You and all the kind of Christ

But you and all the kind of Christ 
Are ignorant and brave, 
And you have wars you hardly win 
And souls you hardly save.
I tell you naught for your comfort, 
Yea, naught for your desire, 
Save that the sky grows darker yet 
And the sea rises higher.
Night shall be thrice night over you, 
And heaven an iron cope. 
Do you have joy without a cause, 
Yea, faith without a hope?