Sonnet Ccxxxiii: Poem by George Henry Boker

Half that we learn is wisdom of the heart,
Which owes but little to the probing brain--
A broad foundation, laid in joy and pain,
On which we build for Heaven our better part.
Hence faith's mysterious influences start,
Against whose guidance reason strives in vain,
That credit hope when fortune's triple chain
Binds us as slaves before the gaping mart.
What comfort, life, hast thou in all thy store,
From sage experience, thought, or creed, or act,
To stand as offset to that solemn pact?
Canst thou on God's hereafter shut the door?
Or bury faith beneath a hopeless fact,
Or close the heart from visions evermore?