The disposition to raise the fallen, to befriend the friendless, is now one of the governing powers of the world. Every year its dominion widens, and even now a strong and growing public opinion is enlisted in its support. Many men still spend lives that are merely selfish. But such lives are already regarded with general disapproval. The man on whom public opinion, anticipating the award of the highest tribunal, bestows its approbation, is the man who labors that he may leave other men better and happier than he found them. With the noblest spirits of our race this disposition to be useful grows into a passion. With an increasing number it is becoming at least an agreeable and interesting employment. On the monument to John Howard in St. Paul's, it is said that the man who devotes himself to the good of mankind treads "an open but unfrequented path to immortality." The remark, so true of Howard's time, is happily not true of ours.
Mackenzie'sNineteenth Century.
And let us take to ourselves the moral lessons which these creatures preach to all who have studied and learned to love what I venture to call the moral in brutes. Look at that faithful servant, the ox! What an emblem in all generations of patient, plodding, meek endurance and serviceable toil! Of the horse and the dog, what countless anecdotes declare the generous loyalty, the tireless zeal, the inalienable love! No human devotion has ever surpassed the recorded examples of brutes in that line. The story is told of an Arab horse who, when his master was taken captive and bound hand and foot, sought him out in the dark amidst other victims, seized him by the girdle with his teeth, ran with him all night at the top of his speed, conveyed him to his home, and then, exhausted with the effort, fell down and died. Did ever man evince more devoted affection?
Surely, something of a moral nature is present also in the brute creation. If nowhere else we may find it in the brute mother's care for her young. Through universal nature throbs the divine pulse of the universal Love, and binds all being to the Father-heart of the author and lover of all. Therefore is sympathy with animated nature, a holy affection, an extended humanity, a projection of the human heart by which we live, beyond the precincts of the human house, into all the wards of the many creatured city of God, as He with his wisdom and love is co-present to all. Sympathy with nature is a part of the good man's religion.
Rev. Dr. Hedge.
Whenever any trait of justice, or generosity, or far-sighted wisdom, or wide tolerance, or compassion, or purity, is seen in any man or woman throughout the whole human race, as in the fragments of a broken mirror we see the reflection of the Divine image.
Dean Stanley.
It is not, however, to be reckoned as surprising, that our forefathers did not dream of such a thing as Duty to Animals. They learned very slowly that they owed duties tomenof other races than their own. Only in the generation which recognized thoroughly for the first time that the negro was a man and brother, did it dawn that beyond the negro there were other still humbler claimants for benevolence and justice. Within a few years, passed both the Emancipation of the West Indian slaves and the first act for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, of which Lord Erskine so truly prophesied that it would prove not only an honor to the Parliament of England, but an era in the civilization of the world.
Miss F. P. Cobbe.
But what is needed for the present is due regard for the natural rights of animals, due sense of the fact that they are not created for man's pleasure and behoof alone, but have, independent of him, their own meaning and place in the universal order; that the God who gave them being, who out of the manifoldness of his creative thought let them pass into life, has not cast them off, but is with them, in them, still. A portion of his Spirit, though unconscious and unreflecting, is theirs. What else but the Spirit of God could guide the crane and the stork across pathless seas to their winter retreats, and back again to their summer haunts? What else could reveal to the petrel the coming storm? What but the Spirit of God could so geometrize the wondrous architecture of the spider and the bee, or hang the hill-star's nest in the air, or sling the hammock of the tiger-moth, or curve the ramparts of the beaver's fort, and build the myriad "homes without hands" in which fish, bird, and insect make their abode? The Spirit of God is with them as with us,—consciously with us, unconsciously with them. We are not divided, but one in his care and love. They have their mansions in the Father's house, and we have ours; but the house is one, and the Master and keeper is one for us and them.
Rev. Dr. Hedge.
I can hardly express to you how much I feel there is to be thought of, arising from the word "dumb" applied to animals. Dumb animals! What an immense exhortation that is to pity. It is a remarkable thing that this word dumb should have been so largely applied to animals, for, in reality, there are very few dumb animals. But, doubtless, the word is often used to convey a larger idea than that of dumbness; namely, the want of power in animals to convey by sound to mankind what they feel, or, perhaps, I should rather say, the want of power in men to understand the meaning of the various sounds uttered by animals. But as regards those animals which are mostly dumb, such as the horse, which, except on rare occasions of extreme suffering, makes no sound at all, but only expresses pain by certain movements indicating pain—how tender we ought to be of them, and how observant of these movements, considering their dumbness. The human baby guides and governs us by its cries. In fact, it will nearly rule a household by these cries, and woe would betide it, if it had not this power of making its afflictions known. It is a sad thing to reflect upon, that the animal which has the most to endure from man is the one which has the least powers of protesting by noise against any of his evil treatment.
Arthur Helps.
His parent handFrom the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore,To men, to angels, to celestial minds,Forever leads the generations onTo higher scenes of being; while suppliedFrom day to day with His enlivening breath,Inferior orders in succession riseTo fill the void below.
His parent handFrom the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore,To men, to angels, to celestial minds,Forever leads the generations onTo higher scenes of being; while suppliedFrom day to day with His enlivening breath,Inferior orders in succession riseTo fill the void below.
Akenside:Pleasures of Imagination.
I would not enter on my list of friends(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility) the manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.An inadvertent step may crush the snailThat crawls at evening in the public path;But he that has humanity, forewarned,Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,A visitor unwelcome, into scenesSacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,The chamber, or refectory, may die:A necessary act incurs no blame.Not so when, held within their proper bounds,And guiltless of offence, they range the air,Or take their pastime in the spacious field:There they are privileged; and he that huntsOr harms them there is guilty of a wrong,Disturbs the economy of nature's realm,Who, when she formed, designed them an abode.The sum is this: If man's convenience, health,Or safety, interfere, his rights and claimsAre paramount, and must extinguish theirs.Else they are all—the meanest things that are—As free to live, and to enjoy that life,As God was free to form them at the first,Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sonsTo love it too.
I would not enter on my list of friends(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility) the manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.An inadvertent step may crush the snailThat crawls at evening in the public path;But he that has humanity, forewarned,Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,A visitor unwelcome, into scenesSacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,The chamber, or refectory, may die:A necessary act incurs no blame.Not so when, held within their proper bounds,And guiltless of offence, they range the air,Or take their pastime in the spacious field:There they are privileged; and he that huntsOr harms them there is guilty of a wrong,Disturbs the economy of nature's realm,Who, when she formed, designed them an abode.The sum is this: If man's convenience, health,Or safety, interfere, his rights and claimsAre paramount, and must extinguish theirs.Else they are all—the meanest things that are—As free to live, and to enjoy that life,As God was free to form them at the first,Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sonsTo love it too.
Cowper.
Oh, yet we trust that somehow goodWill be the final goal of ill,To pangs of nature, sins of will,Defects of doubt and taints of blood;That nothing walks with aimless feet;That not one life shall be destroyed,Or cast as rubbish to the void,When God hath made the pile complete;That not a worm is cloven in vain;That not a moth with vain desireIs shrivelled in a fruitless fire,Or but subserves another's gain.
Oh, yet we trust that somehow goodWill be the final goal of ill,To pangs of nature, sins of will,Defects of doubt and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;That not one life shall be destroyed,Or cast as rubbish to the void,When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;That not a moth with vain desireIs shrivelled in a fruitless fire,Or but subserves another's gain.
Tennyson.
Say not, the struggle naught availeth,The labor and the wounds are vain,The enemy faints not, nor faileth,And as things have been they remain.If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;It may be, in yon smoke concealed,Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,And, but for you, possess the field.For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,Seem here no painful inch to gain,Far back, through creeks and inlets making,Comes silent, flooding in, the main.And not by eastern windows only,When daylight comes, comes in the light;In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly!But westward, look, the land is bright.
Say not, the struggle naught availeth,The labor and the wounds are vain,The enemy faints not, nor faileth,And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;It may be, in yon smoke concealed,Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,Seem here no painful inch to gain,Far back, through creeks and inlets making,Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,When daylight comes, comes in the light;In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly!But westward, look, the land is bright.
A. H. Clough.
See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth,All matter quick, and bursting into birth.Above, how high progressive life may go!Around, how wide! how deep extend below!Vast chain of being! which from God began,Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,Beast, bird, fish, insect, which no eye can see,No glass can reach; from infinite to thee;From thee to nothing. On superior powersWere we to press, inferior might on ours;Or in the full creation leave a void,Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed:From Nature's chain whatever link you strike,Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.All are but parts of one stupendous whole,Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;That, changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame;Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To Him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.
See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth,All matter quick, and bursting into birth.Above, how high progressive life may go!Around, how wide! how deep extend below!Vast chain of being! which from God began,Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,Beast, bird, fish, insect, which no eye can see,No glass can reach; from infinite to thee;From thee to nothing. On superior powersWere we to press, inferior might on ours;Or in the full creation leave a void,Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed:From Nature's chain whatever link you strike,Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.All are but parts of one stupendous whole,Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;That, changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame;Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To Him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.
Pope.
Oh, it is hard to work for God,To rise and take his partUpon this battle-field of earth,And not sometimes lose heart!Ill masters good; good seems to changeTo ill with greatest ease;And, worst of all, the good with goodIs at cross purposes.It is not so, but so it looks;And we lose courage then;And doubts will come if God hath keptHis promises to men.Workman of God! Oh lose not heart,But learn what God is like;And in the darkest battle-fieldThou shalt know where to strike.For right is right, since God is God;And right the day must win;To doubt would be disloyalty,To falter would be sin!
Oh, it is hard to work for God,To rise and take his partUpon this battle-field of earth,And not sometimes lose heart!
Ill masters good; good seems to changeTo ill with greatest ease;And, worst of all, the good with goodIs at cross purposes.
It is not so, but so it looks;And we lose courage then;And doubts will come if God hath keptHis promises to men.
Workman of God! Oh lose not heart,But learn what God is like;And in the darkest battle-fieldThou shalt know where to strike.
For right is right, since God is God;And right the day must win;To doubt would be disloyalty,To falter would be sin!
Faber.
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,But animated nature sweeter stillTo soothe and satisfy the human ear.Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and oneThe livelong night: nor these alone whose notesNice-fingered art must emulate in vain;But coying rooks, and kites that swim sublimeIn still repeated circles, screaming loud,The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owlThat hails the rising moon, have charms for me.Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns,And only there, please highly for their sake.
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,But animated nature sweeter stillTo soothe and satisfy the human ear.Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and oneThe livelong night: nor these alone whose notesNice-fingered art must emulate in vain;But coying rooks, and kites that swim sublimeIn still repeated circles, screaming loud,The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owlThat hails the rising moon, have charms for me.Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns,And only there, please highly for their sake.
Cowper.
The heart is hard in nature, and unfitFor human fellowship, as being voidOf sympathy, and therefore dead alikeTo love and friendship both, that is not pleasedWith sight of animals enjoying life,Nor feels their happiness augment his own.The bounding fawn that darts along the gladeWhen none pursues, through mere delight of heart,And spirits buoyant with excess of glee;The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet,That skips the spacious meadow at full speed,Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels,Starts to the voluntary race again;The very kine that gambol at high noon,The total herd receiving first from oneThat leads the dance a summons to be gay,Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouthTheir efforts, yet resolved with one consentTo give such act and utterance as they mayTo ecstasy too big to be suppressed—These and a thousand images of bliss,With which kind Nature graces every scene,Where cruel man defeats not her design,Impart to the benevolent, who wishAll that are capable of pleasure pleased,A far superior happiness to theirs,The comfort of a reasonable joy.
The heart is hard in nature, and unfitFor human fellowship, as being voidOf sympathy, and therefore dead alikeTo love and friendship both, that is not pleasedWith sight of animals enjoying life,Nor feels their happiness augment his own.The bounding fawn that darts along the gladeWhen none pursues, through mere delight of heart,And spirits buoyant with excess of glee;The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet,That skips the spacious meadow at full speed,Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels,Starts to the voluntary race again;The very kine that gambol at high noon,The total herd receiving first from oneThat leads the dance a summons to be gay,Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouthTheir efforts, yet resolved with one consentTo give such act and utterance as they mayTo ecstasy too big to be suppressed—These and a thousand images of bliss,With which kind Nature graces every scene,Where cruel man defeats not her design,Impart to the benevolent, who wishAll that are capable of pleasure pleased,A far superior happiness to theirs,The comfort of a reasonable joy.
Cowper.
The very meanest things are made supremeWith innate ecstasy. No grain of sandBut moves a bright and million-peopled land,And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem.For love, though blind himself, a curious eyeHath lent me, to behold the heart of things,And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh,Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings,Delight, from many a nameless covert sly,Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings.
The very meanest things are made supremeWith innate ecstasy. No grain of sandBut moves a bright and million-peopled land,And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem.For love, though blind himself, a curious eyeHath lent me, to behold the heart of things,And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh,Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings,Delight, from many a nameless covert sly,Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings.
Laman Blanchard.
When that great and far-reaching softener of hearts, the sense of our failures and offences, is vividly present, the position we hold to creatures who have never done wrong is always found inexpressibly touching. To be kind to them, and rejoice in their happiness, seems just one of the few ways in which we can act a godlike part in our little sphere, and display the mercy for which we hope in turn. The only befitting feeling for human beings to entertain toward brutes is—as the very word suggests—the feeling ofHumanity; or, as we may interpret it, the sentiment of sympathy, as far as we can cultivate fellow feeling; of Pity so far so we know them to suffer; of Mercy so far as we can spare their sufferings; of Kindness and Benevolence, so far as it is in our power to make them happy.
Miss F. P. Cobbe.
What call'st thou solitude? Is mother earthWith various living creatures, and the airReplenished, and all these at thy commandTo come and play before thee? Know'st thou notTheir language and their ways? They also know,And reason not contemptibly; with theseFind pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.
What call'st thou solitude? Is mother earthWith various living creatures, and the airReplenished, and all these at thy commandTo come and play before thee? Know'st thou notTheir language and their ways? They also know,And reason not contemptibly; with theseFind pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.
Paradise Lost, bk. 8.
One all-extending, all-preserving SoulConnects each being, greatest with the least;Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast;All served, all serving: nothing stands alone:The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown.
One all-extending, all-preserving SoulConnects each being, greatest with the least;Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast;All served, all serving: nothing stands alone:The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown.
Pope.
Thou gavest me wide nature for my kingdom,And power to feel it, to enjoy it. NotCold gaze of winder gav'st thou me alone,But even into her bosom's depth to look,As it might be the bosom of a friend;The grand array of living things thou madestTo pass before me, mak'st me know my brothersIn silent bush, in water, and in air.
Thou gavest me wide nature for my kingdom,And power to feel it, to enjoy it. NotCold gaze of winder gav'st thou me alone,But even into her bosom's depth to look,As it might be the bosom of a friend;The grand array of living things thou madestTo pass before me, mak'st me know my brothersIn silent bush, in water, and in air.
Blackie's Translation of Goethe's Faust.
Even the she-wolf with young, on rapine bent,He caught and tethered in his mat-walled tent,And cherished all her little sharp-nosed young,Till the small race with hope and terror clungAbout his footsteps, till each new-reared brood,Remoter from the memories of the woodMore glad discerned their common home with man.This was the work of Jubal: he beganThe pastoral life, and, sire of joys to be,Spread the sweet ties that bind the familyO'er dear dumb souls that thrilled at man's caress,And shared his pain with patient helpfulness.
Even the she-wolf with young, on rapine bent,He caught and tethered in his mat-walled tent,And cherished all her little sharp-nosed young,Till the small race with hope and terror clungAbout his footsteps, till each new-reared brood,Remoter from the memories of the woodMore glad discerned their common home with man.This was the work of Jubal: he beganThe pastoral life, and, sire of joys to be,Spread the sweet ties that bind the familyO'er dear dumb souls that thrilled at man's caress,And shared his pain with patient helpfulness.
George Eliot:Legend of Jubal.
Nor must we childishly feel contempt for the study of the lower animals, since in all nature's work there is something wonderful. And if any one thinks the study of other animals despicable, he must despise the study of his own nature.
Aristotle.
Thus born alike, from virtue first beganThe diff'rence that distinguished man from man:He claimed no title from descent of blood;But that which made him noble made him good.
Thus born alike, from virtue first beganThe diff'rence that distinguished man from man:He claimed no title from descent of blood;But that which made him noble made him good.
Dryden.
Little by little the time goes by—Short if you sing through it, long if you sigh.Little by little—an hour, a day,Gone with the years that have vanished away;Little by little the race is run,Trouble and waiting and toil are done!Little by little the skies grow clear;Little by little the sun comes near;Little by little the days smile outGladder and brighter on pain and doubt;Little by little the seed we sowInto a beautiful yield will grow.Little by little the world grows strong,Fighting the battle of Right and Wrong:Little by little the Wrong gives way,Little by little the Right has sway;Little by little all longing soulsStruggle up nearer the shining goals!Little by little the good in menBlossoms to beauty for human ken;Little by little the angels seeProphecies better of good to be;Little by little the God of allLifts the world nearer the pleading call.
Little by little the time goes by—Short if you sing through it, long if you sigh.Little by little—an hour, a day,Gone with the years that have vanished away;Little by little the race is run,Trouble and waiting and toil are done!
Little by little the skies grow clear;Little by little the sun comes near;Little by little the days smile outGladder and brighter on pain and doubt;Little by little the seed we sowInto a beautiful yield will grow.
Little by little the world grows strong,Fighting the battle of Right and Wrong:Little by little the Wrong gives way,Little by little the Right has sway;Little by little all longing soulsStruggle up nearer the shining goals!
Little by little the good in menBlossoms to beauty for human ken;Little by little the angels seeProphecies better of good to be;Little by little the God of allLifts the world nearer the pleading call.
Cincinnati Humane Appeal.
Life may be given in many waysAnd loyalty to truth be sealedAs bravely in the closet as the field,So generous is fate;But then to stand beside her,When craven churls deride her,To front a lie in arms, and not to yield,This shows, methinks, God's planAnd measure of a stalwart man,Limbed like the old heroic breeds,Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth,Not forced to frame excuses for his birth,Fed from within with all the strength he needs.
Life may be given in many waysAnd loyalty to truth be sealedAs bravely in the closet as the field,So generous is fate;But then to stand beside her,When craven churls deride her,To front a lie in arms, and not to yield,This shows, methinks, God's planAnd measure of a stalwart man,Limbed like the old heroic breeds,Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth,Not forced to frame excuses for his birth,Fed from within with all the strength he needs.
J. R. Lowell.
Animals have much more capacity to understand human speech than is generally supposed. The Hindoos invariably talk to their elephants, and it is amazing how much the latter comprehend. The Arabs govern their camels with a few cries, and my associates in the African desert were always amused whenever I addressed a remark to the big dromedary who was my property for two months; yet at the end of that time the beast evidently knew the meaning of a number of simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing the hippopotamus in Barnum's museum looking very stolid and dejected, I spoke to him in English, but he did not even open his eyes. Then I went to the opposite corner of the cage, and said in Arabic, "I know you; come here to me." He instantly turned his head toward me; I repeated the words, and thereupon he came to the corner where I was standing, pressed his huge, ungainly head against the bars of the cage, and looked in my face with a touch of delight while I stroked his muzzle. I have two or three times found a lion who recognized the same language, and the expression of his eyes, for an instant, seemed positively human.
Bayard Taylor.
And I, contented with a humble theme,Have poured my stream of panegyric downThe vale of Nature, where it creeps and windsAmong her lovely works, with a secureAnd unambitious course, reflecting clearIf not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes.And I am recompensed, and deem the toilsOf poetry not lost, if verse of mineMay stand between an animal and woe,And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.
And I, contented with a humble theme,Have poured my stream of panegyric downThe vale of Nature, where it creeps and windsAmong her lovely works, with a secureAnd unambitious course, reflecting clearIf not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes.And I am recompensed, and deem the toilsOf poetry not lost, if verse of mineMay stand between an animal and woe,And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.
Cowper.
See him from Nature, rising slow to Art!To copy Instinct, that was Reason's part;Thus then to man the voice of Nature spake:—"Go, from the creatures thy instructions take;Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield;Learn from the beasts the physic of the field;Thy arts of building from the bee receive;Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave;Learn of the little nautilus to sail,Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.Here, too, all forms of social union find,And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind:Here subterranean works and cities see;There towns aerial on the waving tree.Learn each small people's genius, policies,The Ant's republic, and the realm of Bees:How those in common all their wealth bestow,And Anarchy without confusion know;And these forever, though a monarch reign,Their sep'rate cells and properties maintain.Mark what unvaryed laws preserve each state,Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate.In fine, thy Reason finer webs shall draw,Entangle Justice in her net of Law,And Right, too rigid, harden into Wrong;Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong.Yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway,Thus let the wiser make the rest obey;And, for those Arts mere Instinct could afford,Be crowned as Monarchs, or as God adored."
See him from Nature, rising slow to Art!To copy Instinct, that was Reason's part;Thus then to man the voice of Nature spake:—"Go, from the creatures thy instructions take;Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield;Learn from the beasts the physic of the field;Thy arts of building from the bee receive;Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave;Learn of the little nautilus to sail,Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.Here, too, all forms of social union find,And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind:Here subterranean works and cities see;There towns aerial on the waving tree.Learn each small people's genius, policies,The Ant's republic, and the realm of Bees:How those in common all their wealth bestow,And Anarchy without confusion know;And these forever, though a monarch reign,Their sep'rate cells and properties maintain.Mark what unvaryed laws preserve each state,Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate.In fine, thy Reason finer webs shall draw,Entangle Justice in her net of Law,And Right, too rigid, harden into Wrong;Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong.Yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway,Thus let the wiser make the rest obey;And, for those Arts mere Instinct could afford,Be crowned as Monarchs, or as God adored."
Pope.
Granted that any practice causes more pain to animals than it gives pleasure to man; is that practice moral or immoral? And if exactly in proportion as human beings raise their heads out of the slough of selfishness, they do not answer "immoral," let the morality of the principle of utility be forever condemned.
John Stuart Mill.
It might have been that the sky was green, and the grass serenely blue;It might have been that grapes on thorns and figs on thistles grew;It might have been that rainbows gleamed before the showers came;It might have been that lambs were fierce and bears and tigers tame;It might have been that cold would melt and summer heat would freeze;It might have been that ships at sea would sail against the breeze—And there may be worlds unknown, dear, where we would find the changeFrom all that we have seen or heard, to others just as strange—But it never could be wise, dear, in haste to act or speak;It never could be noble to harm the poor and weak;It never could be kind, dear, to give a needless pain;It never could be honest, dear, to sin for greed or gain;And there could not be a world, dear, while God is true above,Where right and wrong were governed by any law but love.
It might have been that the sky was green, and the grass serenely blue;It might have been that grapes on thorns and figs on thistles grew;It might have been that rainbows gleamed before the showers came;It might have been that lambs were fierce and bears and tigers tame;It might have been that cold would melt and summer heat would freeze;It might have been that ships at sea would sail against the breeze—And there may be worlds unknown, dear, where we would find the changeFrom all that we have seen or heard, to others just as strange—But it never could be wise, dear, in haste to act or speak;It never could be noble to harm the poor and weak;It never could be kind, dear, to give a needless pain;It never could be honest, dear, to sin for greed or gain;And there could not be a world, dear, while God is true above,Where right and wrong were governed by any law but love.
Kate Lawrence.
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close,Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;There as I passed with careless steps and slow,The mingling notes came softening from below;The swain responsive to the milkmaid sung:The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool:The playful children just let loose from school;The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,—These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close,Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;There as I passed with careless steps and slow,The mingling notes came softening from below;The swain responsive to the milkmaid sung:The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool:The playful children just let loose from school;The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,—These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
Goldsmith.
The Buddhist duty of universal love enfolds in its embraces not only the brethren and sisters of the new faith, not only our neighbors,but every thing that has life.
T. W. Rhys Davids.
As a mother, even at the risk of her own life, protects her son, her only son, so let a mancultivate good-will without measure toward all beings. Let him cultivate good-will without measure, unhindered love and friendliness toward the whole world, above, below, around. Standing, walking, sitting, or lying, let him be firm in this mind so long as he is awake; this state of heart, they say, is the best in the world.
Metta Sutta.
He who lives pure in thought, free from malice, contented, leading a holy life,feeling tenderly for all creatures, speaking wisely and kindly, humbly and sincerely, has the Deity ever in his breast. The Eternal makes not his abode within the breast of that man who covets another's wealth, whoinjures living creatures, who is proud of his iniquity, whose mind is evil.
Dhammapada.
The discontinuance of the murder of human beings and of cruelty to animals, respect for parents, obedience to father and mother, obedience to holy elders, these are good deeds.—No. IV.
And now the joyful chorus resounds again and again that henceforward not a single animal shall be put to death.—No. V.
In a summary of the inscriptions by Arthur Lillie, in "Buddhism and Early Buddhism," he says, they require also, for the benefit of both beast and men, "that gardens be cultivated everywhere of healing shrubs and herbs."
[The inscriptions were written on "rocks, temples, and monuments" in India for the instruction of the people, by order of the Emperor Asoka, who lived about 250 years before Christ.]
God is within this universe, and yet outside this universe; whoever beholds all living creatures as in Him, and Him the universal Spirit, as in all, henceforth regards no creature with contempt.
Quoted byRev. J. E. Carpenter.
It fortifies my soul to knowThat though I perish, truth is so,That howsoe'er I stray and range,Whate'er I do, thou dost not change.I steadier step when I recallThat, if I slip, thou dost not fall.
It fortifies my soul to knowThat though I perish, truth is so,That howsoe'er I stray and range,Whate'er I do, thou dost not change.I steadier step when I recallThat, if I slip, thou dost not fall.
Arthur Hugh Clough.
We, dying, fondly hope the life immortalTo win at last;Yet all that live must through death's dreary portalAt length have passed.And from the hope which shines so bright above us,My spirit turns,And for the lowlier ones, that serve and love us,Half sadly yearns.Never a bird its glad way safely wingingThrough those blest skies?Never, through pauses in the joyful singing,Its notes to rise?Not one of those who toil's severest burdensSo meekly bear,To find at last of faithful labor's guerdonsAn humble share?Ah, well! I need not question; gladly rather,I'll trust in all—Assured that not without our Heavenly "Father"The sparrows fall.And if He foldeth in a sleep eternalTheir wings to rest;Or waketh them to fly the skies supernal—He knoweth best?
We, dying, fondly hope the life immortalTo win at last;Yet all that live must through death's dreary portalAt length have passed.
And from the hope which shines so bright above us,My spirit turns,And for the lowlier ones, that serve and love us,Half sadly yearns.
Never a bird its glad way safely wingingThrough those blest skies?Never, through pauses in the joyful singing,Its notes to rise?
Not one of those who toil's severest burdensSo meekly bear,To find at last of faithful labor's guerdonsAn humble share?
Ah, well! I need not question; gladly rather,I'll trust in all—Assured that not without our Heavenly "Father"The sparrows fall.
And if He foldeth in a sleep eternalTheir wings to rest;Or waketh them to fly the skies supernal—He knoweth best?
Mary Sheppard.
God is the causer of pleasure and light,maker of grass for the cattle, and of fruitful trees for man,causing the fish to live in the river and the birds to fill the air, lying awake when all men sleep, to seek out the good of His creatures.
Quoted byRev. J. E. Carpenter.
There is a higher consanguinity than that of the blood which runs through our veins,—that of the blood which makes our hearts beat with the same indignation and the same joy. And there is a higher nationality than that of being governed by the same imperial dynasty,—that of our common allegiance to the Father and Ruler of all mankind.
Max Müller.
For eighty years! Many will count them over,But none but He who knoweth all may guessWhat those long years have held of high endeavor,Of world-wide blessing and of blessedness.For eighty years the champion of the rightOf hapless child neglected and forlorn;Of maniac dungeoned in his double night;Of woman overtasked and labor-worn;Of homeless boy, in streets with peril rife;Of workman, sickened in his airless den;Of Indian parching for the streams of life;Of negro slave in bond of cruel men.O Friend of all the friendless 'neath the sun,Whose hand hath wiped away a thousand tears,Whose fervent lips and clear strong brain have doneGod's holy service, lo! these eighty years,—How meet it seems thy grand and vigorous ageShould find beyond man's race fresh pangs to spare,And for the wronged and tortured brutes engageIn yet fresh labors and ungrudging care!Oh, tarry long amongst us! Live, we pray,Hasten not yet to hear thy Lord's "Well done!"Let this world still seem better while it mayContain one soul like thine amid its throng.Whilst thou art here our inmost hearts confess,Truth spake the kingly seer of old who said,—"Found in the way of God and righteousness,A crown of glory is the hoary head."
For eighty years! Many will count them over,But none but He who knoweth all may guessWhat those long years have held of high endeavor,Of world-wide blessing and of blessedness.
For eighty years the champion of the rightOf hapless child neglected and forlorn;Of maniac dungeoned in his double night;Of woman overtasked and labor-worn;
Of homeless boy, in streets with peril rife;Of workman, sickened in his airless den;Of Indian parching for the streams of life;Of negro slave in bond of cruel men.
O Friend of all the friendless 'neath the sun,Whose hand hath wiped away a thousand tears,Whose fervent lips and clear strong brain have doneGod's holy service, lo! these eighty years,—
How meet it seems thy grand and vigorous ageShould find beyond man's race fresh pangs to spare,And for the wronged and tortured brutes engageIn yet fresh labors and ungrudging care!
Oh, tarry long amongst us! Live, we pray,Hasten not yet to hear thy Lord's "Well done!"Let this world still seem better while it mayContain one soul like thine amid its throng.
Whilst thou art here our inmost hearts confess,Truth spake the kingly seer of old who said,—"Found in the way of God and righteousness,A crown of glory is the hoary head."
Miss F. P. Cobbe.
Pain, terror, mortal agonies which scareThy heart in man, to brutes thou wilt not spare.Are these less sad and real? Pain in manBears the high mission of the flail and fear;In brutes 'tis purely piteous.
Pain, terror, mortal agonies which scareThy heart in man, to brutes thou wilt not spare.Are these less sad and real? Pain in manBears the high mission of the flail and fear;In brutes 'tis purely piteous.
Henry Taylor.
Who knows thy love most royal power,With largess free and brave,Which crowns the helper of the poor,The suffering and the slave.Yet springs as freely and as warm,To greet the near and small,The prosy neighbor at the farm,The squirrel on the wall.
Who knows thy love most royal power,With largess free and brave,Which crowns the helper of the poor,The suffering and the slave.
Yet springs as freely and as warm,To greet the near and small,The prosy neighbor at the farm,The squirrel on the wall.
Eliza Scudder.