Unplain

And those pledges which between man and heaven held by rapt contrivance, stumblings, stutterings; and the visions of wan, rheumy eyes? And those infatuated ordinances scratched upon the stubborn tablets of persuasion? Those promises of multiple remissions, mercies like days, a flow of timeless time? Has nothing yet been everlasting, nothing yet locked from forfeit, certain beyond faith, logic, or conjecture? Nothing yet – it was all trial, man’s private humour of things unplain.