Still,Mind is up and stirring, and pryeth in the corners of contrivance,Often from the dark recesses picking out bright seeds of truth:Knowledge hath clipped the lightning's wings, and mewed it up for a purpose,Training to some domestic task the fiery bird of heaven;Tamed is the spirit of the storm, to slave in all peaceful arts,To walk with husbandry and science; to stand in the vanguard against death:And the chemist balanceth his elements with more than magic skill,Commanding stones that they be bread, and draining sweetness out of wormwood.Yet man, heedless of a God, counteth up vain reckonings,Fearing to be jostled and starved out, by the too prolific increase of his kind;And asketh, in unbelieving dread, for how few years to comeWill the black cellars of the world yield unto him fuel for his winter.Might not the wide waste sea be pent within narrower bounds?Might not the arm of diligence make the tangled wilderness a garden?And for aught thou canst tell, there may be a thousand methodsOf comforting thy limbs in warmth, though thou kindle not a spark.Fear not, son of man, for thyself nor thy seed:—with a multitude is plenty;God's blessing giveth increase, and with it larger than enough.
Still,Mind is up and stirring, and pryeth in the corners of contrivance,
Often from the dark recesses picking out bright seeds of truth:
Knowledge hath clipped the lightning's wings, and mewed it up for a purpose,
Training to some domestic task the fiery bird of heaven;
Tamed is the spirit of the storm, to slave in all peaceful arts,
To walk with husbandry and science; to stand in the vanguard against death:
And the chemist balanceth his elements with more than magic skill,
Commanding stones that they be bread, and draining sweetness out of wormwood.
Yet man, heedless of a God, counteth up vain reckonings,
Fearing to be jostled and starved out, by the too prolific increase of his kind;
And asketh, in unbelieving dread, for how few years to come
Will the black cellars of the world yield unto him fuel for his winter.
Might not the wide waste sea be pent within narrower bounds?
Might not the arm of diligence make the tangled wilderness a garden?
And for aught thou canst tell, there may be a thousand methods
Of comforting thy limbs in warmth, though thou kindle not a spark.
Fear not, son of man, for thyself nor thy seed:—with a multitude is plenty;
God's blessing giveth increase, and with it larger than enough.
Searchout the wisdom of nature, there is depth in all her doings;She seemeth prodigal of power, yet her rules are the maxims of frugality:The plant refresheth the air, and the earth filtereth the water,And dews are sucked into the cloud, dropping fatness on the world:She hath, on a mighty scale, a general use for all things;Yet hath she specially for each its microscopic purpose:There is use in the prisoned air, that swelleth the pods of the laburnum;Design in the venomed thorns, that sentinel the leaves of the nettle;A final cause for the aromatic gum, that congealeth the moss around a rose:A reason for each blade of grass, that reareth its small spire.How knoweth discontented man what a train of ills might follow,If the lowest menial of nature knew not her secret office?If the thistle never sprang up to mock the loose husbandry of indolence,Or the pestilence never swept away an unknown curse from among men?Would ye crush the buzzing myriads that float on the breath of evening?Would ye trample the creatures of God that people the rotting fruit?Would ye suffer no mildew forest to stain the unhealthy wall,Nor a noisome savour to exhale from the pool that breedeth disease?Pain is useful unto man, for it teacheth him to guard his life,And the fetid vapours of the fen warn him to fly from danger:And the meditative mind, looking on, winneth good food for its hunger,Seeing the wholesome root bring forth a poisonous berry;For otherwhile falleth it out that truth, driven to extremities,Yieldeth bitter folly as the spoilt fruit of wisdom.O, blinded is thine eye, if it see not just aptitude in all things:O, frozen is thy heart, if it glow not with gratitude for all things:In the perfect circle of creation not an atom could be spared,From earth's magnetic zone to the bindweed round a hawthorn.
Searchout the wisdom of nature, there is depth in all her doings;
She seemeth prodigal of power, yet her rules are the maxims of frugality:
The plant refresheth the air, and the earth filtereth the water,
And dews are sucked into the cloud, dropping fatness on the world:
She hath, on a mighty scale, a general use for all things;
Yet hath she specially for each its microscopic purpose:
There is use in the prisoned air, that swelleth the pods of the laburnum;
Design in the venomed thorns, that sentinel the leaves of the nettle;
A final cause for the aromatic gum, that congealeth the moss around a rose:
A reason for each blade of grass, that reareth its small spire.
How knoweth discontented man what a train of ills might follow,
If the lowest menial of nature knew not her secret office?
If the thistle never sprang up to mock the loose husbandry of indolence,
Or the pestilence never swept away an unknown curse from among men?
Would ye crush the buzzing myriads that float on the breath of evening?
Would ye trample the creatures of God that people the rotting fruit?
Would ye suffer no mildew forest to stain the unhealthy wall,
Nor a noisome savour to exhale from the pool that breedeth disease?
Pain is useful unto man, for it teacheth him to guard his life,
And the fetid vapours of the fen warn him to fly from danger:
And the meditative mind, looking on, winneth good food for its hunger,
Seeing the wholesome root bring forth a poisonous berry;
For otherwhile falleth it out that truth, driven to extremities,
Yieldeth bitter folly as the spoilt fruit of wisdom.
O, blinded is thine eye, if it see not just aptitude in all things:
O, frozen is thy heart, if it glow not with gratitude for all things:
In the perfect circle of creation not an atom could be spared,
From earth's magnetic zone to the bindweed round a hawthorn.
Thesage, and the beetle at his feet, hath each a ministration to perform:The briar and the palm have the wages of life, rendering secret service.Neither is it thus alone with the definite existences of matter;But motion and sound, circumstance and quality, yea, all things have their office.The zephyr playing with an aspen-leaf,—the earthquake that rendeth a continent;The moon-beam silvering a ruined arch,—the desert-wave dashing up a pyramid;The thunder of jarring icebergs,—the stops of a shepherd's pipe;The howl of the tiger in the glen,—and the wood-dove calling to her mate;The vulture's cruel rage,—the grace of the stately swan;The fierceness looking from the lynx's eye, and the dull stupor of the sloth:To these, and to all, is there added each itsUSE, though man considereth it lightly;For Power hath ordained nothing which Economy saw not needful.
Thesage, and the beetle at his feet, hath each a ministration to perform:
The briar and the palm have the wages of life, rendering secret service.
Neither is it thus alone with the definite existences of matter;
But motion and sound, circumstance and quality, yea, all things have their office.
The zephyr playing with an aspen-leaf,—the earthquake that rendeth a continent;
The moon-beam silvering a ruined arch,—the desert-wave dashing up a pyramid;
The thunder of jarring icebergs,—the stops of a shepherd's pipe;
The howl of the tiger in the glen,—and the wood-dove calling to her mate;
The vulture's cruel rage,—the grace of the stately swan;
The fierceness looking from the lynx's eye, and the dull stupor of the sloth:
To these, and to all, is there added each itsUSE, though man considereth it lightly;
For Power hath ordained nothing which Economy saw not needful.
Allthings being are in concord with the ubiquity of God;Neither is there one thing overmuch, nor freed from honourable servitude.Were there not a need-be of wisdom, nothing would be as it is;For essence without necessity argueth a moral weakness.We look through a glass darkly, we catch but glimpses of truth;But, doubtless, the sailing of a cloud hath Providence to its pilot,Doubtless, the root of an oak is gnarled for a special purpose,The foreknown station of a rush is as fixed as the station of a king,And chaff from the hand of the winnower, steered as the stars in their courses.Man liveth only in himself, but the Lord liveth in all things;And His pervading unity quickeneth the whole creation.Man doeth one thing at once, nor can he think two thoughts together;But God compasseth all things, mantling the globe like air:And we render homage to His wisdom, seeing use in all His creatures,For, perchance, the universe would die, were not all things as they are.
Allthings being are in concord with the ubiquity of God;
Neither is there one thing overmuch, nor freed from honourable servitude.
Were there not a need-be of wisdom, nothing would be as it is;
For essence without necessity argueth a moral weakness.
We look through a glass darkly, we catch but glimpses of truth;
But, doubtless, the sailing of a cloud hath Providence to its pilot,
Doubtless, the root of an oak is gnarled for a special purpose,
The foreknown station of a rush is as fixed as the station of a king,
And chaff from the hand of the winnower, steered as the stars in their courses.
Man liveth only in himself, but the Lord liveth in all things;
And His pervading unity quickeneth the whole creation.
Man doeth one thing at once, nor can he think two thoughts together;
But God compasseth all things, mantling the globe like air:
And we render homage to His wisdom, seeing use in all His creatures,
For, perchance, the universe would die, were not all things as they are.
Equalis the government of heaven in allotting pleasures among men,And just the everlasting law, that hath wedded happiness to virtue:For verily on all things else broodeth disappointment with care,That childish man may be taught the shallowness of earthly enjoyment.Wherefore, ye that have enough, envy ye the rich man his abundance?Wherefore, daughters of affluence, covet ye the cottager's content?Take the good with the evil, for ye all are pensioners of God,And none may choose or refuse the cup His wisdom mixeth.The poor man rejoiceth at his toil, and his daily bread is sweet to him:Content with present good, he looketh not for evil to the future:The rich man languisheth with sloth, and findeth pleasure in nothing,He locketh up care with his gold, and feareth the fickleness of fortune.Can a cup contain within itself the measure of a bucket?Or the straitened appetites of man drink more than their fill of luxury?There is a limit to enjoyment, though the sources of wealth be boundless:And the choicest pleasures of life lie within the ring of moderation.
Equalis the government of heaven in allotting pleasures among men,
And just the everlasting law, that hath wedded happiness to virtue:
For verily on all things else broodeth disappointment with care,
That childish man may be taught the shallowness of earthly enjoyment.
Wherefore, ye that have enough, envy ye the rich man his abundance?
Wherefore, daughters of affluence, covet ye the cottager's content?
Take the good with the evil, for ye all are pensioners of God,
And none may choose or refuse the cup His wisdom mixeth.
The poor man rejoiceth at his toil, and his daily bread is sweet to him:
Content with present good, he looketh not for evil to the future:
The rich man languisheth with sloth, and findeth pleasure in nothing,
He locketh up care with his gold, and feareth the fickleness of fortune.
Can a cup contain within itself the measure of a bucket?
Or the straitened appetites of man drink more than their fill of luxury?
There is a limit to enjoyment, though the sources of wealth be boundless:
And the choicest pleasures of life lie within the ring of moderation.
Also,though penury and pain be real and bitter evils,I would reason with the poor afflicted, for he is not so wretched as he seemeth.What right hath an offender to complain, though others escape punishment,If the stripes of earned misfortune overtake him in his sin?Wherefore not endure with resignation the evils thou canst not avert?For the coward pain will flee, if thou meet him as a man:Consider, whatever be thy fate, that it might and ought to have been worse,And that it lieth in thy hand to gather even blessing from afflictions:Bethink thee, wherefore were they sent? and hath not use blunted their keenness?Need hope, and patience, and courage, be strangers to the meanest hovel?Thou art in an evil case, it were cruel to deny to thee compassion,But there is not unmitigated ill in the sharpest of this world's sorrows:I touch not the sore of thy guilt; but of human griefs I counsel thee,Cast off the weakness of regret, and gird thee to redeem thy loss:Thou hast gained, in the furnace of affliction, self-knowledge, patience, and humility,And these be as precious ore, that waiteth the skill of the coiner:Despise not the blessings of adversity, nor the gain thou hast earned so hardly,And now thou hast drained the bitter, take heed that thou lose not the sweet.
Also,though penury and pain be real and bitter evils,
I would reason with the poor afflicted, for he is not so wretched as he seemeth.
What right hath an offender to complain, though others escape punishment,
If the stripes of earned misfortune overtake him in his sin?
Wherefore not endure with resignation the evils thou canst not avert?
For the coward pain will flee, if thou meet him as a man:
Consider, whatever be thy fate, that it might and ought to have been worse,
And that it lieth in thy hand to gather even blessing from afflictions:
Bethink thee, wherefore were they sent? and hath not use blunted their keenness?
Need hope, and patience, and courage, be strangers to the meanest hovel?
Thou art in an evil case, it were cruel to deny to thee compassion,
But there is not unmitigated ill in the sharpest of this world's sorrows:
I touch not the sore of thy guilt; but of human griefs I counsel thee,
Cast off the weakness of regret, and gird thee to redeem thy loss:
Thou hast gained, in the furnace of affliction, self-knowledge, patience, and humility,
And these be as precious ore, that waiteth the skill of the coiner:
Despise not the blessings of adversity, nor the gain thou hast earned so hardly,
And now thou hast drained the bitter, take heed that thou lose not the sweet.
Poweris seldom innocent, and envy is the yoke-fellow of eminence;And the rust of the miser's riches wasteth his soul as a canker.The poor man counteth not the cost at which such wealth hath been purchased;He would be on the mountain's top, without the toil and travail of the climbing.But equity demandeth recompense: for high-place, calumny and care;For state, comfortless splendour eating out the heart of home;For warrior fame, dangers and death; for a name among the learned, a spirit overstrained;For honour of all kinds, the goad of ambition; on every acquirement, the tax of anxiety.He that would change with another, must take the cup as it is mixed:Poverty, with largeness of heart; or a full purse, with a sordid spirit;Wisdom, in an ailing body; or a common mind, with health:Godliness, with man's scorn; or the welcome of the mighty, with guilt:Beauty, with a fickle heart; or plainness of face, with affection.For so hath Providence determined, that a man shall not easily discoverUnmingled good or evil, to quicken his envy or abhorrence.A bold man or a fool must he be, who would change his lot with another;It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath lovingly refused it:For we know the worst of ourselves, but the secrets of another we see not,And better is certain bad, than the doubt and dread of worse.
Poweris seldom innocent, and envy is the yoke-fellow of eminence;
And the rust of the miser's riches wasteth his soul as a canker.
The poor man counteth not the cost at which such wealth hath been purchased;
He would be on the mountain's top, without the toil and travail of the climbing.
But equity demandeth recompense: for high-place, calumny and care;
For state, comfortless splendour eating out the heart of home;
For warrior fame, dangers and death; for a name among the learned, a spirit overstrained;
For honour of all kinds, the goad of ambition; on every acquirement, the tax of anxiety.
He that would change with another, must take the cup as it is mixed:
Poverty, with largeness of heart; or a full purse, with a sordid spirit;
Wisdom, in an ailing body; or a common mind, with health:
Godliness, with man's scorn; or the welcome of the mighty, with guilt:
Beauty, with a fickle heart; or plainness of face, with affection.
For so hath Providence determined, that a man shall not easily discover
Unmingled good or evil, to quicken his envy or abhorrence.
A bold man or a fool must he be, who would change his lot with another;
It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath lovingly refused it:
For we know the worst of ourselves, but the secrets of another we see not,
And better is certain bad, than the doubt and dread of worse.
Just,and strong, and opportune is the moral rule of God;Ripe in its times, firm in its judgments, equal in the measure of its gifts:Yet men, scanning the surface, count the wicked happy,Nor heed the compensating peace, which gladdeneth the good in his afflictions.They see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow,Like wreathed adders crawling round his midnight conscience;They hear not the terrible suggestions, that knock at the portal of his will,Provoking to wipe away from life the one weak witness of the deed;They know not the torturing suspicions that sting his panting breast,When the clear eye of penetration quietly readeth off the truth.Likewise of the good what know they? The memories bringing pleasure,Shrined in the heart of the benevolent, and glistening from his eye;The calm self-justifying reason that establisheth the upright in his purpose;The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all the thoughts of the religious.Many a beggar at the cross-way, or grey-haired shepherd on the plain,Hath more of the end of all wealth, than hundreds who multiply the means.
Just,and strong, and opportune is the moral rule of God;
Ripe in its times, firm in its judgments, equal in the measure of its gifts:
Yet men, scanning the surface, count the wicked happy,
Nor heed the compensating peace, which gladdeneth the good in his afflictions.
They see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow,
Like wreathed adders crawling round his midnight conscience;
They hear not the terrible suggestions, that knock at the portal of his will,
Provoking to wipe away from life the one weak witness of the deed;
They know not the torturing suspicions that sting his panting breast,
When the clear eye of penetration quietly readeth off the truth.
Likewise of the good what know they? The memories bringing pleasure,
Shrined in the heart of the benevolent, and glistening from his eye;
The calm self-justifying reason that establisheth the upright in his purpose;
The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all the thoughts of the religious.
Many a beggar at the cross-way, or grey-haired shepherd on the plain,
Hath more of the end of all wealth, than hundreds who multiply the means.
Moreover,a moral compensation reacheth to the secrecy of thought;For if thou wilt think evil of thy neighbour, soon shalt thou have him for thy foe:And yet he may know nothing of the cause that maketh thee distasteful to his soul,—The cause of unkind suspicion, for which thou hast thy punishment:And if thou think of him in charity, wishing or praying for his weal,He shall not guess the secret charm that lureth his soul to love thee.For just is retributive ubiquity: Samson did sin with Dalilah,And his eyes and captive strength were forfeit to the Philistine:Jacob robbed his brother, and sorrow was his portion to the grave:David must fly before his foes, yea, though his guilt is covered:And He who, seeming old in youth, was marred for others' sin,For every special crime must bear its special penalty:By luxury, or rashness, or vice, the member that hath erred suffereth,—And therefore the Sacrifice for all was pained at every pore.
Moreover,a moral compensation reacheth to the secrecy of thought;
For if thou wilt think evil of thy neighbour, soon shalt thou have him for thy foe:
And yet he may know nothing of the cause that maketh thee distasteful to his soul,—
The cause of unkind suspicion, for which thou hast thy punishment:
And if thou think of him in charity, wishing or praying for his weal,
He shall not guess the secret charm that lureth his soul to love thee.
For just is retributive ubiquity: Samson did sin with Dalilah,
And his eyes and captive strength were forfeit to the Philistine:
Jacob robbed his brother, and sorrow was his portion to the grave:
David must fly before his foes, yea, though his guilt is covered:
And He who, seeming old in youth, was marred for others' sin,
For every special crime must bear its special penalty:
By luxury, or rashness, or vice, the member that hath erred suffereth,—
And therefore the Sacrifice for all was pained at every pore.
Aliketo the slave and his oppressor cometh night with sweet refreshment,And half of the life of the most wretched is gladdened by the soothings of sleep.Pain addeth zest unto pleasure, and teacheth the luxury of health;There is a joy in sorrow, which none but a mourner can know:Madness hath imaginary bliss, and most men have no more;Age hath its quiet calm, and youth enjoyeth not for haste:Daily, in the midst of its beatitude, the righteous soul is vexed;And even the misery of guilt doth attain to the bliss of pardon.Who, in the face of the born-blind, ever looked on other than content?And the deaf ear listeneth within to the silent music of the heart.There is evil poured upon the earth from the overflowings of corruption,—Sickness, and poverty, and pain, and guilt, and madness, and sorrow;But, as the water from a fountain riseth and sinketh to its level,Ceaselessly toileth justice to equalize the lots of men:For, habit and hope and ignorance, and the being but one of a multitude,And strength of reason in the sage, and dulness of feeling in the fool,And the light elasticity of courage, and the calm resignation of meekness,And the stout endurance of decision, and the weak carelessness of apathy,And helps invisible but real, and ministerings not unfelt,Angelic aid with worldly discomfiture, bodily loss with the soul's gain,Secret griefs, and silent joys, thorns in the flesh, and cordials for the spirit,(—Short of the insuperable barrier dividing innocence from guilt,—)Go far to level all things, by the gracious rule of Compensation.
Aliketo the slave and his oppressor cometh night with sweet refreshment,
And half of the life of the most wretched is gladdened by the soothings of sleep.
Pain addeth zest unto pleasure, and teacheth the luxury of health;
There is a joy in sorrow, which none but a mourner can know:
Madness hath imaginary bliss, and most men have no more;
Age hath its quiet calm, and youth enjoyeth not for haste:
Daily, in the midst of its beatitude, the righteous soul is vexed;
And even the misery of guilt doth attain to the bliss of pardon.
Who, in the face of the born-blind, ever looked on other than content?
And the deaf ear listeneth within to the silent music of the heart.
There is evil poured upon the earth from the overflowings of corruption,—
Sickness, and poverty, and pain, and guilt, and madness, and sorrow;
But, as the water from a fountain riseth and sinketh to its level,
Ceaselessly toileth justice to equalize the lots of men:
For, habit and hope and ignorance, and the being but one of a multitude,
And strength of reason in the sage, and dulness of feeling in the fool,
And the light elasticity of courage, and the calm resignation of meekness,
And the stout endurance of decision, and the weak carelessness of apathy,
And helps invisible but real, and ministerings not unfelt,
Angelic aid with worldly discomfiture, bodily loss with the soul's gain,
Secret griefs, and silent joys, thorns in the flesh, and cordials for the spirit,
Go far to level all things, by the gracious rule of Compensation.
Facethy foe in the field, and perchance thou wilt meet thy master,For the sword is chained to his wrist, and his armour buckled for the battle;But find him when he looketh not for thee, aim between the joints of his harness,And the crest of his pride will be humbled, his cruelty will bite the dust.Beard not a lion in his den, but fashion the secret pitfall;So shall thou conquer the strong, thyself triumphing in weakness.The hurricane rageth fiercely, and the promontory standeth in its might,Breasting the artillery of heaven, as darts glance from the crocodile:But the small continual creeping of the silent footsteps of the seaMineth the wall of adamant, and stealthily compasseth its ruin.The weakness of accident is strong, where the strength of design is weak:And a casual analogy convinceth, when a mind beareth not argument.Will not a man listen? be silent; and prove thy maxim by example:Never fear, thou losest not thy hold, though thy mouth doth not render a reason.Contend not in wisdom with a fool, for thy sense maketh much of his conceit;And some errors never would have thriven, had it not been for learned refutation:Yea, much evil hath been caused by an honest wrestler for truth,And much of unconscious good, by the man that hated wisdom:For the intellect judgeth closely, and if thou overstep thy argument,Or seem not consistent with thyself, or fail in thy direct purpose,The mind that went along with thee, shall stop and return without thee,And thou shalt have raised a foe, where thou mightest have won a friend.
Facethy foe in the field, and perchance thou wilt meet thy master,
For the sword is chained to his wrist, and his armour buckled for the battle;
But find him when he looketh not for thee, aim between the joints of his harness,
And the crest of his pride will be humbled, his cruelty will bite the dust.
Beard not a lion in his den, but fashion the secret pitfall;
So shall thou conquer the strong, thyself triumphing in weakness.
The hurricane rageth fiercely, and the promontory standeth in its might,
Breasting the artillery of heaven, as darts glance from the crocodile:
But the small continual creeping of the silent footsteps of the sea
Mineth the wall of adamant, and stealthily compasseth its ruin.
The weakness of accident is strong, where the strength of design is weak:
And a casual analogy convinceth, when a mind beareth not argument.
Will not a man listen? be silent; and prove thy maxim by example:
Never fear, thou losest not thy hold, though thy mouth doth not render a reason.
Contend not in wisdom with a fool, for thy sense maketh much of his conceit;
And some errors never would have thriven, had it not been for learned refutation:
Yea, much evil hath been caused by an honest wrestler for truth,
And much of unconscious good, by the man that hated wisdom:
For the intellect judgeth closely, and if thou overstep thy argument,
Or seem not consistent with thyself, or fail in thy direct purpose,
The mind that went along with thee, shall stop and return without thee,
And thou shalt have raised a foe, where thou mightest have won a friend.
Hints,shrewdly strown, mightily disturb the spirit,Where a bare-faced accusation would be too ridiculous for calumny:The sly suggestion toucheth nerves, and nerves contract the fronds,And the sensitive mimosa of affection trembleth to its root;And friendships, the growth of half a century, those oaks that laugh at storms,Have been cankered in a night by a worm, even as the prophet's gourd.Hast thou loved, and not known jealousy? for a sidelong lookCan please or pain thy heart more than the multitude of proofs:Hast thou hated, and not learned that thy silent scornDoth deeper aggravate thy foe than loud-cursing malice?—A wise man prevaileth in power, for he screeneth his battering engine,But a fool tilteth headlong, and his adversary is aware.
Hints,shrewdly strown, mightily disturb the spirit,
Where a bare-faced accusation would be too ridiculous for calumny:
The sly suggestion toucheth nerves, and nerves contract the fronds,
And the sensitive mimosa of affection trembleth to its root;
And friendships, the growth of half a century, those oaks that laugh at storms,
Have been cankered in a night by a worm, even as the prophet's gourd.
Hast thou loved, and not known jealousy? for a sidelong look
Can please or pain thy heart more than the multitude of proofs:
Hast thou hated, and not learned that thy silent scorn
Doth deeper aggravate thy foe than loud-cursing malice?—
A wise man prevaileth in power, for he screeneth his battering engine,
But a fool tilteth headlong, and his adversary is aware.
Beholdthose broken arches, that oriel all unglazed,That crippled line of columns bleaching in the sun,The delicate shaft stricken midway, and the flying buttressIdly stretching forth to hold up tufted ivy:Thinkest thou the thousand eyes that shine with rapture on a ruin,Would have looked with half their wonder on the perfect pile?And wherefore not—but that light hints, suggesting unseen beauties,Fill the complacent gazer with self-grown conceits?And so, the rapid sketch winneth more praise to the painter,Than the consummate work elaborated on his easel:And so, the Helvetic lion caverned in the living rockHath more of majesty and force, than it upon a marble pedestal.
Beholdthose broken arches, that oriel all unglazed,
That crippled line of columns bleaching in the sun,
The delicate shaft stricken midway, and the flying buttress
Idly stretching forth to hold up tufted ivy:
Thinkest thou the thousand eyes that shine with rapture on a ruin,
Would have looked with half their wonder on the perfect pile?
And wherefore not—but that light hints, suggesting unseen beauties,
Fill the complacent gazer with self-grown conceits?
And so, the rapid sketch winneth more praise to the painter,
Than the consummate work elaborated on his easel:
And so, the Helvetic lion caverned in the living rock
Hath more of majesty and force, than it upon a marble pedestal.
Tellme, daughter of taste, what hath charmed thine ear in music?Is it the laboured theme, the curious fugue or cento,—Nor rather the sparkles of intelligence flashing from some strange chord,Or the soft melody of sounds far sweeter for simplicity?Tell me, thou son of science, what hath filled thy mind in reading?Is it the volume of detail where all is orderly set down,And they that read may run, nor need to stop and think;The book carefully accurate, that counteth thee no better than a fool,Gorging the passive mind with annotated notes;—Nor rather the half-suggested thoughts, the riddles thou mayst solve,The fair ideas, coyly peeping like young loves out of roses,The quaint arabesque conceptions, half cherub and half flower,The light analogy, or deep allusion, trusted to thy learning,The confidence implied in thy skill to unravel meaning mysteries?For ideas are ofttimes shy of the close furniture of words,And thought, wherein only is power, may be best conveyed by a suggestion:The flash that lighteth up a valley, amid the dark midnight of a storm,Coineth the mind with that scene sharper than fifty summers.
Tellme, daughter of taste, what hath charmed thine ear in music?
Is it the laboured theme, the curious fugue or cento,—
Nor rather the sparkles of intelligence flashing from some strange chord,
Or the soft melody of sounds far sweeter for simplicity?
Tell me, thou son of science, what hath filled thy mind in reading?
Is it the volume of detail where all is orderly set down,
And they that read may run, nor need to stop and think;
The book carefully accurate, that counteth thee no better than a fool,
Gorging the passive mind with annotated notes;—
Nor rather the half-suggested thoughts, the riddles thou mayst solve,
The fair ideas, coyly peeping like young loves out of roses,
The quaint arabesque conceptions, half cherub and half flower,
The light analogy, or deep allusion, trusted to thy learning,
The confidence implied in thy skill to unravel meaning mysteries?
For ideas are ofttimes shy of the close furniture of words,
And thought, wherein only is power, may be best conveyed by a suggestion:
The flash that lighteth up a valley, amid the dark midnight of a storm,
Coineth the mind with that scene sharper than fifty summers.
A worldlyman boasteth in his pride, that there is no power but of money;And he judgeth the characters of men by the differing measures of their means:He stealeth all goodly names, as worth, and value, and substance,Which be the ancient heritage of Virtue, but such an one ascribeth unto Wealth:He spurneth the needy sage, whose wisdom hath enriched nations,And the sons of poverty and learning, without whom earth were a desert:Music, the soother of cares, the tuner of the dank discordant heart-strings,It is nought unto such an one but sounds, whereby some earn their living:The poem, and the picture, and the statue, to him seem idle baubles,Which wealth condescendeth to favour, to gain him the name of patron.But little wotteth he the might of the means his folly despiseth;He considereth not that these be the wires which move the puppets of the world.A sentence hath formed a character, and a character subdued a kingdom;A picture hath ruined souls, or raised them to commerce with the skies:The pen hath shaken nations, and stablished the world in peace;And the whole full horn of plenty been filled from the vial of science.He regardeth man as sensual, the monarch of created matter,And careth not aught for mind, that linketh him with spirits unseen;He feedeth his carcase and is glad, though his soul be faint and famished,And the dull brute power of the body bindeth him a captive to himself.
A worldlyman boasteth in his pride, that there is no power but of money;
And he judgeth the characters of men by the differing measures of their means:
He stealeth all goodly names, as worth, and value, and substance,
Which be the ancient heritage of Virtue, but such an one ascribeth unto Wealth:
He spurneth the needy sage, whose wisdom hath enriched nations,
And the sons of poverty and learning, without whom earth were a desert:
Music, the soother of cares, the tuner of the dank discordant heart-strings,
It is nought unto such an one but sounds, whereby some earn their living:
The poem, and the picture, and the statue, to him seem idle baubles,
Which wealth condescendeth to favour, to gain him the name of patron.
But little wotteth he the might of the means his folly despiseth;
He considereth not that these be the wires which move the puppets of the world.
A sentence hath formed a character, and a character subdued a kingdom;
A picture hath ruined souls, or raised them to commerce with the skies:
The pen hath shaken nations, and stablished the world in peace;
And the whole full horn of plenty been filled from the vial of science.
He regardeth man as sensual, the monarch of created matter,
And careth not aught for mind, that linketh him with spirits unseen;
He feedeth his carcase and is glad, though his soul be faint and famished,
And the dull brute power of the body bindeth him a captive to himself.
Manliveth from hour to hour, and knoweth not what may happen;Influences circle him on all sides, and yet must he answer for his actions:For the being that is master of himself, bendeth events to his will,But a slave to selfish passion is the wavering creature of circumstance.To this man temptation is a poison, to that man it addeth vigour;And each may render to himself influences good or evil.As thou directest the power, harm or advantage will follow,And the torrent that swept the valley, may be led to turn a mill;The wild electric flash, that could have kindled comets,May by the ductile wire give ease to an ailing child.For outward matter or event fashion not the character within,But each man, yielding or resisting, fashioneth his mind for himself.
Manliveth from hour to hour, and knoweth not what may happen;
Influences circle him on all sides, and yet must he answer for his actions:
For the being that is master of himself, bendeth events to his will,
But a slave to selfish passion is the wavering creature of circumstance.
To this man temptation is a poison, to that man it addeth vigour;
And each may render to himself influences good or evil.
As thou directest the power, harm or advantage will follow,
And the torrent that swept the valley, may be led to turn a mill;
The wild electric flash, that could have kindled comets,
May by the ductile wire give ease to an ailing child.
For outward matter or event fashion not the character within,
But each man, yielding or resisting, fashioneth his mind for himself.
Somehave said, What is in a name?—most potent plastic influence;A name is a word of character, and repetition stablisheth the fact:A word of rebuke, or of honour, tending to obscurity or fame;And greatest is the power of a name, when its power is least suspected.A low name is a thorn in the side, that hindereth the footman in his running;But a name of ancestral renown shall often put the racer to his speed.Few men have grown unto greatness whose names are allied to ridicule,And many would never have been profligate, but for the splendour of a name.A wise man scorneth nothing, be it never so small or homely,For he knoweth not the secret laws that may bind it to great effects.The world in its boyhood was credulous, and dreaded the vengeance of the stars,The world in its dotage is not wiser, fearing not the influence of small things:Planets govern not the soul, nor guide the destinies of man,But trifles, lighter than straws, are levers in the building up of character.A man hath the tiller in his hand, and may steer against the current,Or may glide down idly with the stream, till his vessel founder in the whirlpool.
Somehave said, What is in a name?—most potent plastic influence;
A name is a word of character, and repetition stablisheth the fact:
A word of rebuke, or of honour, tending to obscurity or fame;
And greatest is the power of a name, when its power is least suspected.
A low name is a thorn in the side, that hindereth the footman in his running;
But a name of ancestral renown shall often put the racer to his speed.
Few men have grown unto greatness whose names are allied to ridicule,
And many would never have been profligate, but for the splendour of a name.
A wise man scorneth nothing, be it never so small or homely,
For he knoweth not the secret laws that may bind it to great effects.
The world in its boyhood was credulous, and dreaded the vengeance of the stars,
The world in its dotage is not wiser, fearing not the influence of small things:
Planets govern not the soul, nor guide the destinies of man,
But trifles, lighter than straws, are levers in the building up of character.
A man hath the tiller in his hand, and may steer against the current,
Or may glide down idly with the stream, till his vessel founder in the whirlpool.
Helvetiorum Fidei ac VirtutiDie X Augusti II et IIISeptembris MDCCXCII
Helvetiorum Fidei ac VirtutiDie X Augusti II et IIISeptembris MDCCXCII
Helvetiorum Fidei ac VirtutiDie X Augusti II et IIISeptembris MDCCXCII
Whereart thou, storehouse of the mind, garner of facts and fancies,—In what strange firmament are laid the beams of thine airy chambers?Or art thou that small cavern, the centre of the rolling brain,Where still one sandy morsel testifieth man's original?Or hast thou some grand globe, some common hall of intellect,Some spacious market-place for thought, where all do bring their wares,And gladly rescued from the littleness, the narrow closet of a self,The privileged soul hath large access, coming in the livery of learning?Live we as isolated worlds, perfect in substance and spirit,Each a sphere, with a special mind, prisoned in its shell of matter?Or rather, as converging radiations, parts of one majestic whole,Beams of the Sun, streams from the River, branches of the mighty Tree,Some bearing fruit, some bearing leaves, and some diseased and barren,—Some for the feast, some for the floor, and some—how many—for the fire?Memory may be but a power of coming to the treasury of Fact,A momentary self-desertion, an absence in spirit from the Now,An actual coursing hither and thither, by the mind, slipped from its leash,A life, as in the mystery of dreams, spent within the limits of a moment.
Whereart thou, storehouse of the mind, garner of facts and fancies,—
In what strange firmament are laid the beams of thine airy chambers?
Or art thou that small cavern, the centre of the rolling brain,
Where still one sandy morsel testifieth man's original?
Or hast thou some grand globe, some common hall of intellect,
Some spacious market-place for thought, where all do bring their wares,
And gladly rescued from the littleness, the narrow closet of a self,
The privileged soul hath large access, coming in the livery of learning?
Live we as isolated worlds, perfect in substance and spirit,
Each a sphere, with a special mind, prisoned in its shell of matter?
Or rather, as converging radiations, parts of one majestic whole,
Beams of the Sun, streams from the River, branches of the mighty Tree,
Some bearing fruit, some bearing leaves, and some diseased and barren,—
Some for the feast, some for the floor, and some—how many—for the fire?
Memory may be but a power of coming to the treasury of Fact,
A momentary self-desertion, an absence in spirit from the Now,
An actual coursing hither and thither, by the mind, slipped from its leash,
A life, as in the mystery of dreams, spent within the limits of a moment.
A brutishman knoweth not this, neither can a fool comprehend it,But there be secrets of the Memory, deep, wondrous, and fearful.Were I at Petra, could I not declare, My soul hath been here before me?Am I strange to the columned halls, the calm dead grandeur of Palmyra?Know I not thy mount, O Carmel! Have I not voyaged on the Danube,Nor seen the glare of Arctic snows,—nor the black tents of the Tartar?Is it then a dream, that I remember the faces of them of old,While wandering in the grove with Plato, and listening to Zeno in the porch?Paul have I seen, and Pythagoras, and the Stagyrite hath spoken me friendly,And His meek eye looked also upon me, standing with Peter in the palace.Athens and Rome, Persepolis and Sparta, am I not a freeman of you all?And chiefly can my yearning heart forget thee, O Jerusalem?—For the strong magic of conception, mingled with the fumes of memory,Giveth me a life in all past time, yea, and addeth substance to the future.Be ye my judges, imaginative minds, full-fledged to soar into the sun,Whose grosser natural thoughts the chemistry of wisdom hath sublimed,Have ye not confessed to a feeling, a consciousness strange and vague,That ye have gone this way before, and walk again your daily life,Tracking an old routine, and on some foreign strand,Where bodily ye have never stood, finding your own footsteps?Hath not at times some recent friend looked out an old familiar,Some newest circumstance or place teemed as with ancient memories?A startling sudden flash lighteth up all for an instant,And then it is quenched, as in darkness, and leaveth the cold spirit trembling.
A brutishman knoweth not this, neither can a fool comprehend it,
But there be secrets of the Memory, deep, wondrous, and fearful.
Were I at Petra, could I not declare, My soul hath been here before me?
Am I strange to the columned halls, the calm dead grandeur of Palmyra?
Know I not thy mount, O Carmel! Have I not voyaged on the Danube,
Nor seen the glare of Arctic snows,—nor the black tents of the Tartar?
Is it then a dream, that I remember the faces of them of old,
While wandering in the grove with Plato, and listening to Zeno in the porch?
Paul have I seen, and Pythagoras, and the Stagyrite hath spoken me friendly,
And His meek eye looked also upon me, standing with Peter in the palace.
Athens and Rome, Persepolis and Sparta, am I not a freeman of you all?
And chiefly can my yearning heart forget thee, O Jerusalem?—
For the strong magic of conception, mingled with the fumes of memory,
Giveth me a life in all past time, yea, and addeth substance to the future.
Be ye my judges, imaginative minds, full-fledged to soar into the sun,
Whose grosser natural thoughts the chemistry of wisdom hath sublimed,
Have ye not confessed to a feeling, a consciousness strange and vague,
That ye have gone this way before, and walk again your daily life,
Tracking an old routine, and on some foreign strand,
Where bodily ye have never stood, finding your own footsteps?
Hath not at times some recent friend looked out an old familiar,
Some newest circumstance or place teemed as with ancient memories?
A startling sudden flash lighteth up all for an instant,
And then it is quenched, as in darkness, and leaveth the cold spirit trembling.
Memoryis not wisdom; idiots can rote volumes:Yet, what is wisdom without memory? a babe that is strangled in its birth,The path of the swallow in the air, the path of the dolphin in the waters,A cask running out, a bottomless chasm: such is wisdom without memory.There be many wise, who cannot store their knowledge;Yet from themselves are they satisfied, for the fountain is within:There be many who store, but have no wisdom of their own,Lumbering their armoury with weapons their muscles cannot lift:There be many thieves and robbers, who glean and store unlawfully,Calling in to memory's help some cunningly devised Cabala:But to feed the mind with fatness, to fill thy granary with corn,Nor clog with chaff and straw the threshing-floor of reason,Reap the ideas, and house them well; but leave the words high stubble:Strive to store up what was thought, despising what was said.For the mind is a spirit, and drinketh in ideas, as flame melteth into flame;But for words it must pack them as on floors, cumbrous and perishable merchandize.To be pained for a minute, to fear for an hour, to hope for a week—how long and weary!But to remember fourscore years, is to look back upon a day.An avenue seemeth to lengthen in the eyes of the wayfaring man,But let him turn, those stationed elms crowd up within a yard;Pace the lamp-lit streets of some sleeping city,The multitude of cressets shall seem one, in the false picture of perspective;Even so, in sweet treachery, dealeth the aged with himself,He gazeth on the green hill-tops, while the marshes beneath are hidden;And the partial telescope of memory pierceth the blank between,To look with lingering love at the fair star of childhood.Life is as the current spark on the miner's wheel of flints;Whiles it spinneth there is light; stop it, all is darkness:Life is as a morsel of frankincense burning in the hall of Eternity;It is gone, but its odorous cloud curleth to the lofty roof:Life is as a lump of salt, melting in the temple-laver;It is gone,—yet its savour reacheth to the farthest atom:Even so, for evil or for good, is life the criterion of a man,For its memories of sanctity or sin pervade all the firmament of being.There is but the flitting moment, wherein to hope or to enjoy,But in the calendar of Memory, that moment is all time.
Memoryis not wisdom; idiots can rote volumes:
Yet, what is wisdom without memory? a babe that is strangled in its birth,
The path of the swallow in the air, the path of the dolphin in the waters,
A cask running out, a bottomless chasm: such is wisdom without memory.
There be many wise, who cannot store their knowledge;
Yet from themselves are they satisfied, for the fountain is within:
There be many who store, but have no wisdom of their own,
Lumbering their armoury with weapons their muscles cannot lift:
There be many thieves and robbers, who glean and store unlawfully,
Calling in to memory's help some cunningly devised Cabala:
But to feed the mind with fatness, to fill thy granary with corn,
Nor clog with chaff and straw the threshing-floor of reason,
Reap the ideas, and house them well; but leave the words high stubble:
Strive to store up what was thought, despising what was said.
For the mind is a spirit, and drinketh in ideas, as flame melteth into flame;
But for words it must pack them as on floors, cumbrous and perishable merchandize.
To be pained for a minute, to fear for an hour, to hope for a week—how long and weary!
But to remember fourscore years, is to look back upon a day.
An avenue seemeth to lengthen in the eyes of the wayfaring man,
But let him turn, those stationed elms crowd up within a yard;
Pace the lamp-lit streets of some sleeping city,
The multitude of cressets shall seem one, in the false picture of perspective;
Even so, in sweet treachery, dealeth the aged with himself,
He gazeth on the green hill-tops, while the marshes beneath are hidden;
And the partial telescope of memory pierceth the blank between,
To look with lingering love at the fair star of childhood.
Life is as the current spark on the miner's wheel of flints;
Whiles it spinneth there is light; stop it, all is darkness:
Life is as a morsel of frankincense burning in the hall of Eternity;
It is gone, but its odorous cloud curleth to the lofty roof:
Life is as a lump of salt, melting in the temple-laver;
It is gone,—yet its savour reacheth to the farthest atom:
Even so, for evil or for good, is life the criterion of a man,
For its memories of sanctity or sin pervade all the firmament of being.
There is but the flitting moment, wherein to hope or to enjoy,
But in the calendar of Memory, that moment is all time.
I leftthe happy fields that smile around the village of Content,And sought with wayward feet the torrid desert of Ambition.Long time, parched and weary, I travelled that burning sand,And the hooded basilisk and adder were strewed in my way for palms;Black scorpions thronged me round, with sharp uplifted stings,Seeming to mock me as I ran; (then I guessed it was a dream,—But life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.)So I toiled on, doubting in myself, up a steep gravel cliff,Whose yellow summit shot up far into the brazen sky;And quickly, I was wafted to the top, as upon unseen wingsCarrying me upward like a leaf: (then I thought it was a dream,—Yet life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.)So I stood on the mountain, and behold! before me a giant pyramid,And I clomb with eager haste its high and difficult steps;For I longed, like another Belus, to mount up, yea, to heaven,Nor sought I rest until my feet had spurned the crest of earth.
I leftthe happy fields that smile around the village of Content,
And sought with wayward feet the torrid desert of Ambition.
Long time, parched and weary, I travelled that burning sand,
And the hooded basilisk and adder were strewed in my way for palms;
Black scorpions thronged me round, with sharp uplifted stings,
Seeming to mock me as I ran; (then I guessed it was a dream,—
But life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.)
So I toiled on, doubting in myself, up a steep gravel cliff,
Whose yellow summit shot up far into the brazen sky;
And quickly, I was wafted to the top, as upon unseen wings
Carrying me upward like a leaf: (then I thought it was a dream,—
Yet life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.)
So I stood on the mountain, and behold! before me a giant pyramid,
And I clomb with eager haste its high and difficult steps;
For I longed, like another Belus, to mount up, yea, to heaven,
Nor sought I rest until my feet had spurned the crest of earth.
ThenI sat on my granite throne under the burning sun,And the world lay smiling beneath me, but I was wrapt in flames;(And I hoped, in glimmering consciousness, that all this torture was a dream,—Yet life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.)And anon, as I sat scorching, the pyramid shuddered to its root,And I felt the quarried mass leap from its sand foundations:Awhile it tottered and tilted, as raised by invisible levers,—(And now my reason spake with me; I knew it was a dream:Yet I hushed that whisper into silence, for I hoped to learn of wisdom,By tracking up my truant thoughts, whereunto they might lead.)And suddenly, as rolling upon wheels, adown the cliff it rushed,And I thought, in my hot brain, of the Muscovites' icy slope;A thousand yards in a moment we ploughed the sandy seas,And crushed those happy fields, and that smiling village,And onward, as a living thing, still rushed my mighty throne,Thundering along, and pounding, as it went, the millions in my way:Before me all was life, and joy, and full-blown summer,Behind me death and woe, the desert and simoom.Then I wept and shrieked aloud, for pity and for fear;But might not stop, for, comet-like, flew on the maddened massOver the crashing cities, and falling obelisks and towers,And columns, razed as by a scythe, and high domes, shivered as an egg-shell,And deep embattled ranks, and women, crowded in the streets,And children, kneeling as for mercy, and all I had ever loved,Yea, over all, mine awful throne rushed on with seeming instinct,—And over the crackling forests, and over the rugged beach,And on with a terrible hiss through the foaming wild AtlanticThat roared around me as I sat, but could not quench my spirit,—Still on, through startled solitudes we shattered the pavement of the sea,Down, down, to that central vault, the bolted doors of hell;And these, with horrid shock, my huge throne battered in,And on to the deepest deep, where the fierce flames were hottest,Blazing tenfold as conquering furiously the seas that rushed in with me,—And there I stopped: and a fearful voice shouted in mine ear,"Behold the home of Discontent; behold the rest of Ambition!"
ThenI sat on my granite throne under the burning sun,
And the world lay smiling beneath me, but I was wrapt in flames;
Yet life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are.)
And anon, as I sat scorching, the pyramid shuddered to its root,
And I felt the quarried mass leap from its sand foundations:
Awhile it tottered and tilted, as raised by invisible levers,—
Yet I hushed that whisper into silence, for I hoped to learn of wisdom,
By tracking up my truant thoughts, whereunto they might lead.)
And suddenly, as rolling upon wheels, adown the cliff it rushed,
And I thought, in my hot brain, of the Muscovites' icy slope;
A thousand yards in a moment we ploughed the sandy seas,
And crushed those happy fields, and that smiling village,
And onward, as a living thing, still rushed my mighty throne,
Thundering along, and pounding, as it went, the millions in my way:
Before me all was life, and joy, and full-blown summer,
Behind me death and woe, the desert and simoom.
Then I wept and shrieked aloud, for pity and for fear;
But might not stop, for, comet-like, flew on the maddened mass
Over the crashing cities, and falling obelisks and towers,
And columns, razed as by a scythe, and high domes, shivered as an egg-shell,
And deep embattled ranks, and women, crowded in the streets,
And children, kneeling as for mercy, and all I had ever loved,
Yea, over all, mine awful throne rushed on with seeming instinct,—
And over the crackling forests, and over the rugged beach,
And on with a terrible hiss through the foaming wild Atlantic
That roared around me as I sat, but could not quench my spirit,—
Still on, through startled solitudes we shattered the pavement of the sea,
Down, down, to that central vault, the bolted doors of hell;
And these, with horrid shock, my huge throne battered in,
And on to the deepest deep, where the fierce flames were hottest,
Blazing tenfold as conquering furiously the seas that rushed in with me,—
And there I stopped: and a fearful voice shouted in mine ear,
Lawhath dominion over all things, over universal mind and matter;For there are reciprocities of right, which no creature can gainsay.Unto each was there added by its Maker, in the perfect chain of being,Dependencies and sustentations, accidents, and qualities, and powers:And each must fly forward in the curve, unto which it was forced from the beginning;Each must attract and repel, or the monarchy of Order is no more.Laws are essential emanations from the self-poised character of God,And they radiate from that sun to the circling edges of creation.Verily, the mighty Lawgiver hath subjected Himself unto Laws,And God is the primal grand example of free unstrained obedience;His perfection is limited by right, and cannot trespass into wrong,Because He hath established Himself as the fountain of only good,And in thus much is bounded, that the evil hath He left unto another,And that dark other hath usurped the evil which Omnipotence laid down.Unto God there exist impossibilities; for the True One cannot lie,Nor the Wise One wander from the track which He hath determined for Himself:For His will was purposed from eternity, strong in the love of order;And that will altereth not, as the law of the Medes and Persians.God is the origin of order, and the first exemplar of His precept;For there is subordination of His Essence, self-guided unto holiness;And there is subordination of His Persons, in due procession of dignity;For the Son, as a son, is subject; and to Him doth the Spirit minister:But these things be mysteries to man, he cannot reach nor fathom them,And ever must he speak in paradox, when labouring to expound his God;For, behold, God is alone, mighty in unshackled freedom;And with those wondrous Persons abideth eternal equality.
Lawhath dominion over all things, over universal mind and matter;
For there are reciprocities of right, which no creature can gainsay.
Unto each was there added by its Maker, in the perfect chain of being,
Dependencies and sustentations, accidents, and qualities, and powers:
And each must fly forward in the curve, unto which it was forced from the beginning;
Each must attract and repel, or the monarchy of Order is no more.
Laws are essential emanations from the self-poised character of God,
And they radiate from that sun to the circling edges of creation.
Verily, the mighty Lawgiver hath subjected Himself unto Laws,
And God is the primal grand example of free unstrained obedience;
His perfection is limited by right, and cannot trespass into wrong,
Because He hath established Himself as the fountain of only good,
And in thus much is bounded, that the evil hath He left unto another,
And that dark other hath usurped the evil which Omnipotence laid down.
Unto God there exist impossibilities; for the True One cannot lie,
Nor the Wise One wander from the track which He hath determined for Himself:
For His will was purposed from eternity, strong in the love of order;
And that will altereth not, as the law of the Medes and Persians.
God is the origin of order, and the first exemplar of His precept;
For there is subordination of His Essence, self-guided unto holiness;
And there is subordination of His Persons, in due procession of dignity;
For the Son, as a son, is subject; and to Him doth the Spirit minister:
But these things be mysteries to man, he cannot reach nor fathom them,
And ever must he speak in paradox, when labouring to expound his God;
For, behold, God is alone, mighty in unshackled freedom;
And with those wondrous Persons abideth eternal equality.
Sothen, start ye from the fountain, and follow the river of existence;For its current is bounded throughout by the banks of just subordination:Thrones, and dominions, and powers, Archangels, Cherubim, and Seraphim,Angels, and flaming ministers, and breathing chariots and harps.For there are degrees in heaven, and varied capabilities of bliss,And steps in the ladder of Intelligence, and ranks in approaches to Perfection:Doubtless, reverence is given, as their due, to the masters in wisdom;Doubtless, there are who serve; or a throne would have small glory.Regard now the universe of matter, the substance of visible creation,Which of old, with well-observing truth, the Greek hath surnamed, Order:Where is there an atom out of place? or a particle that yieldeth not obedience?Where is there a fragment that is free? or one thing the equal of another?—The chain is unbroken down to man, and beyond him the links are perfect:But he standeth solitary sin, a marvel of permitted chaos.
Sothen, start ye from the fountain, and follow the river of existence;
For its current is bounded throughout by the banks of just subordination:
Thrones, and dominions, and powers, Archangels, Cherubim, and Seraphim,
Angels, and flaming ministers, and breathing chariots and harps.
For there are degrees in heaven, and varied capabilities of bliss,
And steps in the ladder of Intelligence, and ranks in approaches to Perfection:
Doubtless, reverence is given, as their due, to the masters in wisdom;
Doubtless, there are who serve; or a throne would have small glory.
Regard now the universe of matter, the substance of visible creation,
Which of old, with well-observing truth, the Greek hath surnamed, Order:
Where is there an atom out of place? or a particle that yieldeth not obedience?
Where is there a fragment that is free? or one thing the equal of another?—
The chain is unbroken down to man, and beyond him the links are perfect:
But he standeth solitary sin, a marvel of permitted chaos.
Andshall this seeming error in the scale of due subordinationBe a spot of desert unreclaimed, in the midst of the vineyard of the Lord?Shall his presumptuous pride snap the safe tether of connexion,And his blind selfish folly refuse the burden of maintenance?O man, thou art a creature; boast not thyself above the law:Think not of thyself as free: thou art bound in the trammels of dependence.What is the sum of thy duty, but obedience to righteous rule;To the great commanding Oracle, uttered by delegated organs?Thou canst not render homage to abstract Omnipresent Power,Save through the concrete symbol of visible ordained authority.Those who obey not man, are oftenest found rebels against God;And seldom is the delegate so bold, as to order what he knoweth to be wrong.Yet mark me, proud gainsayer! I say not, obey unto sin;But, where the Principal is silent, take heed thou despise not the Deputy:And He that loveth order, will bless thee for thy faith,If thou recognize His sanction in the powers that fashion human laws.
Andshall this seeming error in the scale of due subordination
Be a spot of desert unreclaimed, in the midst of the vineyard of the Lord?
Shall his presumptuous pride snap the safe tether of connexion,
And his blind selfish folly refuse the burden of maintenance?
O man, thou art a creature; boast not thyself above the law:
Think not of thyself as free: thou art bound in the trammels of dependence.
What is the sum of thy duty, but obedience to righteous rule;
To the great commanding Oracle, uttered by delegated organs?
Thou canst not render homage to abstract Omnipresent Power,
Save through the concrete symbol of visible ordained authority.
Those who obey not man, are oftenest found rebels against God;
And seldom is the delegate so bold, as to order what he knoweth to be wrong.
Yet mark me, proud gainsayer! I say not, obey unto sin;
But, where the Principal is silent, take heed thou despise not the Deputy:
And He that loveth order, will bless thee for thy faith,
If thou recognize His sanction in the powers that fashion human laws.
Thou,the vicegerent of the Lord, His high anointed image,Towards whom a good man's loyalty floweth from the heart of his religion,Thou, whose deep responsibilities are fathomed by a nation's prayers,Whom wise men fear for while they love, and envy thee nothing but thy virtues,From thy dizzy pinnacle of greatness, remember thou also art a subject,And the throne of thine earthly glory is itself but the footstool of thy God.The homage thy kingdoms yield thee, regard thou as yielded unto Him;And while girt with all the majesty of state, consider thee the Lord's chief servant:So shalt thou prosper, and be strong, grafted on the strength of Another;So shall thy royal heart be happy, in being humble.And thou shalt flourish as an oak, the monarch of thine island forests,Whose deep-dug roots are twisted around the stout ribs of the globe,That mocketh at the fury of the storm, and rejoiceth in summer sunshine,Glad in the smiles of heaven, and great in the stability of earth.
Thou,the vicegerent of the Lord, His high anointed image,
Towards whom a good man's loyalty floweth from the heart of his religion,
Thou, whose deep responsibilities are fathomed by a nation's prayers,
Whom wise men fear for while they love, and envy thee nothing but thy virtues,
From thy dizzy pinnacle of greatness, remember thou also art a subject,
And the throne of thine earthly glory is itself but the footstool of thy God.
The homage thy kingdoms yield thee, regard thou as yielded unto Him;
And while girt with all the majesty of state, consider thee the Lord's chief servant:
So shalt thou prosper, and be strong, grafted on the strength of Another;
So shall thy royal heart be happy, in being humble.
And thou shalt flourish as an oak, the monarch of thine island forests,
Whose deep-dug roots are twisted around the stout ribs of the globe,
That mocketh at the fury of the storm, and rejoiceth in summer sunshine,
Glad in the smiles of heaven, and great in the stability of earth.
A rulerhath not power for himself, neither is his pomp for his pride;But beneath the ermine of his office should he wear the rough hair-cloth of humility.Nevertheless, every way obey him, so thou break not a higher commandment;For Nero was an evil king, yet Paul prescribeth subjection.If the rulers of a nation be holy, the Lord hath blessed that nation;If they be lewd and impious, chastisement hath come upon that people:For the bitterest scourge of a land is ungodliness in them that govern it,And the guilt of the sons of Josiah drove Israel weeping into Babylon.Yet be thou resolute against them, if they change the mandates of thy God,If they touch the ark of His covenant, wherein all His mercies are enshrined:Be resolute, but not rebellious; lest thou be of the company of Korah:Set thy face against them as a flint: but be not numbered with Abiram.Daniel nobly disobeyed; but not from a spirit of sedition:And Azarias shouted from the furnace,—I will not bow down, OKING.If truth must be sacrificed to unity, then faithfulness were folly;If man must be obeyed before God, the martyrs have bled in vain:Yet none of that blessed army reviled the rulers of the land,They were loud and bold against the sin, but bent before the ensign of authority.Honesty, scorning compromise, walketh most suitably with Reverence;Otherwise righteous daring may show but as obstinate rebellion:Therefore, suffer not thy censure to lack the savour of courtesy,And remember, the mortal sinneth, but the staff of his power is from God.
A rulerhath not power for himself, neither is his pomp for his pride;
But beneath the ermine of his office should he wear the rough hair-cloth of humility.
Nevertheless, every way obey him, so thou break not a higher commandment;
For Nero was an evil king, yet Paul prescribeth subjection.
If the rulers of a nation be holy, the Lord hath blessed that nation;
If they be lewd and impious, chastisement hath come upon that people:
For the bitterest scourge of a land is ungodliness in them that govern it,
And the guilt of the sons of Josiah drove Israel weeping into Babylon.
Yet be thou resolute against them, if they change the mandates of thy God,
If they touch the ark of His covenant, wherein all His mercies are enshrined:
Be resolute, but not rebellious; lest thou be of the company of Korah:
Set thy face against them as a flint: but be not numbered with Abiram.
Daniel nobly disobeyed; but not from a spirit of sedition:
And Azarias shouted from the furnace,—I will not bow down, OKING.
If truth must be sacrificed to unity, then faithfulness were folly;
If man must be obeyed before God, the martyrs have bled in vain:
Yet none of that blessed army reviled the rulers of the land,
They were loud and bold against the sin, but bent before the ensign of authority.
Honesty, scorning compromise, walketh most suitably with Reverence;
Otherwise righteous daring may show but as obstinate rebellion:
Therefore, suffer not thy censure to lack the savour of courtesy,
And remember, the mortal sinneth, but the staff of his power is from God.
Man,thou hast a social spirit, and art deeply indebted to thy kind:Therefore claim not all thy rights; but yield, for thine own advantage.Society is a chain of obligations, and its links must support each other;The branch can not but wither, that is cut from the parent vine.Wouldst thou be a dweller in the woods, and cast away the cords that bind thee,Seeking, in thy bitterness or pride, to be exiled from thy fellows?Behold, the beasts shall hunt thee, weak, naked, houseless outcast,Disease and Death shall track thee out, as bloodhounds in the wilderness:Better to be vilest of the vile, in the hated company of men,Than to live a solitary wretch, dreading and wanting all things;Better to be chained to thy labour, in the dusky thoroughfares of life,Than to reign monarch of Sloth, in lonesome savage freedom.
Man,thou hast a social spirit, and art deeply indebted to thy kind:
Therefore claim not all thy rights; but yield, for thine own advantage.
Society is a chain of obligations, and its links must support each other;
The branch can not but wither, that is cut from the parent vine.
Wouldst thou be a dweller in the woods, and cast away the cords that bind thee,
Seeking, in thy bitterness or pride, to be exiled from thy fellows?
Behold, the beasts shall hunt thee, weak, naked, houseless outcast,
Disease and Death shall track thee out, as bloodhounds in the wilderness:
Better to be vilest of the vile, in the hated company of men,
Than to live a solitary wretch, dreading and wanting all things;
Better to be chained to thy labour, in the dusky thoroughfares of life,
Than to reign monarch of Sloth, in lonesome savage freedom.
Whencethen cometh the doctrine, that all should be equal and free?—It is the lie that crowded hell, when Seraphs flung away subjection.No man is his neighbour's equal, for no two minds are similar,And accidents, alike with qualities, have every shade but sameness:The lightest atom of difference shall destroy the nice balance of equality,And all things, from without and from within, make one man to differ from another.We are equal and free! was the watchword that spirited the legions of Satan;We are equal and free! is the double lie that entrappeth to him conscripts from earth:The messengers of that dark despot will pander to thy licence and thy pride,And draw thee from the crowd where thou art safe, to seize thee in the solitary desert.Woe unto him whose heart the syren-song of Liberty hath charmed;Woe unto him whose mind is bewitched by her treacherous beauty;In mad zeal flingeth he away the fetters of duty and restraint,And yieldeth up the holocaust of self to that fair Idol of the Damned.No man hath freedom in aught, save in that from which the wicked would be hindered,He is free toward God and good; but to all else a bondman.
Whencethen cometh the doctrine, that all should be equal and free?—
It is the lie that crowded hell, when Seraphs flung away subjection.
No man is his neighbour's equal, for no two minds are similar,
And accidents, alike with qualities, have every shade but sameness:
The lightest atom of difference shall destroy the nice balance of equality,
And all things, from without and from within, make one man to differ from another.
We are equal and free! was the watchword that spirited the legions of Satan;
We are equal and free! is the double lie that entrappeth to him conscripts from earth:
The messengers of that dark despot will pander to thy licence and thy pride,
And draw thee from the crowd where thou art safe, to seize thee in the solitary desert.
Woe unto him whose heart the syren-song of Liberty hath charmed;
Woe unto him whose mind is bewitched by her treacherous beauty;
In mad zeal flingeth he away the fetters of duty and restraint,
And yieldeth up the holocaust of self to that fair Idol of the Damned.
No man hath freedom in aught, save in that from which the wicked would be hindered,
He is free toward God and good; but to all else a bondman.
Thouart in a middle sphere, to render and receive honour;If thy king commandeth, obey; and stand not in the way with rebels:But if need be, lay thy hand upon thy sword, and fear not to smite a traitor,For the universe acquitteth thee with honour, fighting in defence of thy king.If a thief break thy dwelling, and thou take him, it were sin in thee to let him go;Yea, though he pleadeth to thy mercy, thou canst not spare him and be blameless:For his guilt is not only against thee, it is not thy moneys or thy merchandize,But he hath done damage to the Law, which duty constraineth thee to sanction.Feast not thine appetite of vengeance, remembering thou also art a man,But weep for the sad compulsion, in which the chain of Providence hath bound thee:Mercy is not thine to give; wilt thou steal another's privilege?Or send abroad, among thy neighbours, a felon whom impunity hath hardened?Remember the Roman father, strong in his stern integrity,And let not thy slothful self-indulgence make thee a conniver at the crime.Also, if the knife of the murderer be raised against thee or thine,And through good providence and courage, thou slay him that would have slain thee,Thou losest not a tittle of thy rectitude, having executed sudden justice;Still mayst thou walk among the blessed, though thy hands be red with blood.For thyself, thou art neither worse nor better; but thy fellows should count thee their creditor:Thou hast manfully protected the right, and the right is stronger for thy deed.Also, in the rescuing of innocence, fear not to smite the ravisher;What though he die at thy hand? for a good name is better than the life;And if Phineas had everlasting praise in the matter of Salu's son,With how much greater honour standeth such a rescuer acquitted?Uphold the laws of thy country, and fear not to fight in their defence:But first be convinced in thy mind; for herein the doubter sinneth.Above all things, look thou well around, if indeed stern duty forceth theeTo draw the sword of justice, and stain it with the slaughter of thy fellows.
Thouart in a middle sphere, to render and receive honour;
If thy king commandeth, obey; and stand not in the way with rebels:
But if need be, lay thy hand upon thy sword, and fear not to smite a traitor,
For the universe acquitteth thee with honour, fighting in defence of thy king.
If a thief break thy dwelling, and thou take him, it were sin in thee to let him go;
Yea, though he pleadeth to thy mercy, thou canst not spare him and be blameless:
For his guilt is not only against thee, it is not thy moneys or thy merchandize,
But he hath done damage to the Law, which duty constraineth thee to sanction.
Feast not thine appetite of vengeance, remembering thou also art a man,
But weep for the sad compulsion, in which the chain of Providence hath bound thee:
Mercy is not thine to give; wilt thou steal another's privilege?
Or send abroad, among thy neighbours, a felon whom impunity hath hardened?
Remember the Roman father, strong in his stern integrity,
And let not thy slothful self-indulgence make thee a conniver at the crime.
Also, if the knife of the murderer be raised against thee or thine,
And through good providence and courage, thou slay him that would have slain thee,
Thou losest not a tittle of thy rectitude, having executed sudden justice;
Still mayst thou walk among the blessed, though thy hands be red with blood.
For thyself, thou art neither worse nor better; but thy fellows should count thee their creditor:
Thou hast manfully protected the right, and the right is stronger for thy deed.
Also, in the rescuing of innocence, fear not to smite the ravisher;
What though he die at thy hand? for a good name is better than the life;
And if Phineas had everlasting praise in the matter of Salu's son,
With how much greater honour standeth such a rescuer acquitted?
Uphold the laws of thy country, and fear not to fight in their defence:
But first be convinced in thy mind; for herein the doubter sinneth.
Above all things, look thou well around, if indeed stern duty forceth thee
To draw the sword of justice, and stain it with the slaughter of thy fellows.