Cease,fond caviller at wisdom, to be satisfied that everything is wrong:Be sure there is good necessity, even for the flourishing of evil.Would the eye delight in perpetual noon? or the ear in unqualified harmonics?Hath winter's frost no welcome, contrasting sturdily with summer?Couldst thou discern benevolence, if there were no sorrows to be soothed?Or discover the resources of contrivance, if nothing stood opposed to the means?What were power without an enemy? or mercy without an object?Or truth, where the false were impossible? or love, where love were a debt?The characters of God were but idle, if all things around Him were perfection,And virtues might slumber on like death, if they lacked the opportunities of evil.There is One all-perfect, and but one; man dare not reason of His essence:But there must be deficiencies in heaven, to leave room for progression in bliss:A realm of unqualifiedBESTwere a stagnant pool of being,And the circle of absolute perfection, the abstract cipher of indolence.Sin is an awful shadow, but it addeth new glories to the light;Sin is a black foil, but it setteth off the jewelry of heaven:Sin is the traitor that hath dragged the majesty of mercy into action;Sin is the whelming argument, to justify the attribute of vengeance.It is a deep dark thought, and needeth to be diligently studied,But perchance evil was essential, that God should be seen of His creatures:For where perfection is not, there lacketh possible good,And the absence of better that might be, taketh from the praise of it is well:And creatures must be finite, and finite cannot be perfect:Therefore, though in small degree, creation involveth evil,He chargeth His angels with folly, and the heavens are not clean in His sight:For every existence in the universe hath either imperfection or Godhead:And the light that blazeth but in One, must be softened with shadow for the many.There is then good in evil; or none could have known his Maker;No spiritual intellect or essence could have gazed on His high perfections,No angel harps could have tuned the wonders of His wisdom,No ransomed souls have praised the glories of His mercy,No howling fiends have shown the terrors of His justice,But God would have dwelt alone, in the fearful solitude of holiness.
Cease,fond caviller at wisdom, to be satisfied that everything is wrong:
Be sure there is good necessity, even for the flourishing of evil.
Would the eye delight in perpetual noon? or the ear in unqualified harmonics?
Hath winter's frost no welcome, contrasting sturdily with summer?
Couldst thou discern benevolence, if there were no sorrows to be soothed?
Or discover the resources of contrivance, if nothing stood opposed to the means?
What were power without an enemy? or mercy without an object?
Or truth, where the false were impossible? or love, where love were a debt?
The characters of God were but idle, if all things around Him were perfection,
And virtues might slumber on like death, if they lacked the opportunities of evil.
There is One all-perfect, and but one; man dare not reason of His essence:
But there must be deficiencies in heaven, to leave room for progression in bliss:
A realm of unqualifiedBESTwere a stagnant pool of being,
And the circle of absolute perfection, the abstract cipher of indolence.
Sin is an awful shadow, but it addeth new glories to the light;
Sin is a black foil, but it setteth off the jewelry of heaven:
Sin is the traitor that hath dragged the majesty of mercy into action;
Sin is the whelming argument, to justify the attribute of vengeance.
It is a deep dark thought, and needeth to be diligently studied,
But perchance evil was essential, that God should be seen of His creatures:
For where perfection is not, there lacketh possible good,
And the absence of better that might be, taketh from the praise of it is well:
And creatures must be finite, and finite cannot be perfect:
Therefore, though in small degree, creation involveth evil,
He chargeth His angels with folly, and the heavens are not clean in His sight:
For every existence in the universe hath either imperfection or Godhead:
And the light that blazeth but in One, must be softened with shadow for the many.
There is then good in evil; or none could have known his Maker;
No spiritual intellect or essence could have gazed on His high perfections,
No angel harps could have tuned the wonders of His wisdom,
No ransomed souls have praised the glories of His mercy,
No howling fiends have shown the terrors of His justice,
But God would have dwelt alone, in the fearful solitude of holiness.
Nevertheless,O sinner, harden not thine heart in evil;Nor plume thee in imaginary triumph, because thou art not valueless as vile;Because thy dark abominations add lustre to the clarity of Light;Because a wonder-working alchemy draineth elixir out of poisons;Because the same fiery volcano that scorcheth and ravageth a continent,Hath in the broad blue bay cast up some petty island;Because to the full demonstration of the qualities and accidents of goodThe swarthy legions of the Devil have toiled as unwitting pioneers.For sin is still sin; so hateful Love doth hate it;A blot on the glory of creation, which Justice must wipe out.Sin is a loathsome leprosy, fretting the white robe of innocence;A rottenness, eating out the heart of the royal cedars of Lebanon;A pestilential blast, the terror of that holy pilgrimage;A rent in the sacred veil, whereby God left His temple.Therefore, consider thyself, thou that dost not sorrow for thy guilt:Fear evil, or face its Enemy: dread sin, or dare Justice.
Nevertheless,O sinner, harden not thine heart in evil;
Nor plume thee in imaginary triumph, because thou art not valueless as vile;
Because thy dark abominations add lustre to the clarity of Light;
Because a wonder-working alchemy draineth elixir out of poisons;
Because the same fiery volcano that scorcheth and ravageth a continent,
Hath in the broad blue bay cast up some petty island;
Because to the full demonstration of the qualities and accidents of good
The swarthy legions of the Devil have toiled as unwitting pioneers.
For sin is still sin; so hateful Love doth hate it;
A blot on the glory of creation, which Justice must wipe out.
Sin is a loathsome leprosy, fretting the white robe of innocence;
A rottenness, eating out the heart of the royal cedars of Lebanon;
A pestilential blast, the terror of that holy pilgrimage;
A rent in the sacred veil, whereby God left His temple.
Therefore, consider thyself, thou that dost not sorrow for thy guilt:
Fear evil, or face its Enemy: dread sin, or dare Justice.
Yea,saith the Spirit: and their works do follow them;Habits, and thoughts, and deeds, are shadows and satellites of self.What! shall the claimant to a throne stand forward with a rabble rout,—Meanness, impiety, and lust; riot and indolence and vanity?Nay, man! the train wherewith thou comest attend whither thou shalt go:A throne for a king's son, but an inner dungeon for the felon.For a man's works do follow him: bodily, standing in the judgment,Behold the false accuser, behold the slandered saint;The slave, and his bloody driver; the poor, and his generous friend;The simple dupe, and the crafty knave: the murderer, and—his victim!Yet all are in many characters; the best stand guilty at the bar;And he that seemed the worst may have most of real excuse.The talents unto which a man is born, be they few or many,Are dropped into the balance of account, working unlooked-for changes;And perchance the convict from the galleys may stand above the hermit in his cell,For that, the obstacles in one outweigh the propensions in the other.There be, who have made themselves friends, yea, by unrighteous mammon,—Friends, ready waiting as an escort to those everlasting habitations;Embodied in living witnesses, thronging to meet them in a cloud,Charity, meekness and truth, zeal, sincerity and patience,There be, who have made themselves foes, yea, by honest gain,Foes, whose plaint must have its answer, before the bright portal is unbarred:Pride, and selfishness, and sloth, apathy, wrath and falsehood,Bind to their everlasting toil many that must weary in the fires.Love hath a power and a longing to save the gathered world,And rescue universal man from the hunting hell-hounds of his doings:Yet few, here one and there one, scanty as the gleaning after harvest,Are glad of the robes of praise which Mercy would fling around the naked;But wrapping closer to their skin the poisoned tunic of their works,They stand in self-dependence, to perish in abandonment of God.
Yea,saith the Spirit: and their works do follow them;
Habits, and thoughts, and deeds, are shadows and satellites of self.
What! shall the claimant to a throne stand forward with a rabble rout,—
Meanness, impiety, and lust; riot and indolence and vanity?
Nay, man! the train wherewith thou comest attend whither thou shalt go:
A throne for a king's son, but an inner dungeon for the felon.
For a man's works do follow him: bodily, standing in the judgment,
Behold the false accuser, behold the slandered saint;
The slave, and his bloody driver; the poor, and his generous friend;
The simple dupe, and the crafty knave: the murderer, and—his victim!
Yet all are in many characters; the best stand guilty at the bar;
And he that seemed the worst may have most of real excuse.
The talents unto which a man is born, be they few or many,
Are dropped into the balance of account, working unlooked-for changes;
And perchance the convict from the galleys may stand above the hermit in his cell,
For that, the obstacles in one outweigh the propensions in the other.
There be, who have made themselves friends, yea, by unrighteous mammon,—
Friends, ready waiting as an escort to those everlasting habitations;
Embodied in living witnesses, thronging to meet them in a cloud,
Charity, meekness and truth, zeal, sincerity and patience,
There be, who have made themselves foes, yea, by honest gain,
Foes, whose plaint must have its answer, before the bright portal is unbarred:
Pride, and selfishness, and sloth, apathy, wrath and falsehood,
Bind to their everlasting toil many that must weary in the fires.
Love hath a power and a longing to save the gathered world,
And rescue universal man from the hunting hell-hounds of his doings:
Yet few, here one and there one, scanty as the gleaning after harvest,
Are glad of the robes of praise which Mercy would fling around the naked;
But wrapping closer to their skin the poisoned tunic of their works,
They stand in self-dependence, to perish in abandonment of God.
A wickedman scorneth prayer, in the shallow sophistry of reason,He derideth the silly hope that God can be moved by supplication:—Shall the Unchangeable be changed, or waver in His purpose?Can the weakness of pity affect Him? Should He turn at the bidding of a man?Methought He ruled all things, and ye called His decrees immutable,But if thus He listeneth to words, wherein is the firmness of His will?—So I heard the speech of the wicked, and, lo, it was smoother than oil;But I knew that his reasonings were false, for the promise of the Scripture is true:Yet was my soul in darkness, for his words were too hard for me;Till I turned to my God in prayer: for I know He heareth always.Then I looked abroad on the earth, and, behold, the Lord was in all things;Yet saw I not His hand in aught, but perceived that He worketh by means;Yea, and the power of the mean proveth the wisdom that ordained it,Yea, and no act is useless, to the hurling of a stone through the air.So I turned my thoughts to supplication, and beheld the mercies of Jehovah,And I saw sound argument was still the faithful friend of godliness;For as the rock of the affections is the solid approval of reason,Even so the temple of Religion is founded on the basis of Philosophy.
A wickedman scorneth prayer, in the shallow sophistry of reason,
He derideth the silly hope that God can be moved by supplication:—
Shall the Unchangeable be changed, or waver in His purpose?
Can the weakness of pity affect Him? Should He turn at the bidding of a man?
Methought He ruled all things, and ye called His decrees immutable,
But if thus He listeneth to words, wherein is the firmness of His will?—
So I heard the speech of the wicked, and, lo, it was smoother than oil;
But I knew that his reasonings were false, for the promise of the Scripture is true:
Yet was my soul in darkness, for his words were too hard for me;
Till I turned to my God in prayer: for I know He heareth always.
Then I looked abroad on the earth, and, behold, the Lord was in all things;
Yet saw I not His hand in aught, but perceived that He worketh by means;
Yea, and the power of the mean proveth the wisdom that ordained it,
Yea, and no act is useless, to the hurling of a stone through the air.
So I turned my thoughts to supplication, and beheld the mercies of Jehovah,
And I saw sound argument was still the faithful friend of godliness;
For as the rock of the affections is the solid approval of reason,
Even so the temple of Religion is founded on the basis of Philosophy.
Scorner,thy thoughts are weak, they reach not the summit of the matter;Go to, for the mouth of a child might show thee the mystery of prayer:Verily, there is no change in the counsels of the Mighty Ruler:Verily, His purpose is strong, and rooted in the depths of necessity:But who hath shown thee His purpose, who hath made known to thee His will?When, O gainsayer! hast thou been schooled in the secrets of wisdom?Fate is a creature of God, and all things move in their orbits,And that which shall surely happen is known unto Him from eternity;But as, in the field of nature, He useth the sinews of the ox,And commandeth diligence and toil, Himself giving the increase;So, in the kingdom of His grace, granteth He omnipotence to prayer,For He knoweth what thou wilt ask, and what thou wilt ask aright.No man can pray in faith, whose prayer is not grounded on a promise:Yet a good man commendeth all things to the righteous wisdom of his God:For those, who pray in faith, trust the immutable Jehovah,And they, who ask blessings unpromised, lean on uncovenanted mercy.
Scorner,thy thoughts are weak, they reach not the summit of the matter;
Go to, for the mouth of a child might show thee the mystery of prayer:
Verily, there is no change in the counsels of the Mighty Ruler:
Verily, His purpose is strong, and rooted in the depths of necessity:
But who hath shown thee His purpose, who hath made known to thee His will?
When, O gainsayer! hast thou been schooled in the secrets of wisdom?
Fate is a creature of God, and all things move in their orbits,
And that which shall surely happen is known unto Him from eternity;
But as, in the field of nature, He useth the sinews of the ox,
And commandeth diligence and toil, Himself giving the increase;
So, in the kingdom of His grace, granteth He omnipotence to prayer,
For He knoweth what thou wilt ask, and what thou wilt ask aright.
No man can pray in faith, whose prayer is not grounded on a promise:
Yet a good man commendeth all things to the righteous wisdom of his God:
For those, who pray in faith, trust the immutable Jehovah,
And they, who ask blessings unpromised, lean on uncovenanted mercy.
Man,regard thy prayers as a purpose of love to thy soul;Esteem the providence that led to them as an index of God's good will;So shalt thou pray aright, and thy words shall meet with acceptance.Also, in pleading for others, be thankful for the fulness of thy prayer:For if thou art ready to ask, the Lord is more ready to bestow.The salt preserveth the sea, and the saints uphold the earth;Their prayers are the thousand pillars that prop the canopy of nature.Verily, an hour without prayer, from some terrestrial mind,Were a curse in the calendar of time, a spot of the blackness of darkness.Perchance the terrible day, when the world must rock into ruins,Will be one unwhitened by prayer,—shall He find faith on the earth?For there is an economy of mercy, as of wisdom, and power, and means;Neither is one blessing granted, unbesought from the treasury of good:And the charitable heart of the Being, to depend upon whom is happiness,Never withholdeth a bounty, so long as His subject prayeth;Yea, ask what thou wilt, to the second throne in heaven,It is thine, for whom it was appointed; there is no limit unto prayer:But and if thou cease to ask, tremble, thou self-suspended creature,For thy strength is cut off as was Samson's: and the hour of thy doom is come.
Man,regard thy prayers as a purpose of love to thy soul;
Esteem the providence that led to them as an index of God's good will;
So shalt thou pray aright, and thy words shall meet with acceptance.
Also, in pleading for others, be thankful for the fulness of thy prayer:
For if thou art ready to ask, the Lord is more ready to bestow.
The salt preserveth the sea, and the saints uphold the earth;
Their prayers are the thousand pillars that prop the canopy of nature.
Verily, an hour without prayer, from some terrestrial mind,
Were a curse in the calendar of time, a spot of the blackness of darkness.
Perchance the terrible day, when the world must rock into ruins,
Will be one unwhitened by prayer,—shall He find faith on the earth?
For there is an economy of mercy, as of wisdom, and power, and means;
Neither is one blessing granted, unbesought from the treasury of good:
And the charitable heart of the Being, to depend upon whom is happiness,
Never withholdeth a bounty, so long as His subject prayeth;
Yea, ask what thou wilt, to the second throne in heaven,
It is thine, for whom it was appointed; there is no limit unto prayer:
But and if thou cease to ask, tremble, thou self-suspended creature,
For thy strength is cut off as was Samson's: and the hour of thy doom is come.
Frailart thou, O man, as a bubble on the breaker,Weak and governed by externals, like a poor bird caught in the storm;Yet thy momentary breath can still the raging waters,Thy hand can touch a lever that may move the world.O Merciful, we strike eternal covenant with thee,For man may take for his ally the King who ruleth kings:How strong, yet how most weak, in utter poverty how rich,What possible omnipotence to good is dormant in a man!Behold that fragile form of delicate transparent beauty,Whose light-blue eye and hectic cheek are lit by the bale-fires of decline:All droopingly she lieth, as a dew-laden lily,Her flaxen tresses, rashly luxuriant, dank with unhealthy moisture;Hath not thy heart said of her, Alas! poor child of weakness?Thou hast erred; Goliah of Gath stood not in half her strength:Terribly she fighteth in the van as the virgin daughter of Orleans,She beareth the banner of Heaven, her onset is the rushing cataract,Seraphim rally at her side, and the captain of that host is God,And the serried ranks of evil are routed by the lightning of her eye;She is the King's remembrancer, and steward of many blessings,Holding the buckler of security over her unthankful land:For that weak fluttering heart is strong in faith assured,Dependence is her might, and behold—she prayeth.
Frailart thou, O man, as a bubble on the breaker,
Weak and governed by externals, like a poor bird caught in the storm;
Yet thy momentary breath can still the raging waters,
Thy hand can touch a lever that may move the world.
O Merciful, we strike eternal covenant with thee,
For man may take for his ally the King who ruleth kings:
How strong, yet how most weak, in utter poverty how rich,
What possible omnipotence to good is dormant in a man!
Behold that fragile form of delicate transparent beauty,
Whose light-blue eye and hectic cheek are lit by the bale-fires of decline:
All droopingly she lieth, as a dew-laden lily,
Her flaxen tresses, rashly luxuriant, dank with unhealthy moisture;
Hath not thy heart said of her, Alas! poor child of weakness?
Thou hast erred; Goliah of Gath stood not in half her strength:
Terribly she fighteth in the van as the virgin daughter of Orleans,
She beareth the banner of Heaven, her onset is the rushing cataract,
Seraphim rally at her side, and the captain of that host is God,
And the serried ranks of evil are routed by the lightning of her eye;
She is the King's remembrancer, and steward of many blessings,
Holding the buckler of security over her unthankful land:
For that weak fluttering heart is strong in faith assured,
Dependence is her might, and behold—she prayeth.
Angelsare round the good man, to catch the incense of his prayers,And they fly to minister kindness to those for whom he pleadeth;For the altar of his heart is lighted, and burneth before God continually,And he breatheth, conscious of his joy, the native atmosphere of heaven:Yea, though poor, and contemned, and ignorant of this world's wisdom,Ill can his fellows spare him, though they know not of his value.Thousands bewail a hero, and a nation mourneth for its king,But the whole universe lamenteth the loss of a man of prayer.Verily, were it not for One, who sitteth on His rightful throne,Crowned with a rainbow of emerald, the green memorial of earth,—For One, a mediating man, that hath clad His Godhead with mortality,And offereth prayer without ceasing, the royal priest of Nature,Matter and life and mind had sunk into dark annihilation,And the lightning frown of Justice withered the world into nothing.
Angelsare round the good man, to catch the incense of his prayers,
And they fly to minister kindness to those for whom he pleadeth;
For the altar of his heart is lighted, and burneth before God continually,
And he breatheth, conscious of his joy, the native atmosphere of heaven:
Yea, though poor, and contemned, and ignorant of this world's wisdom,
Ill can his fellows spare him, though they know not of his value.
Thousands bewail a hero, and a nation mourneth for its king,
But the whole universe lamenteth the loss of a man of prayer.
Verily, were it not for One, who sitteth on His rightful throne,
Crowned with a rainbow of emerald, the green memorial of earth,—
For One, a mediating man, that hath clad His Godhead with mortality,
And offereth prayer without ceasing, the royal priest of Nature,
Matter and life and mind had sunk into dark annihilation,
And the lightning frown of Justice withered the world into nothing.
Thus,O worshipper of reason, thou hast heard the sum of the matter:And woe to his hairy scalp that restraineth prayer before God.Prayer is a creature's strength, his very breath and being;Prayer is the golden key that can open the wicket of Mercy:Prayer is the magic sound that saith to Fate, So be it;Prayer is the slender nerve that moveth the muscles of Omnipotence.Wherefore, pray, O creature, for many and great are thy wants;Thy mind, thy conscience, and thy being, thy rights commend thee unto prayer,The cure of all cares, the grand panacea for all pains,Doubt's destroyer, ruin's remedy, the antidote to all anxieties.
Thus,O worshipper of reason, thou hast heard the sum of the matter:
And woe to his hairy scalp that restraineth prayer before God.
Prayer is a creature's strength, his very breath and being;
Prayer is the golden key that can open the wicket of Mercy:
Prayer is the magic sound that saith to Fate, So be it;
Prayer is the slender nerve that moveth the muscles of Omnipotence.
Wherefore, pray, O creature, for many and great are thy wants;
Thy mind, thy conscience, and thy being, thy rights commend thee unto prayer,
The cure of all cares, the grand panacea for all pains,
Doubt's destroyer, ruin's remedy, the antidote to all anxieties.
Sothen, God is true, and yet He hath not changed:It is He that sendeth the petition, to answer it according to His will.
Sothen, God is true, and yet He hath not changed:
It is He that sendeth the petition, to answer it according to His will.
Inquirestthou, O man, wherewithal may I come unto the Lord?And with what wonder-working sounds may I move the majesty of Heaven?There is a model to thy hand; upon that do thou frame thy supplication;Wisdom hath measured its words; and redemption urgeth thee to use them.Call thy God thy Father, and yet not thine alone,For thou art but one of many, thy brotherhood is with all:Remember His high estate, that He dwelleth King of Heaven;So shall thy thoughts be humbled, nor love be unmixed with reverence:Be thy first petition unselfish, the honour of Him who made thee,And that in the depths of thy heart His memory be shrined in holiness:Pray for that blessed time, when good shall triumph over evil,And one universal temple echo the perfections of Jehovah:Bend thou to His good will, and subserve His holy purposes,Till in thee, and those around thee, grow a little heaven upon earth:Humbly, as a grateful almsman, beg thy bread of God,—Bread for thy triple estate, for thou hast a trinity of nature:Humility smootheth the way, and gratitude softeneth the heart,Be then thy prayer for pardon mingled with the tear of penitence;Yea, and while, all unworthy, thou leanest on the hand that should smite,Thou canst not from thy fellows withhold thy less forgiveness.To thy Father thy weaknesses are known, and thou hast not hid thy sin,Therefore ask Him, in all trust, to lead thee from the dangers of temptation;While the last petition of the soul, that breatheth on the confines of prayer,Is deliverance from sin and the evil one, the miseries of earth and hell.And wherefore, child of hope, should the rock of thy confidence be sure?Thou knowest that God heareth and promiseth an answer of peace;Thou knowest that He is King, and none can stay His hand;Thou knowest His power to be boundless, for there is none other:And to Him thou givest glory, as a creature of His workmanship and favour,For the never-ending term of thy saved and bright existence.
Inquirestthou, O man, wherewithal may I come unto the Lord?
And with what wonder-working sounds may I move the majesty of Heaven?
There is a model to thy hand; upon that do thou frame thy supplication;
Wisdom hath measured its words; and redemption urgeth thee to use them.
Call thy God thy Father, and yet not thine alone,
For thou art but one of many, thy brotherhood is with all:
Remember His high estate, that He dwelleth King of Heaven;
So shall thy thoughts be humbled, nor love be unmixed with reverence:
Be thy first petition unselfish, the honour of Him who made thee,
And that in the depths of thy heart His memory be shrined in holiness:
Pray for that blessed time, when good shall triumph over evil,
And one universal temple echo the perfections of Jehovah:
Bend thou to His good will, and subserve His holy purposes,
Till in thee, and those around thee, grow a little heaven upon earth:
Humbly, as a grateful almsman, beg thy bread of God,—
Bread for thy triple estate, for thou hast a trinity of nature:
Humility smootheth the way, and gratitude softeneth the heart,
Be then thy prayer for pardon mingled with the tear of penitence;
Yea, and while, all unworthy, thou leanest on the hand that should smite,
Thou canst not from thy fellows withhold thy less forgiveness.
To thy Father thy weaknesses are known, and thou hast not hid thy sin,
Therefore ask Him, in all trust, to lead thee from the dangers of temptation;
While the last petition of the soul, that breatheth on the confines of prayer,
Is deliverance from sin and the evil one, the miseries of earth and hell.
And wherefore, child of hope, should the rock of thy confidence be sure?
Thou knowest that God heareth and promiseth an answer of peace;
Thou knowest that He is King, and none can stay His hand;
Thou knowest His power to be boundless, for there is none other:
And to Him thou givest glory, as a creature of His workmanship and favour,
For the never-ending term of thy saved and bright existence.
Forwhat then was I born?—to fill the circling yearWith daily toil for daily bread, with sordid pains and pleasures?—To walk this chequered world, alternate light and darkness,The day-dreams of deep thought followed by the night-dreams of fancy?—To be one in a full procession?—to dig my kindred clay?—To decorate the gallery of art?—to clear a few acres of forest?For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life.Is then that noble end to feed this mind with knowledge,To mix for mine own thirst the sparkling wine of wisdom,To light with many lamps the caverns of my heart,To reap, in the furrows of my brain, good harvest of right reasons?—For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life.Is it to grow stronger in self-government, to check the chafing will,To curb with tightening rein the mettled steeds of passion,To welcome with calm heart, far in the voiceless desert,The gracious visitings of heaven that bless my single self?—For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life.To aim at thine own happiness, is an end idolatrous and evil;In earth, yea in heaven, if thou seek it for itself, seeking thou shalt not find.Happiness is a road-side flower, growing on the highway of Usefulness;Plucked, it shall wither in thy hand; passed by, it is fragrance to thy spirit:Love not thine own soul, regard not thine own weal,Trample the thyme beneath thy feet; be useful, and be happy!
Forwhat then was I born?—to fill the circling year
With daily toil for daily bread, with sordid pains and pleasures?—
To walk this chequered world, alternate light and darkness,
The day-dreams of deep thought followed by the night-dreams of fancy?—
To be one in a full procession?—to dig my kindred clay?—
To decorate the gallery of art?—to clear a few acres of forest?
For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life.
Is then that noble end to feed this mind with knowledge,
To mix for mine own thirst the sparkling wine of wisdom,
To light with many lamps the caverns of my heart,
To reap, in the furrows of my brain, good harvest of right reasons?—
For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life.
Is it to grow stronger in self-government, to check the chafing will,
To curb with tightening rein the mettled steeds of passion,
To welcome with calm heart, far in the voiceless desert,
The gracious visitings of heaven that bless my single self?—
For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life.
To aim at thine own happiness, is an end idolatrous and evil;
In earth, yea in heaven, if thou seek it for itself, seeking thou shalt not find.
Happiness is a road-side flower, growing on the highway of Usefulness;
Plucked, it shall wither in thy hand; passed by, it is fragrance to thy spirit:
Love not thine own soul, regard not thine own weal,
Trample the thyme beneath thy feet; be useful, and be happy!
Thusunto fair conclusions argueth generous youth,And quickly he starteth on his course, knight-errant to do good.His sword is edged with arguments, his vizor terrible with censures;He goeth full mailed in faith, and zeal is flaming at his heart.Yet one thing he lacketh, the Mentor of the mind,The quiet whisper of Discretion—Thy time is not yet come.For he smiteth an oppressor; and vengeance for that smitingIs dealt in doubled stripes on the faint body of the victim:He is glad to give and to distribute; and clamorous pauperism feasteth,While honest labour, pining, hideth his sharp ribs:He challengeth to a fair field that subtle giant Infidelity,And, worsted in the unequal fight, strengtheneth the hands of error;He hasteth to teach and preach, as the war-horse rusheth to the battle,And to pave a way for truth, would break up the Apennines of prejudice:He wearieth by stale proofs, where none looked for a reason,And to the listening ear will urge the false argument of feeling.So hath it often been, that, judging by results,The hottest friends of truth have done her deadliest wrong.Alas! for there are enemies without, glad enough to parley with a traitor,And a zealot will let down the drawbridge, to prove his own prowess:Yea, from within will he break away a breach in the citadel of truth,That he may fill the gap, for fame, with his own weak body.
Thusunto fair conclusions argueth generous youth,
And quickly he starteth on his course, knight-errant to do good.
His sword is edged with arguments, his vizor terrible with censures;
He goeth full mailed in faith, and zeal is flaming at his heart.
Yet one thing he lacketh, the Mentor of the mind,
The quiet whisper of Discretion—Thy time is not yet come.
For he smiteth an oppressor; and vengeance for that smiting
Is dealt in doubled stripes on the faint body of the victim:
He is glad to give and to distribute; and clamorous pauperism feasteth,
While honest labour, pining, hideth his sharp ribs:
He challengeth to a fair field that subtle giant Infidelity,
And, worsted in the unequal fight, strengtheneth the hands of error;
He hasteth to teach and preach, as the war-horse rusheth to the battle,
And to pave a way for truth, would break up the Apennines of prejudice:
He wearieth by stale proofs, where none looked for a reason,
And to the listening ear will urge the false argument of feeling.
So hath it often been, that, judging by results,
The hottest friends of truth have done her deadliest wrong.
Alas! for there are enemies without, glad enough to parley with a traitor,
And a zealot will let down the drawbridge, to prove his own prowess:
Yea, from within will he break away a breach in the citadel of truth,
That he may fill the gap, for fame, with his own weak body.
Zealwithout judgment is an evil, though it be zeal unto good;Touch not the ark with unclean hand, yea, though it seem to totter.There are evil who work good, and there are good who work evil,And foolish backers of wisdom have brought on her many reproaches.Truth hath more than enough to combat in the minds of all men,For the mist of sense is a thick veil, and sin hath warped their wills;Yet doth an officious helper awkwardly prevent her victory,—These thy wounded hands were smitten in the house of friends:—To point out a meaning in her words, he will blot those words with his finger;And winnow chaff into the eyes, before he hath wheat to show:He will heap sturdy logs on a faint expiring fire,And with a room in flames, will cast the casement open;By a shoulder to the wheel down hill harasseth the labouring beast,And where obstruction were needed, will harm by an ill-judged thrusting-on.
Zealwithout judgment is an evil, though it be zeal unto good;
Touch not the ark with unclean hand, yea, though it seem to totter.
There are evil who work good, and there are good who work evil,
And foolish backers of wisdom have brought on her many reproaches.
Truth hath more than enough to combat in the minds of all men,
For the mist of sense is a thick veil, and sin hath warped their wills;
Yet doth an officious helper awkwardly prevent her victory,—
These thy wounded hands were smitten in the house of friends:—
To point out a meaning in her words, he will blot those words with his finger;
And winnow chaff into the eyes, before he hath wheat to show:
He will heap sturdy logs on a faint expiring fire,
And with a room in flames, will cast the casement open;
By a shoulder to the wheel down hill harasseth the labouring beast,
And where obstruction were needed, will harm by an ill-judged thrusting-on.
A vesselfoundereth at sea, if a storm hath unshipped the rudder;And a mind with much sail shall require heavy ballast.Take a lever by the middle, thou shalt seem to prove it powerless,Argue for truth indiscreetly, thou shalt toil for falsehood.There is plenty of room for a peaceable man in the most thronged assembly;But a quarrelsome spirit is straitened in the open field:Many a teacher, lacking judgment, hindereth his own lessons;And the savoury mess of pottage is spoiled by a bitter herb:The garment woven of a piece is rashly torn by schism,Because its unwise claimants will not cast lots for its possession.
A vesselfoundereth at sea, if a storm hath unshipped the rudder;
And a mind with much sail shall require heavy ballast.
Take a lever by the middle, thou shalt seem to prove it powerless,
Argue for truth indiscreetly, thou shalt toil for falsehood.
There is plenty of room for a peaceable man in the most thronged assembly;
But a quarrelsome spirit is straitened in the open field:
Many a teacher, lacking judgment, hindereth his own lessons;
And the savoury mess of pottage is spoiled by a bitter herb:
The garment woven of a piece is rashly torn by schism,
Because its unwise claimants will not cast lots for its possession.
Discretionguide thee on thy way, noble-minded youth,Help thee to humour infirmities, to wink at innocent errors,To take small count of forms, to bear with prejudice and fancy:Discretion guard thine asking, discretion aid thine answer,Teach thee that well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech,Whisper thee, thou art Weakness, though thy cause be Strength,And tell thee, the key-stone of an arch can be loosened with least labour from within.The snows of Hecla lie around its troubled smoking Geysers;Let the cool streams of prudence temper the hot spring of zeal:So shalt thou gain thine honourable end, nor lose the midway prize:So shall thy life be useful, and thy young heart happy.
Discretionguide thee on thy way, noble-minded youth,
Help thee to humour infirmities, to wink at innocent errors,
To take small count of forms, to bear with prejudice and fancy:
Discretion guard thine asking, discretion aid thine answer,
Teach thee that well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech,
Whisper thee, thou art Weakness, though thy cause be Strength,
And tell thee, the key-stone of an arch can be loosened with least labour from within.
The snows of Hecla lie around its troubled smoking Geysers;
Let the cool streams of prudence temper the hot spring of zeal:
So shalt thou gain thine honourable end, nor lose the midway prize:
So shall thy life be useful, and thy young heart happy.
Yetonce more, saith the fool, yet once, and is it not a little one?Spare me this folly yet an hour, for what is one among so many?And he blindeth his conscience with lies, and stupifieth his heart with doubts;—Whom shall I harm in this matter? and a little ill breedeth much good;My thoughts, are they not mine own? and they leave no mark behind them;And if God so pardoneth crime, how should these petty sins affect Him?—So he transgresseth yet again, and falleth by little and little,Till the ground crumble beneath him, and he sinketh in the gulf despairing.For there is nothing in the earth so small that it may not produce great things,And no swerving from a right line, that may not lead eternally astray.A landmark tree was once a seed; and the dust in the balance maketh a difference;And the cairn is heaped high by each one flinging a pebble:The dangerous bar in the harbour's mouth is only grains of sand;And the shoal that hath wrecked a navy is the work of a colony of worms:Yea, and a despicable gnat may madden the mighty elephant;And the living rock is worn by the diligent flow of the brook.Little art thou, O man, and in trifles thou contendest with thine equals,For atoms must crowd upon atoms, ere crime groweth to be a giant.What, is thy servant a dog?—not yet wilt thou grasp the dagger,Not yet wilt thou laugh with the scoffers, not yet betray the innocent;But, if thou nourish in thy heart the reveries of injury or passion,And travel in mental heat the mazy labyrinths of guilt,And then conceive it possible, and then reflect on it as done,And use, by little and little, thyself to regard thyself a villain,Not long will crime be absent from the voice that doth invoke him to thy heart,And bitterly wilt thou grieve, that the buds have ripened into poison.
Yetonce more, saith the fool, yet once, and is it not a little one?
Spare me this folly yet an hour, for what is one among so many?
And he blindeth his conscience with lies, and stupifieth his heart with doubts;—
Whom shall I harm in this matter? and a little ill breedeth much good;
My thoughts, are they not mine own? and they leave no mark behind them;
And if God so pardoneth crime, how should these petty sins affect Him?—
So he transgresseth yet again, and falleth by little and little,
Till the ground crumble beneath him, and he sinketh in the gulf despairing.
For there is nothing in the earth so small that it may not produce great things,
And no swerving from a right line, that may not lead eternally astray.
A landmark tree was once a seed; and the dust in the balance maketh a difference;
And the cairn is heaped high by each one flinging a pebble:
The dangerous bar in the harbour's mouth is only grains of sand;
And the shoal that hath wrecked a navy is the work of a colony of worms:
Yea, and a despicable gnat may madden the mighty elephant;
And the living rock is worn by the diligent flow of the brook.
Little art thou, O man, and in trifles thou contendest with thine equals,
For atoms must crowd upon atoms, ere crime groweth to be a giant.
What, is thy servant a dog?—not yet wilt thou grasp the dagger,
Not yet wilt thou laugh with the scoffers, not yet betray the innocent;
But, if thou nourish in thy heart the reveries of injury or passion,
And travel in mental heat the mazy labyrinths of guilt,
And then conceive it possible, and then reflect on it as done,
And use, by little and little, thyself to regard thyself a villain,
Not long will crime be absent from the voice that doth invoke him to thy heart,
And bitterly wilt thou grieve, that the buds have ripened into poison.
A sparkis a molecule of matter, yet may it kindle the world:Vast is the mighty ocean, but drops have made it vast.Despise not thou a small thing, either for evil or for good;For a look may work thy ruin, or a word create thy wealth:The walking this way or that, the casual stopping or hastening,Hath saved life, and destroyed it, hath cast down and built up fortunes.Commit thy trifles unto God, for to Him is nothing trivial;And it is but the littleness of man that seeth no greatness in a trifle.All things are infinite in parts, and the moral is as the material,Neither is anything vast, but it is compacted of atoms.Thou art wise, and shalt find comfort, if thou study thy pleasure in trifles,For slender joys, often repeated, fall as sunshine on the heart:Thou art wise, if thou beat off petty troubles, nor suffer their stinging to fret thee;Thrust not thine hand among the thorns, but with a leathern glove.Regard nothing lightly which the wisdom of Providence hath ordered;And therefore, consider all things that happen unto thee or unto others.The warrior that stood against a host, may be pierced unto death by a needle;And the saint that feareth not the fire, may perish the victim of a thought:A mote in the gunner's eye is as bad as a spike in the gun;And the cable of a furlong is lost through an ill-wrought inch.The streams of small pleasures fill the lake of happiness:And the deepest wretchedness of life is continuance of petty pains.A fool observeth nothing, and seemeth wise unto himself;A wise man heedeth all things, and in his own eyes is a fool:He that wondereth at nothing hath no capabilities of bliss:But he that scrutinizeth trifles hath a store of pleasure to his hand.If pestilence stalk through the land, ye say, This is God's doing;Is it not also His doing when an aphis creepeth on a rosebud?If an avalanche roll from its Alp, ye tremble at the will of Providence:Is not that will concerned when the sear leaves fall from the poplar?—A thing is great or little only to a mortal's thinking,But abstracted from the body, all things are alike important:The Ancient of Days noteth in His book the idle converse of a creature,And happy and wise is the man to whose thought existeth not a trifle.
A sparkis a molecule of matter, yet may it kindle the world:
Vast is the mighty ocean, but drops have made it vast.
Despise not thou a small thing, either for evil or for good;
For a look may work thy ruin, or a word create thy wealth:
The walking this way or that, the casual stopping or hastening,
Hath saved life, and destroyed it, hath cast down and built up fortunes.
Commit thy trifles unto God, for to Him is nothing trivial;
And it is but the littleness of man that seeth no greatness in a trifle.
All things are infinite in parts, and the moral is as the material,
Neither is anything vast, but it is compacted of atoms.
Thou art wise, and shalt find comfort, if thou study thy pleasure in trifles,
For slender joys, often repeated, fall as sunshine on the heart:
Thou art wise, if thou beat off petty troubles, nor suffer their stinging to fret thee;
Thrust not thine hand among the thorns, but with a leathern glove.
Regard nothing lightly which the wisdom of Providence hath ordered;
And therefore, consider all things that happen unto thee or unto others.
The warrior that stood against a host, may be pierced unto death by a needle;
And the saint that feareth not the fire, may perish the victim of a thought:
A mote in the gunner's eye is as bad as a spike in the gun;
And the cable of a furlong is lost through an ill-wrought inch.
The streams of small pleasures fill the lake of happiness:
And the deepest wretchedness of life is continuance of petty pains.
A fool observeth nothing, and seemeth wise unto himself;
A wise man heedeth all things, and in his own eyes is a fool:
He that wondereth at nothing hath no capabilities of bliss:
But he that scrutinizeth trifles hath a store of pleasure to his hand.
If pestilence stalk through the land, ye say, This is God's doing;
Is it not also His doing when an aphis creepeth on a rosebud?
If an avalanche roll from its Alp, ye tremble at the will of Providence:
Is not that will concerned when the sear leaves fall from the poplar?—
A thing is great or little only to a mortal's thinking,
But abstracted from the body, all things are alike important:
The Ancient of Days noteth in His book the idle converse of a creature,
And happy and wise is the man to whose thought existeth not a trifle.
Tojoin advantage to amusement, to gather profit with pleasure,Is the wise man's necessary aim, when he lieth in the shade of recreation.For he cannot fling aside his mind, nor bar up the flood-gates of his wisdom;Yea, though he strain after folly, his mental monitor shall check him:For knowledge and ignorance alike have laws essential to their being,—The sage studieth amusements, and the simple laugheth in his studies.Few, but full of understanding, are the books of the library of God,And fitting for all seasons are the gain and the gladness they bestow:The volume of mystery and Grace, for the hour of deep communings,When the soul considereth intensely the startling marvel of itself:The book of destiny and Providence, for the time of sober study,When the mind gleaneth wisdom from the olive grove of history:And the cheerful pages of Nature, to gladden the pleasant holiday,When the task of duty is complete, and the heart swelleth high with satisfaction.The soul may not safely dwell too long with the deep things of futurity;The mind may not always be bent back, like the Parthian, straining at the past;And, if thou art wearied with wrestling on the broad arena of science,Leave awhile thy friendly foe, half vanquished in the dust,Refresh thy jaded limbs, return with vigour to the strife,—Thou shalt easier find thyself his master, for the vacant interval of leisure.
Tojoin advantage to amusement, to gather profit with pleasure,
Is the wise man's necessary aim, when he lieth in the shade of recreation.
For he cannot fling aside his mind, nor bar up the flood-gates of his wisdom;
Yea, though he strain after folly, his mental monitor shall check him:
For knowledge and ignorance alike have laws essential to their being,—
The sage studieth amusements, and the simple laugheth in his studies.
Few, but full of understanding, are the books of the library of God,
And fitting for all seasons are the gain and the gladness they bestow:
The volume of mystery and Grace, for the hour of deep communings,
When the soul considereth intensely the startling marvel of itself:
The book of destiny and Providence, for the time of sober study,
When the mind gleaneth wisdom from the olive grove of history:
And the cheerful pages of Nature, to gladden the pleasant holiday,
When the task of duty is complete, and the heart swelleth high with satisfaction.
The soul may not safely dwell too long with the deep things of futurity;
The mind may not always be bent back, like the Parthian, straining at the past;
And, if thou art wearied with wrestling on the broad arena of science,
Leave awhile thy friendly foe, half vanquished in the dust,
Refresh thy jaded limbs, return with vigour to the strife,—
Thou shalt easier find thyself his master, for the vacant interval of leisure.
Thatwhich may profit and amuse is gathered from the volume of creation,For every chapter therein teemeth with the playfulness of wisdom.The elements of all things are the same, though nature hath mixed them with a difference,And Learning delighteth to discover the affinity of seeming opposites:So out of great things and small draweth he the secrets of the universe,And argueth the cycles of the stars, from a pebble flung by a child.It is pleasant to note all plants, from the rush to the spreading cedar,From the giant king of palms, to the lichen that staineth its stem;To watch the workings of instinct, that grosser reason of brutes,—The river horse browsing in the jungle, the plover screaming on the moor,The cayman basking on a mud-bank, and the walrus anchored to an iceberg,The dog at his master's feet, and the milch-kine lowing in the meadow;To trace the consummate skill that hath modelled the anatomy of insects,Small fowls that sun their wings on the petals of wild flowers;To learn a use in the beetle, and more than a beauty in the butterfly;To recognize affections in a moth, and look with admiration on a spider.It is glorious to gaze upon the firmament, and see from far the mansions of the blest,Each distant shining world, a kingdom for one of the redeemed;To read the antique history of earth, stamped upon those medals in the rocksWhich Design hath rescued from decay, to tell of the green infancy of time;To gather from the unconsidered shingle mottled starlike agates,Full of unstoried flowers in the bubbling bloom-chalcedony:Or gay and curious shells, fretted with microscopic carving,Corallines, and fresh seaweeds, spreading forth their delicate branches.It is an admirable lore, to learn the cause in the change,To study the chemistry of Nature, her grand, but simple secrets,To search out all her wonders, to track the resources of her skill,To note her kind compensations, her unobtrusive excellence.In all it is wise happiness to see the well-ordained laws of Jehovah,The harmony that filleth all His mind, the justice that tempereth His bounty,The wonderful all-prevalent analogy that testifieth one Creator,The broad arrow of the Great King, carved on all the stores of His arsenal.But beware, O worshipper of God, thou forget not Him in His dealings,Though the bright emanations of His power hide Him in created glory;For if, on the sea of knowledge, thou regardest not the pole-star of religion,Thy bark will miss her port, and run upon the sand-bar of folly:And if, enamoured of the means, thou considerest not the scope to which they tend,Wherein art thou wiser than the child, that is pleased with toys and baubles?Verily, a trifling scholar, thou heedest but the letter of instruction:For, as motive is spirit unto action, as memory endeareth place,As the sun doth fertilize the earth, as affection quickeneth the heart,So is the remembrance of God in the varied wonders of creation.
Thatwhich may profit and amuse is gathered from the volume of creation,
For every chapter therein teemeth with the playfulness of wisdom.
The elements of all things are the same, though nature hath mixed them with a difference,
And Learning delighteth to discover the affinity of seeming opposites:
So out of great things and small draweth he the secrets of the universe,
And argueth the cycles of the stars, from a pebble flung by a child.
It is pleasant to note all plants, from the rush to the spreading cedar,
From the giant king of palms, to the lichen that staineth its stem;
To watch the workings of instinct, that grosser reason of brutes,—
The river horse browsing in the jungle, the plover screaming on the moor,
The cayman basking on a mud-bank, and the walrus anchored to an iceberg,
The dog at his master's feet, and the milch-kine lowing in the meadow;
To trace the consummate skill that hath modelled the anatomy of insects,
Small fowls that sun their wings on the petals of wild flowers;
To learn a use in the beetle, and more than a beauty in the butterfly;
To recognize affections in a moth, and look with admiration on a spider.
It is glorious to gaze upon the firmament, and see from far the mansions of the blest,
Each distant shining world, a kingdom for one of the redeemed;
To read the antique history of earth, stamped upon those medals in the rocks
Which Design hath rescued from decay, to tell of the green infancy of time;
To gather from the unconsidered shingle mottled starlike agates,
Full of unstoried flowers in the bubbling bloom-chalcedony:
Or gay and curious shells, fretted with microscopic carving,
Corallines, and fresh seaweeds, spreading forth their delicate branches.
It is an admirable lore, to learn the cause in the change,
To study the chemistry of Nature, her grand, but simple secrets,
To search out all her wonders, to track the resources of her skill,
To note her kind compensations, her unobtrusive excellence.
In all it is wise happiness to see the well-ordained laws of Jehovah,
The harmony that filleth all His mind, the justice that tempereth His bounty,
The wonderful all-prevalent analogy that testifieth one Creator,
The broad arrow of the Great King, carved on all the stores of His arsenal.
But beware, O worshipper of God, thou forget not Him in His dealings,
Though the bright emanations of His power hide Him in created glory;
For if, on the sea of knowledge, thou regardest not the pole-star of religion,
Thy bark will miss her port, and run upon the sand-bar of folly:
And if, enamoured of the means, thou considerest not the scope to which they tend,
Wherein art thou wiser than the child, that is pleased with toys and baubles?
Verily, a trifling scholar, thou heedest but the letter of instruction:
For, as motive is spirit unto action, as memory endeareth place,
As the sun doth fertilize the earth, as affection quickeneth the heart,
So is the remembrance of God in the varied wonders of creation.
Manhath found out inventions, to cheat him of the weariness of life,To help him to forget realities, and hide the misery of guilt.For love of praise, and hope of gain, for passion and delusive happiness,He joineth the circle of folly, and heapeth on the fire of excitement;Oftentimes sadly out of heart at the tiresome insipidity of pleasure,Oftentimes labouring in vain, convinced of the palpable deceit:Yet a man speaketh to his brother, in the voice of glad congratulation,And thinketh others happy, though he himself be wretched:And hand joineth hand to help in the toil of amusement,While the secret aching heart is vacant of all but disappointment.The cheapest pleasures are the best; and nothing is more costly than sin;Yet we mortgage futurity, counting it but little loss:Neither can a man delight in that which breedeth sorrow,Yet do we hunt for joy even in the fires that consume it.Whoso would find gladness may meet her in the hovel of poverty,Where benevolence hath scattered around the gleanings of the horn of plenty;Whoso would sun himself in peace, may be seen of her in deeds of mercy,When the pale lean cheek of the destitute is wet with grateful tears.If the mind is wearied by study, or the body worn with sickness,It is well to lie fallow for a while, in the vacancy of sheer amusement;But when thou prosperest in health, and thine intellect can soar untired,To seek uninstructive pleasure is to slumber on the couch of indolence.
Manhath found out inventions, to cheat him of the weariness of life,
To help him to forget realities, and hide the misery of guilt.
For love of praise, and hope of gain, for passion and delusive happiness,
He joineth the circle of folly, and heapeth on the fire of excitement;
Oftentimes sadly out of heart at the tiresome insipidity of pleasure,
Oftentimes labouring in vain, convinced of the palpable deceit:
Yet a man speaketh to his brother, in the voice of glad congratulation,
And thinketh others happy, though he himself be wretched:
And hand joineth hand to help in the toil of amusement,
While the secret aching heart is vacant of all but disappointment.
The cheapest pleasures are the best; and nothing is more costly than sin;
Yet we mortgage futurity, counting it but little loss:
Neither can a man delight in that which breedeth sorrow,
Yet do we hunt for joy even in the fires that consume it.
Whoso would find gladness may meet her in the hovel of poverty,
Where benevolence hath scattered around the gleanings of the horn of plenty;
Whoso would sun himself in peace, may be seen of her in deeds of mercy,
When the pale lean cheek of the destitute is wet with grateful tears.
If the mind is wearied by study, or the body worn with sickness,
It is well to lie fallow for a while, in the vacancy of sheer amusement;
But when thou prosperest in health, and thine intellect can soar untired,
To seek uninstructive pleasure is to slumber on the couch of indolence.
Stayawhile, thou blessed band! be entreated, daughters of heaven!While the chance-met scholar of Wisdom learneth your sacred names:He is resting a little from his toil, yet a little on the borders of earth,And fain would he have you his friends, to bid him glad welcome hereafter.Who among the glorious art thou, that walkest a Goddess and a Queen,Thy crown of living stars, and a golden cross thy sceptre?Who among flowers of loveliness is she, thy seeming herald,Yet she boasteth not thee nor herself, and her garments are plain in their neatness?Wherefore is there one among the train, whose eyes are red with weeping,Yet is her open forehead beaming with the sun of ecstasy?And who is that bloodstained warrior, with glory sitting on his crest?And who that solemn sage, calm in majestic dignity?Also, in the lengthening troop see I some clad in robes of triumph,Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved on earth:Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, and Sciences, and Muses,That, like sisters of charity, tended in this world's hospital;Welcome, for verily I knew, ye could not but be children of the light,Though earth hath soiled your robes, and robbed you of half your glory;Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in heaven,And some I might scarce have looked for, as thou, light-hearted Mirth;Thou also, star-robed Urania; and thou, with the curious glass,That rejoicedst in tracking wisdom where the eye was too dull to note it:And art thou too among the blessed, mild, much-injured Poetry?Who quickenest with light and beauty the leaden face of matter,Who not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gardens with music,And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon us from the stars,—That hast been to me for oil and for wine, to cheer and uphold my soul,When wearied, battling with the surge, the stunning surge of life:Of thee, for well have I loved thee, of thee may I ask in hope,Who among the glorious is she, that walketh a Goddess and a Queen?And who that fair-haired herald, and who that weeping saint?And who that mighty warrior, and who that solemn sage?
Stayawhile, thou blessed band! be entreated, daughters of heaven!
While the chance-met scholar of Wisdom learneth your sacred names:
He is resting a little from his toil, yet a little on the borders of earth,
And fain would he have you his friends, to bid him glad welcome hereafter.
Who among the glorious art thou, that walkest a Goddess and a Queen,
Thy crown of living stars, and a golden cross thy sceptre?
Who among flowers of loveliness is she, thy seeming herald,
Yet she boasteth not thee nor herself, and her garments are plain in their neatness?
Wherefore is there one among the train, whose eyes are red with weeping,
Yet is her open forehead beaming with the sun of ecstasy?
And who is that bloodstained warrior, with glory sitting on his crest?
And who that solemn sage, calm in majestic dignity?
Also, in the lengthening troop see I some clad in robes of triumph,
Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved on earth:
Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, and Sciences, and Muses,
That, like sisters of charity, tended in this world's hospital;
Welcome, for verily I knew, ye could not but be children of the light,
Though earth hath soiled your robes, and robbed you of half your glory;
Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in heaven,
And some I might scarce have looked for, as thou, light-hearted Mirth;
Thou also, star-robed Urania; and thou, with the curious glass,
That rejoicedst in tracking wisdom where the eye was too dull to note it:
And art thou too among the blessed, mild, much-injured Poetry?
Who quickenest with light and beauty the leaden face of matter,
Who not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gardens with music,
And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon us from the stars,—
That hast been to me for oil and for wine, to cheer and uphold my soul,
When wearied, battling with the surge, the stunning surge of life:
Of thee, for well have I loved thee, of thee may I ask in hope,
Who among the glorious is she, that walketh a Goddess and a Queen?
And who that fair-haired herald, and who that weeping saint?
And who that mighty warrior, and who that solemn sage?
Son,happy art thou that Wisdom hath led thee hitherward:For otherwise never hadst thou known the joy-giving name of our Queen.Behold her, the life of men, the anchor of their shipwrecked hopes:Behold her, the shepherdess of souls, who bringeth back the wanderers to God.And for that modest herald, she is named on earth, Humility:And hast thou not known, my son, the tearful face of Repentance?Faith is yon time-scarred hero, walking in the shade of his laurels:And Reason, the serious sage, who followeth the footsteps of Faith:And we, all we, are but handmaids, ministers of minor bliss,Who rejoice to be counted servants in the train of a Queen so glorious:But for her name, son of man, it is strange to the language of heaven,For those who have never fallen need not and may not learn it:Ligeance we swear to our God, and ligeance well have we kept;It is only the band of the redeemed who can tell thee the fulness of that name;Yet will I comfort thee, my son, for the love wherewith thou hast loved me,And thou shalt touch for thyself the golden sceptre of Religion.
Son,happy art thou that Wisdom hath led thee hitherward:
For otherwise never hadst thou known the joy-giving name of our Queen.
Behold her, the life of men, the anchor of their shipwrecked hopes:
Behold her, the shepherdess of souls, who bringeth back the wanderers to God.
And for that modest herald, she is named on earth, Humility:
And hast thou not known, my son, the tearful face of Repentance?
Faith is yon time-scarred hero, walking in the shade of his laurels:
And Reason, the serious sage, who followeth the footsteps of Faith:
And we, all we, are but handmaids, ministers of minor bliss,
Who rejoice to be counted servants in the train of a Queen so glorious:
But for her name, son of man, it is strange to the language of heaven,
For those who have never fallen need not and may not learn it:
Ligeance we swear to our God, and ligeance well have we kept;
It is only the band of the redeemed who can tell thee the fulness of that name;
Yet will I comfort thee, my son, for the love wherewith thou hast loved me,
And thou shalt touch for thyself the golden sceptre of Religion.
Sothat blessed train passed by me; but the vision was sealed upon my soul;And its memory is shrined in fragrance, for the promise of the Spirit was true:I learn from the silent poem of all creation round me,How beautiful their feet, who follow in that train.
Sothat blessed train passed by me; but the vision was sealed upon my soul;
And its memory is shrined in fragrance, for the promise of the Spirit was true:
I learn from the silent poem of all creation round me,
How beautiful their feet, who follow in that train.
Despisenot, shrewd reckoner, the God of a good man's worship,Neither let thy calculating folly gainsay the unity of three:Nor scorn another's creed, although he cannot solve thy doubts;Reason is the follower of faith, where he may not be precursor:It is written, and so we believe, waiting not for outward proof,Inasmuch as mysteries inscrutable are the clear prerogatives of godhead.Reason hath nothing positive, faith hath nothing doubtful;And the height of unbelieving wisdom is to question all things.When there is marvel in a doctrine, faith is joyful and adoreth;But when all is clear, what place is left for faith?Tell me the sum of thy knowledge,—is it yet assured of anything?Despise not what is wonderful, when all things are wonderful around thee.From the multitude of like effects, thou sayest, Behold a law:And the matter thou art baffled in unmaking, is to thy mind an element.Then look abroad, I pray thee, for analogy holdeth everywhere,And the Maker hath stamped His name on every creature of His hand:I know not of a matter or a spirit, that is not three in one,And truly should account it for a marvel, a coin without the image of its Cæsar.
Despisenot, shrewd reckoner, the God of a good man's worship,
Neither let thy calculating folly gainsay the unity of three:
Nor scorn another's creed, although he cannot solve thy doubts;
Reason is the follower of faith, where he may not be precursor:
It is written, and so we believe, waiting not for outward proof,
Inasmuch as mysteries inscrutable are the clear prerogatives of godhead.
Reason hath nothing positive, faith hath nothing doubtful;
And the height of unbelieving wisdom is to question all things.
When there is marvel in a doctrine, faith is joyful and adoreth;
But when all is clear, what place is left for faith?
Tell me the sum of thy knowledge,—is it yet assured of anything?
Despise not what is wonderful, when all things are wonderful around thee.
From the multitude of like effects, thou sayest, Behold a law:
And the matter thou art baffled in unmaking, is to thy mind an element.
Then look abroad, I pray thee, for analogy holdeth everywhere,
And the Maker hath stamped His name on every creature of His hand:
I know not of a matter or a spirit, that is not three in one,
And truly should account it for a marvel, a coin without the image of its Cæsar.
Mantalketh of himself as ignorant, but judgeth by himself as wise:His own guess counteth he truth, but the notions of another are his scorn;But bear thou yet with a brother, whose thought may be less subtle than thine own,And suffer the passing speculation suggested by analogies to faith.Like begetteth like, and the great sea of ExistenceIn each of its uncounted waves holdeth up a mirror to its Maker:Like begetteth like, and the spreading tree of beingWith each of its trefoil leaves pointeth at the Trinity of God.Let him whose eyes have been unfilmed, read this homily in all things,And thou, of duller sight, despise not him that readeth:There be three grand principles; life, generation, and obedience;Shadowing in every creature, the Spirit, and the Father, and the Son.There be three grand unities, variously mixed in trinities,Three catholic divisors of the million sums of matter:Yea, though science hath not seen it, climbing the ladder of experiment,Let faith, in the presence of her God, promulgate the mighty truth;Of three sole elements all nature's works consist:The pine, and the rock to which it clingeth, and the eagle sailing around it:The lion, and the northern whale, and the deeps wherein he sporteth;The lizard sleeping in the sun; the lightning flashing from a cloud;The rose, and the ruby, and the pearl; each one is made of three;And the three be the like ingredients, mingled in diverse measures.Thyself hast within thyself body, and life, and mind:Matter, and breath, and instinct, unite in all beasts of the field;Substance, coherence, and weight, fashion the fabrics of the earth;The will, the doing, and the deed, combine to frame a fact:The stem, the leaf, and the flower; beginning, middle, and end;Cause, circumstance, consequent: and every three is one.Yea, the very breath of man's life consisteth of a trinity of vapours,And the noonday light is a compound, the triune shadow of Jehovah.
Mantalketh of himself as ignorant, but judgeth by himself as wise:
His own guess counteth he truth, but the notions of another are his scorn;
But bear thou yet with a brother, whose thought may be less subtle than thine own,
And suffer the passing speculation suggested by analogies to faith.
Like begetteth like, and the great sea of Existence
In each of its uncounted waves holdeth up a mirror to its Maker:
Like begetteth like, and the spreading tree of being
With each of its trefoil leaves pointeth at the Trinity of God.
Let him whose eyes have been unfilmed, read this homily in all things,
And thou, of duller sight, despise not him that readeth:
There be three grand principles; life, generation, and obedience;
Shadowing in every creature, the Spirit, and the Father, and the Son.
There be three grand unities, variously mixed in trinities,
Three catholic divisors of the million sums of matter:
Yea, though science hath not seen it, climbing the ladder of experiment,
Let faith, in the presence of her God, promulgate the mighty truth;
Of three sole elements all nature's works consist:
The pine, and the rock to which it clingeth, and the eagle sailing around it:
The lion, and the northern whale, and the deeps wherein he sporteth;
The lizard sleeping in the sun; the lightning flashing from a cloud;
The rose, and the ruby, and the pearl; each one is made of three;
And the three be the like ingredients, mingled in diverse measures.
Thyself hast within thyself body, and life, and mind:
Matter, and breath, and instinct, unite in all beasts of the field;
Substance, coherence, and weight, fashion the fabrics of the earth;
The will, the doing, and the deed, combine to frame a fact:
The stem, the leaf, and the flower; beginning, middle, and end;
Cause, circumstance, consequent: and every three is one.
Yea, the very breath of man's life consisteth of a trinity of vapours,
And the noonday light is a compound, the triune shadow of Jehovah.
Shallall things else be in mystery, and God alone be understood?Shall finite fathom infinity, though it sound not the shallows of creation?Shall a man comprehend his Maker, being yet a riddle to himself?Or time teach the Lesson that eternity cannot master?If God be nothing more than one, a child can compass the thought;But seraphs fail to unravel the wondrous unity of three.One verily He is, for there can be but one who is all mighty;Yet the oracles of nature and religion proclaim Him three in one.And where were the value to thy soul, O miserable denizen of earth,Of the idle pageant of the cross, where hung no sacrifice for thee?Where the worth to thine impotent heart, of that stirred Bethesda,All numbed and palsied as it is, by the scorpion stings of sin?No, thy trinity of nature, enchained by treble death,Helplessly craveth of its God, Himself for three salvations:The soul to be reconciled in love, the mind to be glorified in light,While this poor dying body leapeth into life.And if indeed for us all the costly ransom hath been paid,Bethink thee, could less than Deity have owned so vast a treasure?Could a man contend with God, and stand against the bosses of His buckler,Rendering the balance for guilt, atonement to the uttermost?Thou art subtle to thine own thinking, but wisdom judgeth thee a fool,Resolving thou wilt not bow the knee to a Being thou canst not comprehend:The mind that could compass perfection were itself perfection's equal;And reason refuseth its homage to a God who can be fully understood.
Shallall things else be in mystery, and God alone be understood?
Shall finite fathom infinity, though it sound not the shallows of creation?
Shall a man comprehend his Maker, being yet a riddle to himself?
Or time teach the Lesson that eternity cannot master?
If God be nothing more than one, a child can compass the thought;
But seraphs fail to unravel the wondrous unity of three.
One verily He is, for there can be but one who is all mighty;
Yet the oracles of nature and religion proclaim Him three in one.
And where were the value to thy soul, O miserable denizen of earth,
Of the idle pageant of the cross, where hung no sacrifice for thee?
Where the worth to thine impotent heart, of that stirred Bethesda,
All numbed and palsied as it is, by the scorpion stings of sin?
No, thy trinity of nature, enchained by treble death,
Helplessly craveth of its God, Himself for three salvations:
The soul to be reconciled in love, the mind to be glorified in light,
While this poor dying body leapeth into life.
And if indeed for us all the costly ransom hath been paid,
Bethink thee, could less than Deity have owned so vast a treasure?
Could a man contend with God, and stand against the bosses of His buckler,
Rendering the balance for guilt, atonement to the uttermost?
Thou art subtle to thine own thinking, but wisdom judgeth thee a fool,
Resolving thou wilt not bow the knee to a Being thou canst not comprehend:
The mind that could compass perfection were itself perfection's equal;
And reason refuseth its homage to a God who can be fully understood.
Thouthat despiseth mystery, yet canst expound nothing,Wherefore rejectest thou the fact that solveth the enigma of all things?Wherefore veilest thou thine eyes, lest the light of revelation sun them,And puttest aside the key that would open the casket of truth?The mind and the nature of God are shadowed in all His works,And none could have guessed of His essence, had He not uttered it Himself.Therefore, thou child of folly, that scornest the record of His wisdom,Learn from the consistencies of nature the needful miracle of Godhead:Yea, let the heathen be thy teacher, who adoreth many gods,For there is no wide-spread error that hath not truth for its beginning.Be content; thine eye cannot see all the sides of a cube at one view,Nor thy mind in the self-same moment follow two ideas:There are now many marvels in thy creed, believing what thou seest,Then let not the conceit of intellect hinder thee from worshipping mystery.
Thouthat despiseth mystery, yet canst expound nothing,
Wherefore rejectest thou the fact that solveth the enigma of all things?
Wherefore veilest thou thine eyes, lest the light of revelation sun them,
And puttest aside the key that would open the casket of truth?
The mind and the nature of God are shadowed in all His works,
And none could have guessed of His essence, had He not uttered it Himself.
Therefore, thou child of folly, that scornest the record of His wisdom,
Learn from the consistencies of nature the needful miracle of Godhead:
Yea, let the heathen be thy teacher, who adoreth many gods,
For there is no wide-spread error that hath not truth for its beginning.
Be content; thine eye cannot see all the sides of a cube at one view,
Nor thy mind in the self-same moment follow two ideas:
There are now many marvels in thy creed, believing what thou seest,
Then let not the conceit of intellect hinder thee from worshipping mystery.
Reflectionis a flower of the mind, giving out wholesome fragrance,But reverie is the same flower, when rank and running to seed.Better to read little with thought, than much with levity and quickness;For mind is not as merchandize, which decreaseth in the using,But liker to the passions of man, which rejoice and expand in exertion:Yet live not wholly on thine own ideas, lest they lead thee astray;For in spirit, as in substance, thou art a social creature;And if thou leanest on thyself, thou rejectest the guidance of thy betters,Yea, thou contemnest all men,—Am I not wiser than they?—Foolish vanity hath blinded thee, and warped thy weak judgment:For, though new ideas flow from new springs, and enrich the treasury of knowledge,Yet listen often, ere thou think much; and look around thee ere thou judgest.Memory, the daughter of Attention, is the teeming mother of Wisdom,And safer is he that storeth knowledge, than he that would make it for himself.
Reflectionis a flower of the mind, giving out wholesome fragrance,
But reverie is the same flower, when rank and running to seed.
Better to read little with thought, than much with levity and quickness;
For mind is not as merchandize, which decreaseth in the using,
But liker to the passions of man, which rejoice and expand in exertion:
Yet live not wholly on thine own ideas, lest they lead thee astray;
For in spirit, as in substance, thou art a social creature;
And if thou leanest on thyself, thou rejectest the guidance of thy betters,
Yea, thou contemnest all men,—Am I not wiser than they?—
Foolish vanity hath blinded thee, and warped thy weak judgment:
For, though new ideas flow from new springs, and enrich the treasury of knowledge,
Yet listen often, ere thou think much; and look around thee ere thou judgest.
Memory, the daughter of Attention, is the teeming mother of Wisdom,
And safer is he that storeth knowledge, than he that would make it for himself.