they going?
All on one journey, all to-the End.