In many foreign lands I’ve beenAnd knights and ladies there have seen;But here alone I find my rest—Old Germany is still the best;Some other lands have pleased me well;But here—’tis here I choose to dwell.German men have virtues rare,And German maids are angels fair.
In many foreign lands I’ve beenAnd knights and ladies there have seen;But here alone I find my rest—Old Germany is still the best;Some other lands have pleased me well;But here—’tis here I choose to dwell.German men have virtues rare,And German maids are angels fair.
In many foreign lands I’ve beenAnd knights and ladies there have seen;But here alone I find my rest—Old Germany is still the best;Some other lands have pleased me well;But here—’tis here I choose to dwell.German men have virtues rare,And German maids are angels fair.
In many foreign lands I’ve been
And knights and ladies there have seen;
But here alone I find my rest—
Old Germany is still the best;
Some other lands have pleased me well;
But here—’tis here I choose to dwell.
German men have virtues rare,
And German maids are angels fair.
He rises to a higher strain than this in other lyrics, where he places domestic virtue above external beauty, and speaks ofminnein the higher interpretation of the word. “Even where it can not be returned,” he says, “if devoted to one worthy of it, it ennobles a man’s life. His affection for one teaches him to be kind and generous to all.” Walther pleasantly describes himself as by no means good-looking, and censures all praise bestowed on men for their merely exterior advantages. And he is no fanatical worshiper of feminine beauty, affirming that it may sometimes be a thin mask worn over bad passions.
With regard to their moral and social purport the verses of Walther have a considerable historical interest. They show us how insecurely the Church held the faith and loyalty of German men in the thirteenth century.
Walther is bold and violent in his defiance and contempt of the Pope’s usurpation of temporal authority. Referring in one place to a fable commonly believed in his times, he says: “When Constantine gave the spear of temporal power, as well as the spear and the crown to the See of Rome, the angels in heaven lamented, and well they might; for that power is now abused to annoy the emperor and to stir up the princes, his vassals against him.” The poet was as earnest in dissuading the people from contributing money to support the Crusades. “Very little of it,” he says, “will ever find its way into the Holy Land. The Pope is now filling his Italian coffers with our German silver.” This saying seems to have been very popular for a tame moralist who lived in Walther’s time complains that, by making such statements, the poet was perverting the faith of many people. “All his fine verses,” the moralist adds, “will not atone for that bad libel on Rome.” Yet the author of it was quite orthodox in doctrine, and was enthusiastic in his zeal for rescuing the Holy Sepulcher from the Saracens.
Many of his verses express earnestly his love for his native land, and his grief for social and political disorders of his times. He believes that the world is falling a prey to anarchy. “I hear the rushing of the water,” he says, “and I watch the movements of the fish that swim in its depth. I explore the habits of the creatures of this world in the forest and in the field, from the beast of the field down to the insect, and I find that there is nowhere any life that is not vexed by anarchy and strife. Warfare is found everywhere, and yet some order is preserved even among animals; but in my own native land, where the petty princes are lifting themselves up against the emperor, we are hastening on to anarchy.” The course of events proved that he was too true in this prediction. Resignation and despair, rather than any hope of a reconciliation of religion with practical life, characterize other meditative poems. The following is one of the best of this class:
I sat one day upon a stone,And meditated long, alone,While resting on my hand my head,In silence to myself I said:“How, in these days of care and strife,Shall I employ my fleeting life?Three precious jewels I requireTo satisfy my heart’s desire:The first is honor, bright and clear,The next is wealth, and far more dear,The third is heaven’s approving smile;”Then, after I had mused a whileI saw that it was vain to pineFor these three pearls in one small shrine;To find within one heart a placeFor honor, wealth, and heavenly grace;For how can one in days like theseHeaven and the world together please?—From “Outlines of German Literature”—Gostwick and Harrison.
I sat one day upon a stone,And meditated long, alone,While resting on my hand my head,In silence to myself I said:“How, in these days of care and strife,Shall I employ my fleeting life?Three precious jewels I requireTo satisfy my heart’s desire:The first is honor, bright and clear,The next is wealth, and far more dear,The third is heaven’s approving smile;”Then, after I had mused a whileI saw that it was vain to pineFor these three pearls in one small shrine;To find within one heart a placeFor honor, wealth, and heavenly grace;For how can one in days like theseHeaven and the world together please?—From “Outlines of German Literature”—Gostwick and Harrison.
I sat one day upon a stone,And meditated long, alone,While resting on my hand my head,In silence to myself I said:“How, in these days of care and strife,Shall I employ my fleeting life?Three precious jewels I requireTo satisfy my heart’s desire:The first is honor, bright and clear,The next is wealth, and far more dear,The third is heaven’s approving smile;”Then, after I had mused a whileI saw that it was vain to pineFor these three pearls in one small shrine;To find within one heart a placeFor honor, wealth, and heavenly grace;For how can one in days like theseHeaven and the world together please?
I sat one day upon a stone,
And meditated long, alone,
While resting on my hand my head,
In silence to myself I said:
“How, in these days of care and strife,
Shall I employ my fleeting life?
Three precious jewels I require
To satisfy my heart’s desire:
The first is honor, bright and clear,
The next is wealth, and far more dear,
The third is heaven’s approving smile;”
Then, after I had mused a while
I saw that it was vain to pine
For these three pearls in one small shrine;
To find within one heart a place
For honor, wealth, and heavenly grace;
For how can one in days like these
Heaven and the world together please?
—From “Outlines of German Literature”—Gostwick and Harrison.
—From “Outlines of German Literature”—Gostwick and Harrison.
Riches of Poverty.Why art thou cast down, my heart?Why trouble, why dost mourn apart,O’er naught but earthly wealth?Trust in thy God, be not afraid,He is thy friend, who all things made!Dost think thy prayers he doth not heed?He knows full well what thou dost need;And heaven and earth are his!My Father and my God, who stillIs with my soul in every ill.The rich man in his wealth confides;But in my God my trust abides.Laugh as ye will, I holdThis one thing fast, that He hath taught:Who trusts in God shall want for naught.Yes, Lord: thou art as rich to-dayAs thou hast been, and shall be aye:I rest on thee alone;Thy riches to my soul be given,And ’tis enough for earth and heaven.
Riches of Poverty.Why art thou cast down, my heart?Why trouble, why dost mourn apart,O’er naught but earthly wealth?Trust in thy God, be not afraid,He is thy friend, who all things made!Dost think thy prayers he doth not heed?He knows full well what thou dost need;And heaven and earth are his!My Father and my God, who stillIs with my soul in every ill.The rich man in his wealth confides;But in my God my trust abides.Laugh as ye will, I holdThis one thing fast, that He hath taught:Who trusts in God shall want for naught.Yes, Lord: thou art as rich to-dayAs thou hast been, and shall be aye:I rest on thee alone;Thy riches to my soul be given,And ’tis enough for earth and heaven.
Why art thou cast down, my heart?Why trouble, why dost mourn apart,O’er naught but earthly wealth?Trust in thy God, be not afraid,He is thy friend, who all things made!
Why art thou cast down, my heart?
Why trouble, why dost mourn apart,
O’er naught but earthly wealth?
Trust in thy God, be not afraid,
He is thy friend, who all things made!
Dost think thy prayers he doth not heed?He knows full well what thou dost need;And heaven and earth are his!My Father and my God, who stillIs with my soul in every ill.
Dost think thy prayers he doth not heed?
He knows full well what thou dost need;
And heaven and earth are his!
My Father and my God, who still
Is with my soul in every ill.
The rich man in his wealth confides;But in my God my trust abides.Laugh as ye will, I holdThis one thing fast, that He hath taught:Who trusts in God shall want for naught.
The rich man in his wealth confides;
But in my God my trust abides.
Laugh as ye will, I hold
This one thing fast, that He hath taught:
Who trusts in God shall want for naught.
Yes, Lord: thou art as rich to-dayAs thou hast been, and shall be aye:I rest on thee alone;Thy riches to my soul be given,And ’tis enough for earth and heaven.
Yes, Lord: thou art as rich to-day
As thou hast been, and shall be aye:
I rest on thee alone;
Thy riches to my soul be given,
And ’tis enough for earth and heaven.
The legends of Hans Sachs are all pointed with satire. Readers now-a-days find in them a coarseness which jars their ideas of reverence and refinement, but which in the sixteenth century was in perfect keeping with the popular taste. One of the best of his legends is that of “St. Peter and the Goat.” “We are told that once upon a time St. Peter was perplexed by an apparent prevalence of injustice in the world; and ventured to think that he could arrange matters better if he held the reins of government. He frankly confesses these thoughts to his Master. Meanwhile a peasant girl comes to him and complains that she has to do a hard day’s work, and at the same time tokeep in order a frolicsome young goat. ‘Now,’ says the Lord to Peter, ‘you must have pity on this girl, and must take charge of the goat. That will serve as an introduction to your managing the affairs of the universe.’”
The legend goes on:
“The young goat had a playful mindAnd never liked to be confined;The Apostle at a killing pace,Followed the goat, in a desperate chase;Over the hills and among the briersThe goat runs on and never tires,While Peter, behind, on the grassy plain,Runs on, panting and sighing in vain.All day, beneath a scorching sun,The good Apostle had to runTill evening came; the goat was caughtAnd safely to the Master brought,Then, with a smile, to Peter saidThe Lord: ‘Well, friend, how have you sped?If such a task your powers has triedHow could you keep the world so wide?’Then Peter, with his toil distressed,His folly, with a sigh, confessed;‘No, Master, ’tis for me no playTo rule one goat for one short day;It must be infinitely worseTo regulate the universe.’”
“The young goat had a playful mindAnd never liked to be confined;The Apostle at a killing pace,Followed the goat, in a desperate chase;Over the hills and among the briersThe goat runs on and never tires,While Peter, behind, on the grassy plain,Runs on, panting and sighing in vain.All day, beneath a scorching sun,The good Apostle had to runTill evening came; the goat was caughtAnd safely to the Master brought,Then, with a smile, to Peter saidThe Lord: ‘Well, friend, how have you sped?If such a task your powers has triedHow could you keep the world so wide?’Then Peter, with his toil distressed,His folly, with a sigh, confessed;‘No, Master, ’tis for me no playTo rule one goat for one short day;It must be infinitely worseTo regulate the universe.’”
“The young goat had a playful mindAnd never liked to be confined;The Apostle at a killing pace,Followed the goat, in a desperate chase;Over the hills and among the briersThe goat runs on and never tires,While Peter, behind, on the grassy plain,Runs on, panting and sighing in vain.All day, beneath a scorching sun,The good Apostle had to runTill evening came; the goat was caughtAnd safely to the Master brought,Then, with a smile, to Peter saidThe Lord: ‘Well, friend, how have you sped?If such a task your powers has triedHow could you keep the world so wide?’Then Peter, with his toil distressed,His folly, with a sigh, confessed;‘No, Master, ’tis for me no playTo rule one goat for one short day;It must be infinitely worseTo regulate the universe.’”
“The young goat had a playful mind
And never liked to be confined;
The Apostle at a killing pace,
Followed the goat, in a desperate chase;
Over the hills and among the briers
The goat runs on and never tires,
While Peter, behind, on the grassy plain,
Runs on, panting and sighing in vain.
All day, beneath a scorching sun,
The good Apostle had to run
Till evening came; the goat was caught
And safely to the Master brought,
Then, with a smile, to Peter said
The Lord: ‘Well, friend, how have you sped?
If such a task your powers has tried
How could you keep the world so wide?’
Then Peter, with his toil distressed,
His folly, with a sigh, confessed;
‘No, Master, ’tis for me no play
To rule one goat for one short day;
It must be infinitely worse
To regulate the universe.’”
The heart of man is like a ship out on a wild sea, and driven by storm-winds blowing from all the four quarters of the world; now impelled by fear and care for coming evil, now disturbed by vexation and grief for present misfortune, now urged along by hope and a confidence of future good, now wafted by joy and contentment. These storm-winds of the soul teach us how to speak in good earnest, to open our hearts and to utter their contents. The man actually in want and fear does not express himself quietly, like a man who only talks about fear and want; a heart filled with joy utters itself and sings in a way not to be imitated by one who is all the time in fear; “It does not come from the heart,” men say, when a sorrowful man tries to laugh, or a merry man would weep.… Now of what does this book of Psalms mostly consist but of earnest expressions of the heart’s emotions—the storm-winds, as I have called them? Where are finer expressions of joy than the Psalms of praise and thanksgiving? There you look into the hearts of the saints, as if you looked into a fair and delightful garden, aye, or into heaven itself—and you see how lovely and pleasant flowers are springing up there out of manifold happy and beautiful thoughts of God and all His mercies.… But again, where will you find deeper, more mournful and pitiful words of sorrow than in the Psalms devoted to lamentation? I conclude then that the Psalter is a hand-book for religious men, wherein every one, whatever may be his condition, may find words that will rhyme with it; and Psalms as exactly fitted to suit his wants as if they had been written solely for his benefit.—From the Preface to Luther’s Book of Psalms.
Light in Despondency.When the sky is black and lowering, when thy path in life is drear,Upward lift thy steadfast glances, ’mid the maze of sorrow here.From the beaming Fount of Gladness shall descend a radiance bright,And the grave shall be a garden, and the house of darkness light,For the Lord will hear and answer when in faith his people pray;Whatsoe’er he hath appointed shall but work thee good alway.E’en thy very hairs are numbered, God commands when one shall fall;And the Lord is with his people, helping each and blessing all.
Light in Despondency.When the sky is black and lowering, when thy path in life is drear,Upward lift thy steadfast glances, ’mid the maze of sorrow here.From the beaming Fount of Gladness shall descend a radiance bright,And the grave shall be a garden, and the house of darkness light,For the Lord will hear and answer when in faith his people pray;Whatsoe’er he hath appointed shall but work thee good alway.E’en thy very hairs are numbered, God commands when one shall fall;And the Lord is with his people, helping each and blessing all.
When the sky is black and lowering, when thy path in life is drear,Upward lift thy steadfast glances, ’mid the maze of sorrow here.From the beaming Fount of Gladness shall descend a radiance bright,And the grave shall be a garden, and the house of darkness light,For the Lord will hear and answer when in faith his people pray;Whatsoe’er he hath appointed shall but work thee good alway.E’en thy very hairs are numbered, God commands when one shall fall;And the Lord is with his people, helping each and blessing all.
When the sky is black and lowering, when thy path in life is drear,
Upward lift thy steadfast glances, ’mid the maze of sorrow here.
From the beaming Fount of Gladness shall descend a radiance bright,
And the grave shall be a garden, and the house of darkness light,
For the Lord will hear and answer when in faith his people pray;
Whatsoe’er he hath appointed shall but work thee good alway.
E’en thy very hairs are numbered, God commands when one shall fall;
And the Lord is with his people, helping each and blessing all.
Our Defense.A strong tower is the Lord our God,To shelter and defend us;Our shield his arm, our sword his rodAgainst our foes befriend us.That ancient enemy—His gathering powers we see,His terror and his toils;Yet victory with its spoilsNot earth but heaven shall send us!Though wrestling with the wrath of hell,No might of man avail us,Our captain is Immanuel,And angel comrades hail us!Still challenge ye his name?“Christ in the flesh who came”—The Lord, the Lord of Hosts!Our cause his succor boasts;And God shall ne’er fail us!While mighty truth with us remain,Hell’s arts shall move us never;Nor parting friendship, honors, gains,Our love from Jesus sever:They leave us when they partWith him a peaceful heart;And when from dust we rise,Death yields us as he dies,The crown of life forever!
Our Defense.A strong tower is the Lord our God,To shelter and defend us;Our shield his arm, our sword his rodAgainst our foes befriend us.That ancient enemy—His gathering powers we see,His terror and his toils;Yet victory with its spoilsNot earth but heaven shall send us!Though wrestling with the wrath of hell,No might of man avail us,Our captain is Immanuel,And angel comrades hail us!Still challenge ye his name?“Christ in the flesh who came”—The Lord, the Lord of Hosts!Our cause his succor boasts;And God shall ne’er fail us!While mighty truth with us remain,Hell’s arts shall move us never;Nor parting friendship, honors, gains,Our love from Jesus sever:They leave us when they partWith him a peaceful heart;And when from dust we rise,Death yields us as he dies,The crown of life forever!
A strong tower is the Lord our God,To shelter and defend us;Our shield his arm, our sword his rodAgainst our foes befriend us.That ancient enemy—His gathering powers we see,His terror and his toils;Yet victory with its spoilsNot earth but heaven shall send us!
A strong tower is the Lord our God,
To shelter and defend us;
Our shield his arm, our sword his rod
Against our foes befriend us.
That ancient enemy—
His gathering powers we see,
His terror and his toils;
Yet victory with its spoils
Not earth but heaven shall send us!
Though wrestling with the wrath of hell,No might of man avail us,Our captain is Immanuel,And angel comrades hail us!Still challenge ye his name?“Christ in the flesh who came”—The Lord, the Lord of Hosts!Our cause his succor boasts;And God shall ne’er fail us!
Though wrestling with the wrath of hell,
No might of man avail us,
Our captain is Immanuel,
And angel comrades hail us!
Still challenge ye his name?
“Christ in the flesh who came”—
The Lord, the Lord of Hosts!
Our cause his succor boasts;
And God shall ne’er fail us!
While mighty truth with us remain,Hell’s arts shall move us never;Nor parting friendship, honors, gains,Our love from Jesus sever:They leave us when they partWith him a peaceful heart;And when from dust we rise,Death yields us as he dies,The crown of life forever!
While mighty truth with us remain,
Hell’s arts shall move us never;
Nor parting friendship, honors, gains,
Our love from Jesus sever:
They leave us when they part
With him a peaceful heart;
And when from dust we rise,
Death yields us as he dies,
The crown of life forever!
The Parable of “The Three Kings,” from “Nathan the Wise.”In the oldest times, and in an eastern land,There lived a man who had a precious ring.This gem—an opal of a hundred tints—Had such a virtue as would make the wearerWho trusted it, beloved by God and man.What wonder, if the man who had this ringPreserved it well, and, by his will, declaredIt should forever in his house remain?At last when death came near, he called the sonWhom he loved best, and gave to him the ring,With one strict charge:—“My son, when you must die,Let this be given to your own darling child—The son whom you love best, without regardTo any rights of birth.”—’Twas thus the ringWas always passed on to the best-beloved.Sultaùn! you understand me?Saladin.Yea. Go on!—Nathan.A father, who, at last possessed this ringHad three dear sons—all dutiful and true—All three alike beloved.—But, at one time,This son, and then another, seemed most dear—Most worthy of the ring; and it was given,By promise, first to this son, then to that,Until it might be claimed by all the three.At last, when death drew nigh, the father feltHis heart distracted by the doubt to whomThe ring was due. He could not favor oneAnd leave two sons in grief! How did he act?He called a goldsmith in, gave him the gem,And bade him make exactly of that form,Two other rings, and spare nor cost nor painsTo make all three alike. And this was doneSo well, the owner of the first, true ring,Could find no shade of difference in the three.And now he called his sons—one at a time—He gave to each a blessing and a ring—One of the three—and died—Saladin.Well, well. Go on.Nathan.My tale is ended. You may guess the sequel:—The father dies; immediately each sonComes forward with his ring, and asks to beProclaimed as head and ruler of the house;All three assert one claim, and show their rings—All made alike. To find the first—the true—It was as great a puzzle as for us—To find the one true faith.Saladin.Is that, then, all the answer I must have?Nathan.’Tis my apology, if I declineTo act as judge, or to select the ring—The one, true gem, of three all made alike;All given by one—Saladin.There! talk no more of “rings.”The three religions, that, at first, were named,Are all distinct—aye, down to dress—food—drink—Nathan.Just so! and yet their claims are all alike,As founded upon history, on factsBelieved, and handed down from sire to son,Uniting them in faith. Can we—the Jews—Distrust the testimony of our race?Distrust the men who gave us birth, whose loveDid ne’er deceive us; but when we were babes,Taught us, by means of fables, for our good?Mustyoudistrust your own true ancestors,To flatter mine?—or must a Christian doubtHis father’s words, and so agree with ours?—Saladin.Allah!—the Israelite is speaking truth,And I am silenced—Nathan.Let me name the ringsOnce more!—The sons at last, in bitter strife,Appeared before a judge, and each declaredHe had the one true gem, given by his father;All said the same, and all three spoke the truth;Each, rather than suspect his father’s word,Accused his brethren of a fraud—.Saladin.What then?What sentence could the judge pronounce? Go on.Nathan.Thus said the judge:—“Go, bring your father here;Let him come forth! or I dismiss the case.Must I sit guessing riddles? Must I waitTill the true ring shall speak out for itself?—But stay!—’twas said that the authentic gemHad virtue that could make its wearer lovedBy God and man. That shall decide the case.Tell me who of the three is best belovedBy his two brethren. Silent?—Then the ringHath lost its charm!—Each claimant loves himself,But wins no love. The rings are forgeries;’Tis plain, the first, authentic gem was lost;To keep his word with you, and hide his loss,Your father had these three rings made—these three,Instead of one—”Saladin.Well spoken, judge, at last!Nathan.“But stay,” the judge continued; “hear one word—The best advice I have to give; then go.—Let each still trust the ring given by his father!—It might be, he would show no partial love;He loved all three, and, therefore, would not giveThe ring to one and grieve the other two.Go, emulate your father’s equal love.Let each first test his ring and show its power;But aid it, while you test; be merciful,Forbearing, kind to all men, and submitYour will to God. Such virtues shall increaseWhatever powers the rings themselves may have;When these, among your late posterity,Have shown their virtue—in some future time,A thousand thousand years away from now—Then hither come again!—A wiser manThan one now sitting here will hear you then,And will pronounce the sentence.”Saladin.Allah! Allah!Nathan.Now, Saladin, art thou that “wiser man?”Art thou the judge who will, at last, pronounceThe sentence?[Saladin grasps Nathan’s hand, and holdsto the end of the conversation.Saladin.I the judge?—I’m dust! I’m nothing!’Tis Allah!—Nathan, now I understand;The thousand thousand years have not yet passed;The judge is not yet come; I must not placeMyself upon his throne! I understand—Farewell, dear Nathan! Go.—Be still my friend.
The Parable of “The Three Kings,” from “Nathan the Wise.”In the oldest times, and in an eastern land,There lived a man who had a precious ring.This gem—an opal of a hundred tints—Had such a virtue as would make the wearerWho trusted it, beloved by God and man.What wonder, if the man who had this ringPreserved it well, and, by his will, declaredIt should forever in his house remain?At last when death came near, he called the sonWhom he loved best, and gave to him the ring,With one strict charge:—“My son, when you must die,Let this be given to your own darling child—The son whom you love best, without regardTo any rights of birth.”—’Twas thus the ringWas always passed on to the best-beloved.Sultaùn! you understand me?Saladin.Yea. Go on!—Nathan.A father, who, at last possessed this ringHad three dear sons—all dutiful and true—All three alike beloved.—But, at one time,This son, and then another, seemed most dear—Most worthy of the ring; and it was given,By promise, first to this son, then to that,Until it might be claimed by all the three.At last, when death drew nigh, the father feltHis heart distracted by the doubt to whomThe ring was due. He could not favor oneAnd leave two sons in grief! How did he act?He called a goldsmith in, gave him the gem,And bade him make exactly of that form,Two other rings, and spare nor cost nor painsTo make all three alike. And this was doneSo well, the owner of the first, true ring,Could find no shade of difference in the three.And now he called his sons—one at a time—He gave to each a blessing and a ring—One of the three—and died—Saladin.Well, well. Go on.Nathan.My tale is ended. You may guess the sequel:—The father dies; immediately each sonComes forward with his ring, and asks to beProclaimed as head and ruler of the house;All three assert one claim, and show their rings—All made alike. To find the first—the true—It was as great a puzzle as for us—To find the one true faith.Saladin.Is that, then, all the answer I must have?Nathan.’Tis my apology, if I declineTo act as judge, or to select the ring—The one, true gem, of three all made alike;All given by one—Saladin.There! talk no more of “rings.”The three religions, that, at first, were named,Are all distinct—aye, down to dress—food—drink—Nathan.Just so! and yet their claims are all alike,As founded upon history, on factsBelieved, and handed down from sire to son,Uniting them in faith. Can we—the Jews—Distrust the testimony of our race?Distrust the men who gave us birth, whose loveDid ne’er deceive us; but when we were babes,Taught us, by means of fables, for our good?Mustyoudistrust your own true ancestors,To flatter mine?—or must a Christian doubtHis father’s words, and so agree with ours?—Saladin.Allah!—the Israelite is speaking truth,And I am silenced—Nathan.Let me name the ringsOnce more!—The sons at last, in bitter strife,Appeared before a judge, and each declaredHe had the one true gem, given by his father;All said the same, and all three spoke the truth;Each, rather than suspect his father’s word,Accused his brethren of a fraud—.Saladin.What then?What sentence could the judge pronounce? Go on.Nathan.Thus said the judge:—“Go, bring your father here;Let him come forth! or I dismiss the case.Must I sit guessing riddles? Must I waitTill the true ring shall speak out for itself?—But stay!—’twas said that the authentic gemHad virtue that could make its wearer lovedBy God and man. That shall decide the case.Tell me who of the three is best belovedBy his two brethren. Silent?—Then the ringHath lost its charm!—Each claimant loves himself,But wins no love. The rings are forgeries;’Tis plain, the first, authentic gem was lost;To keep his word with you, and hide his loss,Your father had these three rings made—these three,Instead of one—”Saladin.Well spoken, judge, at last!Nathan.“But stay,” the judge continued; “hear one word—The best advice I have to give; then go.—Let each still trust the ring given by his father!—It might be, he would show no partial love;He loved all three, and, therefore, would not giveThe ring to one and grieve the other two.Go, emulate your father’s equal love.Let each first test his ring and show its power;But aid it, while you test; be merciful,Forbearing, kind to all men, and submitYour will to God. Such virtues shall increaseWhatever powers the rings themselves may have;When these, among your late posterity,Have shown their virtue—in some future time,A thousand thousand years away from now—Then hither come again!—A wiser manThan one now sitting here will hear you then,And will pronounce the sentence.”Saladin.Allah! Allah!Nathan.Now, Saladin, art thou that “wiser man?”Art thou the judge who will, at last, pronounceThe sentence?[Saladin grasps Nathan’s hand, and holdsto the end of the conversation.Saladin.I the judge?—I’m dust! I’m nothing!’Tis Allah!—Nathan, now I understand;The thousand thousand years have not yet passed;The judge is not yet come; I must not placeMyself upon his throne! I understand—Farewell, dear Nathan! Go.—Be still my friend.
In the oldest times, and in an eastern land,There lived a man who had a precious ring.This gem—an opal of a hundred tints—Had such a virtue as would make the wearerWho trusted it, beloved by God and man.What wonder, if the man who had this ringPreserved it well, and, by his will, declaredIt should forever in his house remain?At last when death came near, he called the sonWhom he loved best, and gave to him the ring,With one strict charge:—“My son, when you must die,Let this be given to your own darling child—The son whom you love best, without regardTo any rights of birth.”—’Twas thus the ringWas always passed on to the best-beloved.Sultaùn! you understand me?
In the oldest times, and in an eastern land,
There lived a man who had a precious ring.
This gem—an opal of a hundred tints—
Had such a virtue as would make the wearer
Who trusted it, beloved by God and man.
What wonder, if the man who had this ring
Preserved it well, and, by his will, declared
It should forever in his house remain?
At last when death came near, he called the son
Whom he loved best, and gave to him the ring,
With one strict charge:—“My son, when you must die,
Let this be given to your own darling child—
The son whom you love best, without regard
To any rights of birth.”—’Twas thus the ring
Was always passed on to the best-beloved.
Sultaùn! you understand me?
Saladin.Yea. Go on!—
Saladin.Yea. Go on!—
Nathan.A father, who, at last possessed this ringHad three dear sons—all dutiful and true—All three alike beloved.—But, at one time,This son, and then another, seemed most dear—Most worthy of the ring; and it was given,By promise, first to this son, then to that,Until it might be claimed by all the three.At last, when death drew nigh, the father feltHis heart distracted by the doubt to whomThe ring was due. He could not favor oneAnd leave two sons in grief! How did he act?He called a goldsmith in, gave him the gem,And bade him make exactly of that form,Two other rings, and spare nor cost nor painsTo make all three alike. And this was doneSo well, the owner of the first, true ring,Could find no shade of difference in the three.And now he called his sons—one at a time—He gave to each a blessing and a ring—One of the three—and died—
Nathan.A father, who, at last possessed this ring
Had three dear sons—all dutiful and true—
All three alike beloved.—But, at one time,
This son, and then another, seemed most dear—
Most worthy of the ring; and it was given,
By promise, first to this son, then to that,
Until it might be claimed by all the three.
At last, when death drew nigh, the father felt
His heart distracted by the doubt to whom
The ring was due. He could not favor one
And leave two sons in grief! How did he act?
He called a goldsmith in, gave him the gem,
And bade him make exactly of that form,
Two other rings, and spare nor cost nor pains
To make all three alike. And this was done
So well, the owner of the first, true ring,
Could find no shade of difference in the three.
And now he called his sons—one at a time—
He gave to each a blessing and a ring—
One of the three—and died—
Saladin.Well, well. Go on.
Saladin.Well, well. Go on.
Nathan.My tale is ended. You may guess the sequel:—The father dies; immediately each sonComes forward with his ring, and asks to beProclaimed as head and ruler of the house;All three assert one claim, and show their rings—All made alike. To find the first—the true—It was as great a puzzle as for us—To find the one true faith.
Nathan.My tale is ended. You may guess the sequel:—
The father dies; immediately each son
Comes forward with his ring, and asks to be
Proclaimed as head and ruler of the house;
All three assert one claim, and show their rings—
All made alike. To find the first—the true—
It was as great a puzzle as for us—
To find the one true faith.
Saladin.Is that, then, all the answer I must have?
Saladin.Is that, then, all the answer I must have?
Nathan.’Tis my apology, if I declineTo act as judge, or to select the ring—The one, true gem, of three all made alike;All given by one—
Nathan.’Tis my apology, if I decline
To act as judge, or to select the ring—
The one, true gem, of three all made alike;
All given by one—
Saladin.There! talk no more of “rings.”The three religions, that, at first, were named,Are all distinct—aye, down to dress—food—drink—
Saladin.There! talk no more of “rings.”
The three religions, that, at first, were named,
Are all distinct—aye, down to dress—food—drink—
Nathan.Just so! and yet their claims are all alike,As founded upon history, on factsBelieved, and handed down from sire to son,Uniting them in faith. Can we—the Jews—Distrust the testimony of our race?Distrust the men who gave us birth, whose loveDid ne’er deceive us; but when we were babes,Taught us, by means of fables, for our good?Mustyoudistrust your own true ancestors,To flatter mine?—or must a Christian doubtHis father’s words, and so agree with ours?—
Nathan.Just so! and yet their claims are all alike,
As founded upon history, on facts
Believed, and handed down from sire to son,
Uniting them in faith. Can we—the Jews—
Distrust the testimony of our race?
Distrust the men who gave us birth, whose love
Did ne’er deceive us; but when we were babes,
Taught us, by means of fables, for our good?
Mustyoudistrust your own true ancestors,
To flatter mine?—or must a Christian doubt
His father’s words, and so agree with ours?—
Saladin.Allah!—the Israelite is speaking truth,And I am silenced—
Saladin.Allah!—the Israelite is speaking truth,
And I am silenced—
Nathan.Let me name the ringsOnce more!—The sons at last, in bitter strife,Appeared before a judge, and each declaredHe had the one true gem, given by his father;All said the same, and all three spoke the truth;Each, rather than suspect his father’s word,Accused his brethren of a fraud—.
Nathan.Let me name the rings
Once more!—The sons at last, in bitter strife,
Appeared before a judge, and each declared
He had the one true gem, given by his father;
All said the same, and all three spoke the truth;
Each, rather than suspect his father’s word,
Accused his brethren of a fraud—.
Saladin.What then?What sentence could the judge pronounce? Go on.
Saladin.What then?
What sentence could the judge pronounce? Go on.
Nathan.Thus said the judge:—“Go, bring your father here;Let him come forth! or I dismiss the case.Must I sit guessing riddles? Must I waitTill the true ring shall speak out for itself?—But stay!—’twas said that the authentic gemHad virtue that could make its wearer lovedBy God and man. That shall decide the case.Tell me who of the three is best belovedBy his two brethren. Silent?—Then the ringHath lost its charm!—Each claimant loves himself,But wins no love. The rings are forgeries;’Tis plain, the first, authentic gem was lost;To keep his word with you, and hide his loss,Your father had these three rings made—these three,Instead of one—”
Nathan.Thus said the judge:—“Go, bring your father here;
Let him come forth! or I dismiss the case.
Must I sit guessing riddles? Must I wait
Till the true ring shall speak out for itself?—
But stay!—’twas said that the authentic gem
Had virtue that could make its wearer loved
By God and man. That shall decide the case.
Tell me who of the three is best beloved
By his two brethren. Silent?—Then the ring
Hath lost its charm!—Each claimant loves himself,
But wins no love. The rings are forgeries;
’Tis plain, the first, authentic gem was lost;
To keep his word with you, and hide his loss,
Your father had these three rings made—these three,
Instead of one—”
Saladin.Well spoken, judge, at last!
Saladin.Well spoken, judge, at last!
Nathan.“But stay,” the judge continued; “hear one word—The best advice I have to give; then go.—Let each still trust the ring given by his father!—It might be, he would show no partial love;He loved all three, and, therefore, would not giveThe ring to one and grieve the other two.Go, emulate your father’s equal love.Let each first test his ring and show its power;But aid it, while you test; be merciful,Forbearing, kind to all men, and submitYour will to God. Such virtues shall increaseWhatever powers the rings themselves may have;When these, among your late posterity,Have shown their virtue—in some future time,A thousand thousand years away from now—Then hither come again!—A wiser manThan one now sitting here will hear you then,And will pronounce the sentence.”
Nathan.“But stay,” the judge continued; “hear one word—
The best advice I have to give; then go.—
Let each still trust the ring given by his father!—
It might be, he would show no partial love;
He loved all three, and, therefore, would not give
The ring to one and grieve the other two.
Go, emulate your father’s equal love.
Let each first test his ring and show its power;
But aid it, while you test; be merciful,
Forbearing, kind to all men, and submit
Your will to God. Such virtues shall increase
Whatever powers the rings themselves may have;
When these, among your late posterity,
Have shown their virtue—in some future time,
A thousand thousand years away from now—
Then hither come again!—A wiser man
Than one now sitting here will hear you then,
And will pronounce the sentence.”
Saladin.Allah! Allah!
Saladin.Allah! Allah!
Nathan.Now, Saladin, art thou that “wiser man?”Art thou the judge who will, at last, pronounceThe sentence?
Nathan.Now, Saladin, art thou that “wiser man?”
Art thou the judge who will, at last, pronounce
The sentence?
[Saladin grasps Nathan’s hand, and holdsto the end of the conversation.
[Saladin grasps Nathan’s hand, and holdsto the end of the conversation.
Saladin.I the judge?—I’m dust! I’m nothing!’Tis Allah!—Nathan, now I understand;The thousand thousand years have not yet passed;The judge is not yet come; I must not placeMyself upon his throne! I understand—Farewell, dear Nathan! Go.—Be still my friend.
Saladin.I the judge?—I’m dust! I’m nothing!
’Tis Allah!—Nathan, now I understand;
The thousand thousand years have not yet passed;
The judge is not yet come; I must not place
Myself upon his throne! I understand—
Farewell, dear Nathan! Go.—Be still my friend.
Abridged from Science Primer on Physical Science, by Prof. Geikie.
We have found that the water of the river is largely derived from springs, and that all spring-water contains more or less mineral materials dissolved out of the brooks. Every river, therefore, is carrying not merely water, but large quantities of mineral matters into the sea. It has been calculated, for instance, that the Rhine in one year carries into the North Sea lime enough to make three hundred and thirty-two thousand millions of oyster shells. This chemically-dissolved material is not visible to the eye, and in no way affects the color of the water. At all times of the year, as long as the water flows, this invisible transport of some of the materials of rocks must be going on.
But let us now again watch the same river in flood. The water is no longer clear, but dull and dirty. You ascertained that this discoloration arises from mud and sand suspended in the water. You see that over and above the mineral matter in chemical solution, the river is hurrying seaward with vast quantities of other and visible materials. And thus it is clear that at least one great part of the work of rivers must be to transport the mouldered parts of the land which are carried into them by springs or by rain.
But the rivers, too, help in the general destruction of the surface of the land. Of this you may readily be assured, by looking at the sides or bed of a stream when the water is low. Where the stream flows over hard rock, you find the rock all smoothed and ground away; and the stones lying in the water-course are all more or less rounded and smoothed. When these stones were originally broken by frosts or otherwise, from crags and cliffs, they were sharp-edged, as you can prove by looking at the heaps of blocks lying at the foot of any precipice, or steep bank of rock. But when they fell, or were washed into the river, they began to get rolled and rubbed, until their sharp edges were ground away, and they came to wear the smooth rounded forms which we see in the ordinary gravel.
While the stones are ground down, they, at the same time, grind down the rocks which form the sides and bottom of the river-channel over which they are driven. You can even see in some of the eddies of the stream how the stones are kept moving round until they actually excavate deep round cavities, called pot-holes, in the solid rock.
Now, it is clear that two results must follow from this ceaseless wear and tear of rocks and stones in the channel of a stream. In the first place, a great deal of mud and sand must be produced; and, in the second place, the bed of the river must be ground down so as to become deeper and wider. The sand and mud are added to the other similar material washed into the streams by rain from the mouldering surface of the land. By the deepening and widening of the water-courses, such picturesque features as gorges and ravines are excavated out of the solid rock.
Look, again, at the channel of a river in summer. You see it covered with sheets of gravel in one place, beds of sand in another, while here and there a piece of hard rock sticks up through these different kinds of river-stuff. Note some portion of the loose materials, and you find it to be continually shifting. A patch of gravel or sand may remain for a time, but the little stones and grains of which it is made up are always changing as the water covers and moves them. In fact, the loose materials over which the river flows are somewhat like the river itself. You come back to its banks after many years, and you find the river there still, with the same ripples, and eddies, and gentle murmuring sound. But though the river has been there constantly all the time, its water has been changing every minute, as you can watch it changing still. So, although the channel is always more or less covered with loose materials, these are not always the same. They are perpetually being pushed onward, and others, from higher up the stream, come behind to take their place.
It is not in the bottoms of the rivers, then, that the material worn away from the surface of the land can find any lasting rest. And yet the rivers do get rid of a good deal of this material as they roll along. You have, perhaps, noticed that a river is often bordered with a strip of flat plain, the surface of which is only a few feet above the level of the water. Most of our rivers have such margins, and, indeed, seem each to wind to and fro through a long, level, meadow-like plain. Now this plain is really made up from the finer particles of decomposed rocks which the river has carried along. During floods, the river, swollen and muddy, rises above its banks, and spreads over the low ground on either side. Whenever this takes place, the overflowing water moves more slowly over the flats; and, as its current is thus checked, it can not hold so much mud and sand, but allows some of these materials to settle down to the bottom. In this way the overflowed tracts get a coating of soil laid over them by the river, and when the waters retire this coating adds a little to the height of the plain. The same thing takes place year after year, until by degrees the plain gets so far raised that the river, which all this while is also busy deepening its channel, can not overflow it even at the highest floods. In course of time the river, as it winds from side to side, cuts away slices of the plain and forms a newer one at a lower level. And thus a series of terraces is gradually made, rising step by step above the river.
Still the laying down of its sand and mud by a river to form one or more such river-terraces is, after all, only a temporary disposal of these materials. They are still liable to be carried away, and in truth they are carried off continually as the river eats away its banks.
When the current of a river is checked as it enters the sea or a lake, the feebler flow of the water allows the sand and mud to sink to the bottom. By degrees some portions of the bottom come in this way to be filled up to the surface of the river, and wide flat marshy spaces are formed on either side of the main stream. During floods these spaces are overflowed with muddy water, in the same way as in the case of the valley plains just described, and a coating of mud or sand is laid down on them until they slowly rise above the ordinary level of the river, which winds about among them in endless branching streams. Vegetation springs up on these flat swampy lands; animals, too, find food and shelter there; and thus a new territory is made by the work of the river.
These flat river-formed tracts are called deltas, because the one which was best known to the ancients, that of the Nile, had the shape of the Greek letter Δ (delta). This is the general form which is taken by accumulations at the mouths of rivers; the flat delta gets narrow toward the inland, and broader toward the sea. Some of them are of enormous size; the delta of the Mississippi, for example.
Each delta, then, is made of materials worn from the surface of the land, and brought down by the river. And yet vast though some of these deltas are, they do not show all the materials which have been so worn away. A great deal is carried far out and deposited on the sea-bottom; for the sea is the great basin into which the spoils of the land are continually borne.
Having now followed the course taken by the water which falls on the land as rain, we come to that taken by snow.
On the tops of some of the highest mountains in Britain snow lies for great part of the year. On some of them, indeed, there are shady clefts wherein you may meet with deep snow-wreaths even in the heat of summer.
But in other parts of Europe, where the mountains are more lofty, the peaks and higher shoulders of the hills gleam white all the year with unmelted snow.
Let us see why it is that perpetual snow should occur in such regions, and what part this snow plays in the general machinery of the world.
You have learned that the higher parts of the atmosphere are extremely cold. You know also that in the far north and the far south, around those two opposite parts of the earth’s surface called the Poles, the climate is extremely cold—so cold as to give rise to dreary expanses of ice and snow, where sea and land are frozen, and where the heat of summer is not enough to thaw all the ice and drive away all the snow. Between these two polar tracts of cold, wherever mountains are lofty enough to get into the high parts of the atmosphere where the temperature is usually below the freezing-point, the vapor condensed from the air falls upon them, not as rain, but as snow. Their heads and upper heights are thus covered with perpetual snow. In such high mountainous regions the heat of the summer always melts the snow from the lower hills, though it leaves the higher parts still covered. From year to year it is noticed that there is a line or limit below which the ground gets freed of its snow, and above which the snow remains. This limit is called the snow-line, or the limit of perpetual snow. Its height varies in different parts of the world. It is highest in the warmer regions on either side of the equator, where it reaches to 15,000 feet above the sea. In the cold polar tracts, on the other hand, it approaches the sea-level. In other words, while in the polar tracts the climate is so cold that perpetual snow is found even close to the sea-level, the equatorial regions are so warm that you must climb many thousand feet before you can reach the cold layers of the air where snow can remain all the year.
There is, you see, one striking difference between rain and snow. If rain had been falling for the same length of time, the roads and fields would still have been visible, for each drop of rain, instead of remaining where it fell, would either have sunk into the soil, or have flowed off into the nearest brook. But each snowflake, on the contrary, lies where it falls, unless it happens to be caught up and driven on by the wind to some other spot where it can finally rest. Rain disappears from the ground as soon as it can; snow stays still as long as it can.
You will see at once that this marked difference of behavior must give rise to some equally strong differences in the further procedure of these two kinds of moisture. You have followed the progress of the rain; now let us try to find out what becomes of the snow.
In such a country as ours, where there is no perpetual snow, you can without much difficulty answer this question. Each fall of snow in winter-time remains on the ground as long as the air is not warm enough to melt it. Evaporation, indeed, goes on from the surface of snow and ice, as well as from water: so that a layer of snow would in the end disappear, by being absorbed into the air as vapor, even though none of it had previously been melted into running water. But it is by what we call a thaw that our snow is chiefly dissipated; that is, a rise in the temperature, and a consequent melting of the snow. When the snow melts, it sinks into the soil and flows off into brooks in the same way as rain.
In the regions of perpetual snow the heat of summer can notmelt all the snow which falls there in the year. What other way of escape, then, can the frozen moisture find?
You will remember that the surplus rainfall flows off by means of rivers. Now the surplus snow-fall above the snow-line has a similar kind of drainage. It flows off by means of what are called glaciers.
When a considerable depth of snow has accumulated, the pressure upon the lower layers from what lies above them squeezes them into a firm mass. The surface of the ground is usually sloped in some direction, seldom quite flat. And among the high mountains the slopes are often, as you know, very steep. When snow gathers deeply on sloping ground, there comes a time when the force of gravity overcomes the tendency of the pressed snow to remain where it is, and then the snow begins to slide slowly down the slope. From one slope it passes on downward to the next, joined continually by other sliding masses from neighboring slopes until they all unite into one long tongue which creeps slowly down some valley to a point where it melts. This tongue from the snow-fields is the glacier. It really drains these snow-fields of their excess of snow as much as a river drains a district of its excess of water.
But the glacier which comes out of the snow-fields is itself made not of snow, but of ice. The snow, as it slides downward, is pressed together into ice. You have learned that each snowflake is made of little crystals of ice. A mass of snow is thus only a mass of minute crystals of ice with air between. Hence when the snow gets pressed together, the air is squeezed out, and the separated crystals of ice freeze together into a solid mass. You know that you can make a snowball very hard by squeezing it firmly between the hands. The more tightly you press it the harder it gets. You are doing to it just what happens when a glacier is formed out of the eternal snows. You are pressing out the air, and allowing the little particles of ice to freeze to each other and form a compact piece of ice. But you can not squeeze nearly all the air out, consequently the ball, even after all your efforts, is still white from the imprisoned air. Among the snowfields, however, the pressure is immensely greater than yours; the air is more and more pressed out, and at last the snow becomes clear transparent ice.
A glacier, then, is a river, not of water, but of ice, coming down from the snow-fields. It descends sometimes a long way below the snow-line, creeping down very slowly along the valley which it covers from side to side. Its surface all the time is melting during the day in summer, and streams of clear water are gushing along the ice, though, when night comes, these streams freeze. At last it reaches some point in the valley beyond which it can not go, for the warmth of the air there is melting the ice as fast as it advances. So the glacier ends, and from its melting extremity streams of muddy water unite into a foaming river, which bears down the drainage of the snow-fields above.
A river wears down the sides and bottom of its channel, and thus digs out a bed for itself in even the hardest rock, as well as in the softest soil. It sweeps down, too, a vast quantity of mud, sand, and stones from the land to the sea. A glacier performs the same kind of work, but in a very different way.
When stones fall into a river they sink to the bottom, and are pushed along there by the current. When mud enters a river it remains suspended in the water, and is thus carried along. But the ice of a glacier is a solid substance. Stones and mud which fall upon its surface remain there, and are borne onward with the whole mass of the moving glacier. They form long lines of rubbish upon the glacier, and are called moraines. Still the ice often gets broken up into deep cracks, opening into yawning clefts or crevasses, which sometimes receive a good deal of the earth and stones let loose by frost or otherwise from the sides of the valley. In this way loose materials fall to the bottom of the ice, and reach the solid floor of the valley down which the ice is moving; while at the same time similar rubbish tumbles between the edge of the glacier and the side of the valley.
The stones and grains of sand which get jammed between the ice and the rock over which it is moving are made to score and scratch this rock. They form a kind of rough polishing powder, whereby the glacier is continually grinding down the bottom and sides of its channel. If you creep in below the ice, or catch a sight of some part of the side from which the ice has retired a little, you will find the surface of the rock all rubbed away and covered with long scratches made by the sharp points of the stones and sand.
You will now see the reason why the river, which escapes from the end of a glacier, is always muddy. The bottom of the glacier is stuck all over with stones, which are scraping and wearing down the rock underneath. A great deal of fine mud is thus produced, which, carried along by streams of water flowing in channels under the glacier, emerges at the far end in the discolored torrents which there sweep from under the ice.
A glacier is not only busy grinding out a bed for itself through the mountains; it bears on its back down the valley enormous quantities of fallen rock, earth and stones, which have tumbled from the cliffs on either side. In this way blocks of rock as big as a house may be carried for many miles, and dropped where the ice melts. Thousands of tons of loose stones and mud are every year moved on the ice from the far snowy mountains away down into the valleys to which the glaciers reach.
The largest glaciers in the world are those of the polar regions. North Greenland, in truth, lies buried under one great glacier, which pushes long tongues of ice down the valleys and away out to sea. When a glacier advances into the sea, portions of it break off and float away as icebergs. So enormous are the glaciers in these cold tracts that the icebergs derived from them often rise several hundred feet above the waves which beat against their sides. And yet, in all such cases, about seven times more of the ice is immersed under water than the portion, large as it is, which appears above. You can realize how this happens if you take a piece of ice, put it in a tumbler of water, and watch how much of it rises out of the water. Sunk deep in the sea, therefore, the icebergs float to and fro until they melt, sometimes many hundreds of miles away from the glaciers which supplied them.
You will come to learn afterward that, once upon a time, there were glaciers in Britain. You will be able with your own eyes to see rocks which have been ground down and scratched by the ice, and big blocks of rock and piles of loose stones which the ice carried upon its surface. So that, in learning about glaciers, you are not merely learning what takes place in other and distant lands, you are gaining knowledge which you will be able by and by to make good use of, even in your own country.
SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.
“He that followeth me walketh not in darkness, saith the Lord.” These are the words of Christ, by which we are admonished that we ought to imitate his life and manners, if we would be truly enlightened and delivered from all blindness of heart.
Let therefore our chief endeavor be to meditate upon the life of Jesus Christ.
What will it avail thee to dispute sublimely of the Trinity, if thou be void of humility, and art thereby displeasing to the Trinity?
Truly, sublime words do not make a man holy and just; but a virtuous life maketh him dear to God.
I had rather feel compunction, than know the definition thereof.
If thou didst know the whole Bible, and the sayings of all the philosophers, by heart, what would all that profit thee without the love of God?
Vanity of vanities! all is vanity, but to love God and serve him only.
It is therefore vanity to seek after perishing riches.
It is also vanity to seek honors.
It is vanity to follow the desires of the flesh, and to labor for that for which thou must afterward suffer grievous punishment.
It is vanity to wish to live long, and to be careless to live well.
It is vanity to mind this present life, and not those things which are to come.
It is vanity to set thy love on that which speedily passeth away, and not to hasten thither, where everlasting joys remain.
All men naturally desire to know; but what availeth knowledge without the fear of God?
Surely an humble husbandman that serveth God is better than a proud philosopher, that, neglecting himself, studies the course of the heavens.
He that knoweth himself is vile in his own eyes, and is not pleased with the praises of men.
If I understood all things in the world, and had not charity, what would that help me in the sight of God, who will judge me according to my deeds.
There are many things, to know which doth little profit the soul.
And he is very unwise, that minds any other things than those that tend to the welfare of his soul.
Many words do not satisfy the soul; but a pure conscience giveth confidence toward God.
The more thou knowest, and the better thou understandest, the more grievously shalt thou be judged, unless thy life be the more holy.
Be not therefore lifted up; but rather let the knowledge given thee make thee afraid.
If thou thinkest that thou knowest much: yet there are many more things which thou knowest not.
Be not over wise, but rather acknowledge thine own ignorance.
The highest and most profitable lesson is, the true knowledge of ourselves.
It is great wisdom to esteem ourselves nothing, and to think always well and highly of others.
We are all frail, but remember, none more frail than thyself.
It is good that we be sometimes contradicted; and that men think ill of us, and this, although we do not intend well.
For then we more diligently seek God for our inward witness, when outwardly we are contemned by men.
Wherefore a man should settle himself so fully in God, that he need not seek comforts of men.
When a man is afflicted, tempted, or troubled with evil thoughts; then he understandeth better the great need he hath of God.
So long as we live in this world, we can not be without temptation.
Hence it is written in Job, “The life of man is a warfare upon earth.”
Temptations are often very profitable to men, though they be troublesome and grievous; for in them a man is humbled, purified, and instructed.
All the saints have passed through, and profited by, many tribulations, and temptations:
And they that could not bear temptations, became reprobates and fell away.
There is no place so secret, where there are no temptations.
There is no man that is altogether secure from temptations while he liveth.
When one temptation goeth away, another cometh; and we shall ever have something to suffer.
Many seek to fly temptations, and fall more grievously into them.
By flight alone we can not overcome, but by patience and humility we conquer all our enemies.
He that only avoideth them outwardly, and doth not pluck them up by the roots, shall profit little: yea, temptations will soon return unto him, and he shall feel them worse than before.
By patience (through God’s help) thou shalt more easily overcome, than by harsh and disquieting efforts in thy own strength.
Often take counsel in temptations; and deal not roughly with him that is tempted.
The beginning of temptation is inconstancy of mind, and little confidence in God.
For as a ship without a rudder is tossed to and fro with the waves, so the man that is negligent is many ways tempted.
Fire trieth iron, and temptation a just man.
We know not often what we are able to do: but temptations show us what we are.
We must be watchful, especially in the beginning of the temptation; for the enemy is then more easily overcome, if he be not suffered to enter the door of your hearts, but be resisted without the gate at his first knock.
Wherefore one said, “Withstand the beginning: for an after remedy comes too late.”
First, there occurreth to the mind a simple evil thought; then a strong imagination; afterward delight; and lastly consent.
And so by little and little our malicious enemy getteth entrance, while he is not resisted in the beginning.
And the longer one is slack in resisting, the weaker he becomes daily, and the enemy stronger against him.
Some suffer the greatest temptation in the beginning of their conversion; others in the latter end.
Others again are much troubled almost throughout their life.
Some are but slightly tempted, according to the wisdom which weigheth the states of men, and ordereth all things for the good of his elect.
We ought therefore, when we are tempted, so much the more fervently to pray unto God; who surely will give with the temptation, a way to escape, that we may be able to bear it.
Let us therefore humble ourselves under the hand of God, in all temptations and tribulations; for he will exalt the humble in spirit.
In temptations and afflictions a man is proved how much he hath profited.
Neither is it any such great thing if a man be devout and fervent, when he feeleth no affliction; but if in time of adversity he bear himself patiently, there is hope then of great proficiency.
Some are kept from great temptations, and are overcome in small ones; that being humbled, they may never trust themselves in great matters, who are baffled in so small things.
Turn thine eyes unto thyself, and beware thou judge not the deeds of other men.
In judging others a man laboreth in vain, often erreth, and easily sinneth; but in judging and examining himself, he always laboreth fruitfully.
We often judge of things according as we fancy them: for affection bereaves us easily of a right judgment.
If God were always our desire, we should not be so much troubled when our inclinations were opposed.
But oftentimes something lurks within, which draweth us after it.
Many secretly seek themselves in their actions, but know it not.
They live in peace of mind when things are done according to their will: but if things succeed otherwise than they desire, they are straightway troubled.
Diversity of inclinations and opinions often causes dissensions between religious persons, between friends and countrymen.
An old custom is hardly broken, and no man is willing to be led farther than himself can see.
If thou dost more rely upon thine own reason, than upon Jesus Christ, late, if ever, shalt thou become illuminated.
The outward work without charity, profiteth nothing; but whatsoever is done out of charity, be it ever so little and contemptible in the sight of the world, is wholly fruitful.
For God weigheth more with how much love one worketh, than how much he doeth.
He doth much that loveth much.
He doth much that doth a thing well.
He doth well that serveth his neighbor, and not his own will.
Often it seemeth to be charity, and it is rather carnality; because natural inclinations, self-will, hope of reward, and desire of our own interest, are motives that men are rarely free from.
He that hath true and perfect charity seeketh himself in nothing; but only desireth in all things that God should be exalted.
He envieth none, because he seeketh not his own satisfaction; neither rejoiceth in himself, but chooses God only for his portion.
He attributes nothing that is good to any man, but wholly referreth it unto God, from whom, as from the fountain, all things proceed: in whom finally all the saints rest.
O that he had but one spark of true charity, he would certainly discern that all earthly things are full of vanity!
When one that was in great anxiety of mind, often wavering between fear and hope, did once humbly prostrate himself in prayer, and said, O, if I knew that I should persevere! he presently heard within him an answer from God which said, If thou didst know it, what wouldst thou do? Do what thou wouldst do then, and thou shalt be safe.
And being herewith comforted and strengthened, he committed himself wholly to the will of God, and his anxiety ceased:
Neither had he any mind to search curiously farther what should befall him; but rather labored to understand what was the perfect and acceptable will of God, for the beginning and accomplishing every good work.
Hope in the Lord, and do good, saith the prophet, and inhabit the land, and thou shalt be fed.
One thing there is that draweth many back from a spiritual progress, and diligent amendment; the horror of the difficulty, or the labor of the combat.
But they improve most in virtue, that endeavor most to overcome those things which are grievous and contrary to them.
For there a man improveth more, and obtaineth greater grace, where he more overcometh himself and mortifieth himself in spirit.
Gather some profit to thy soul wheresoever thou art; so if thou seest or hearest of any good examples, stir up thyself to the imitation thereof.
But if thou seest anything worthy of reproof, beware thou doest not the same.—And if at any time thou hast done it, labor quickly to amend it.
Be mindful of the profession thou hast made, and have always before thine eyes the remembrance of thy Savior crucified.
Thou hast good cause to be ashamed, looking upon the life of Jesus Christ, seeing thou hast as yet no more endeavored to conform thyself unto him, though thou hast walked a long time in the way of God.
A religious person that exerciseth himself seriously and devoutly in the most holy life and passion of our Lord shall there abundantly find whatsoever is necessary and profitable for him; neither shall he need seek any better thing out of Jesus.
Come thou O Lord, and dwell within me, giving me light, and love, and liberty. May the spirit of the sweet Christmas Child possess me! May the Star of Bethlehem abide above my dwelling place! May the angels who seek thee be drawn toward me, and surround my path! May their song fill my life. Glory to God in the highest. On earth peace, good will to men.
This life will soon be at an end; consider therefore how thy affairs stand as to the next.
Man is here to-day; to-morrow he is gone.
When he is out of sight, he is soon forgotten.
Thou shouldst so order thyself in all thy thoughts and all thy actions, as if thou wert to die to-day.
Hadst thou a clear conscience, thou wouldst not fear death.
It were better to avoid sin than to fly death.
If thou art not prepared to-day, how wilt thou be to-morrow?
To-morrow is uncertain, and how knowest thou that thou shalt live till to-morrow?
What availeth to live long, when we are so little the better?
Alas! long life doth not always mend us; but often increased guilt.
O, that we had spent but one day well in this world!
When it is morning, think thou mayst die before night.
When evening comes, dare not to promise thyself the next morning.
Be therefore always in readiness; and so live that death may never take thee unprepared.
Many die suddenly, and when they look not for it; for “in such an hour as you think not, the Son of man cometh.” Matt. xxiv: 44.
When that last hour shall come, thou wilt have a far different opinion of thy whole life.
How wise and happy is he, that laboreth to be such in his life as he would wish to be found at the hour of his death.
Whilst thou art in health, thou mayst do much good, but when thou art sick, I know not what thou wilt be able to do.
Few by sickness grow better; and they who travel much are seldom sanctified.
Trust not in friends and kindred, neither put off the care of thy soul till hereafter, for man will sooner forget thee than thou art aware of.
If thou art not careful for thyself now, who will be careful for thee hereafter?
The time present is very precious; now are the days of salvation, now is the acceptable time.
But alas! that thou shouldst spend thy time no better here, where thou mightest purchase life eternal. The time will come when thou shalt desire one day or hour to amend in, and I can not say it will be granted thee.
Ah fool! why dost thou think to live long, when thou canst not promise thyself one day!
How many have been deceived, and suddenly snatched away!
How often dost thou hear, such a man is slain, another is drowned, a third has broken his neck with a fall; this man died eating, and that playing?
One perished by fire, another by sword, another of the plague, another was slain by thieves! Thus death is the end of all, and man’s life suddenly passeth away like a shadow.
Who shall remember thee when thou art dead? Do, do now, my beloved, whatsoever thou art able to do: for thou knowest not when thou shalt die, nor yet what shall be after thy death.
Now, while thou hast time, lay up for thyself everlasting riches.
Keep thy heart free, and lifted up to God, because thou hast here no abiding city.
Send thither thy daily prayers, and sighs, and tears, that after death thy spirit may happily pass to the Lord.Amen.