EXTRACT FROM A POEM

DELIVERED AT THE DEPARTURE OF THE SENIOR CLASS OF YALE COLLEGE, IN 1826.

We shall go forth together. There will comeAlike the day of trial unto all,And the rude world will buffet us alike.Temptation hath a music for all ears;And mad ambition trumpeteth to all;And the ungovernable thought within,Will be in every bosom eloquent;But when the silence and the calm come on,And the high seal of character is set,We shall not all be similar. The scaleOf being is a graduated thing;And deeper than the vanities of power,Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writGradation, in its hidden characters.The pathway to the grave may be the same,And the proud man shall tread it, and the low,With his bowed head, shall bear him company.Decay will make no difference, and deathWith his cold hand shall make no difference;And there will be no precedence of power,In waking at the coming trump of God;But in the temper of the invisible mind,The godlike and undying intellect,There are distinctions that will live in heaven,When time is a forgotten circumstance!The elevated brow of kings will loseThe impress of regalia, and the slaveWill wear his immortality as free,Beside the chrystal waters; but the depthOf glory in the attributes of God,Will measure the capacities of mind;And as the angels differ, will the kenOf gifted spirits glorify him more.It is life’s mystery. The soul of manCreateth its own destiny of power;And as the trial is intenser here,His being hath a nobler strength in heaven.What is its earthly victory? Press on!For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on!For it shall make you mighty among men;And from the eyrie of your eagle thought,Ye shall look down on monarchs. Oh! press on!For the high ones and powerful shall comeTo do you reverence; and the beautifulWill know the purer language of your brow,And read it like a talisman of love!Press on! for it is godlike to unlooseThe spirit, and forget yourself in thought;Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,And in the very fetters of your flesh,Mating with the pure essences of heaven!Press on!—‘for in the grave there is no work,And no device.’—Press on! while yet ye may!So lives the soul of man. It is the thirstOf his immortal nature; and he rendsThe rock for secret fountains, and pursuesThe path of the illimitable windFor mysteries—and this is human pride!There is a gentler element, and manMay breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul,And drink its living waters till his heartIs pure—and this is human happiness!Its secret and its evidence are writIn the broad book of nature. ’Tis to haveAttentive and believing faculties;To go abroad rejoicing in the joyOf beautiful and well created things;To love the voice of waters, and the sheenOf silver fountains leaping to the sea;To thrill with the rich melody of birds,Living their life of music; to be gladIn the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm;To see a beauty in the stirring leaf,And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree;To see, and hear, and breathe the evidenceOf God’s deep wisdom in the natural world!It is to linger on ‘the magic faceOf human beauty,’ and from light and shadeAlike to draw a lesson; ’tis to loveThe cadences of voices that are tunedBy majesty and purity of thought;To gaze on woman’s beauty, as a starWhose purity and distance make it fair;And in the gush of music to be still,And feel that it has purified the heart!It is to love all virtue for itself,All nature for its breathing evidence;And when the eye hath seen, and when the earHath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world,It is to humble the imperfect mind,And lean the broken spirit upon God!Thus would I, at this parting hour, be trueTo the great moral of a passing world.Thus would I—like a just departing child,Who lingers on the threshold of his home—Remember the best lesson of the lipsWhose accents shall be with us now, no more!It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;And I would press the lesson; that when lifeHath half become a weariness, and hopeThirsts for serener waters, go abroadUpon the paths of nature, and when allIts voices whisper, and its silent thingsAre breathing the deep beauty of the world,Kneel at its simple altar, and the GodWho hath the living waters, shall be there!

We shall go forth together. There will come

Alike the day of trial unto all,

And the rude world will buffet us alike.

Temptation hath a music for all ears;

And mad ambition trumpeteth to all;

And the ungovernable thought within,

Will be in every bosom eloquent;

But when the silence and the calm come on,

And the high seal of character is set,

We shall not all be similar. The scale

Of being is a graduated thing;

And deeper than the vanities of power,

Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ

Gradation, in its hidden characters.

The pathway to the grave may be the same,

And the proud man shall tread it, and the low,

With his bowed head, shall bear him company.

Decay will make no difference, and death

With his cold hand shall make no difference;

And there will be no precedence of power,

In waking at the coming trump of God;

But in the temper of the invisible mind,

The godlike and undying intellect,

There are distinctions that will live in heaven,

When time is a forgotten circumstance!

The elevated brow of kings will lose

The impress of regalia, and the slave

Will wear his immortality as free,

Beside the chrystal waters; but the depth

Of glory in the attributes of God,

Will measure the capacities of mind;

And as the angels differ, will the ken

Of gifted spirits glorify him more.

It is life’s mystery. The soul of man

Createth its own destiny of power;

And as the trial is intenser here,

His being hath a nobler strength in heaven.

What is its earthly victory? Press on!For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on!For it shall make you mighty among men;And from the eyrie of your eagle thought,Ye shall look down on monarchs. Oh! press on!For the high ones and powerful shall comeTo do you reverence; and the beautifulWill know the purer language of your brow,And read it like a talisman of love!Press on! for it is godlike to unlooseThe spirit, and forget yourself in thought;Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,And in the very fetters of your flesh,Mating with the pure essences of heaven!Press on!—‘for in the grave there is no work,And no device.’—Press on! while yet ye may!

What is its earthly victory? Press on!

For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on!

For it shall make you mighty among men;

And from the eyrie of your eagle thought,

Ye shall look down on monarchs. Oh! press on!

For the high ones and powerful shall come

To do you reverence; and the beautiful

Will know the purer language of your brow,

And read it like a talisman of love!

Press on! for it is godlike to unloose

The spirit, and forget yourself in thought;

Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,

And in the very fetters of your flesh,

Mating with the pure essences of heaven!

Press on!—‘for in the grave there is no work,

And no device.’—Press on! while yet ye may!

So lives the soul of man. It is the thirstOf his immortal nature; and he rendsThe rock for secret fountains, and pursuesThe path of the illimitable windFor mysteries—and this is human pride!There is a gentler element, and manMay breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul,And drink its living waters till his heartIs pure—and this is human happiness!Its secret and its evidence are writIn the broad book of nature. ’Tis to haveAttentive and believing faculties;To go abroad rejoicing in the joyOf beautiful and well created things;To love the voice of waters, and the sheenOf silver fountains leaping to the sea;To thrill with the rich melody of birds,Living their life of music; to be gladIn the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm;To see a beauty in the stirring leaf,And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree;To see, and hear, and breathe the evidenceOf God’s deep wisdom in the natural world!It is to linger on ‘the magic faceOf human beauty,’ and from light and shadeAlike to draw a lesson; ’tis to loveThe cadences of voices that are tunedBy majesty and purity of thought;To gaze on woman’s beauty, as a starWhose purity and distance make it fair;And in the gush of music to be still,And feel that it has purified the heart!It is to love all virtue for itself,All nature for its breathing evidence;And when the eye hath seen, and when the earHath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world,It is to humble the imperfect mind,And lean the broken spirit upon God!

So lives the soul of man. It is the thirst

Of his immortal nature; and he rends

The rock for secret fountains, and pursues

The path of the illimitable wind

For mysteries—and this is human pride!

There is a gentler element, and man

May breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul,

And drink its living waters till his heart

Is pure—and this is human happiness!

Its secret and its evidence are writ

In the broad book of nature. ’Tis to have

Attentive and believing faculties;

To go abroad rejoicing in the joy

Of beautiful and well created things;

To love the voice of waters, and the sheen

Of silver fountains leaping to the sea;

To thrill with the rich melody of birds,

Living their life of music; to be glad

In the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm;

To see a beauty in the stirring leaf,

And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree;

To see, and hear, and breathe the evidence

Of God’s deep wisdom in the natural world!

It is to linger on ‘the magic face

Of human beauty,’ and from light and shade

Alike to draw a lesson; ’tis to love

The cadences of voices that are tuned

By majesty and purity of thought;

To gaze on woman’s beauty, as a star

Whose purity and distance make it fair;

And in the gush of music to be still,

And feel that it has purified the heart!

It is to love all virtue for itself,

All nature for its breathing evidence;

And when the eye hath seen, and when the ear

Hath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world,

It is to humble the imperfect mind,

And lean the broken spirit upon God!

Thus would I, at this parting hour, be trueTo the great moral of a passing world.Thus would I—like a just departing child,Who lingers on the threshold of his home—Remember the best lesson of the lipsWhose accents shall be with us now, no more!It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;And I would press the lesson; that when lifeHath half become a weariness, and hopeThirsts for serener waters, go abroadUpon the paths of nature, and when allIts voices whisper, and its silent thingsAre breathing the deep beauty of the world,Kneel at its simple altar, and the GodWho hath the living waters, shall be there!

Thus would I, at this parting hour, be true

To the great moral of a passing world.

Thus would I—like a just departing child,

Who lingers on the threshold of his home—

Remember the best lesson of the lips

Whose accents shall be with us now, no more!

It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;

And I would press the lesson; that when life

Hath half become a weariness, and hope

Thirsts for serener waters, go abroad

Upon the paths of nature, and when all

Its voices whisper, and its silent things

Are breathing the deep beauty of the world,

Kneel at its simple altar, and the God

Who hath the living waters, shall be there!

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