Counted a brand among the burning, and left uncared-for, in his sin : While the dry well of thine affections is choked with secret mammon. Sometimes at a glance thou judgest well; years could add little to thy knowledge: When charity gloweth on the cheek, or malice is lowering in the eye, Or barely recovered of the wounds, that fleshed him in his fray with passion. Also, of the worst, through prejudice, thou loosely shalt think well: For none is altogether evil, and thou mayst catch him at his prayers: There may be one small prize, though all beside be blanks; A silver thread of goodness in the black sergecloth of crime. There is to whom all things are easy: his mind, as a master-key, bar, To force, with groaning labour, the stubborn lock of learning: Yet are not the sons of men cast as in moulds by the lot? Accident may modify, circumstance may bevil, externals seem to change it, But still the primitive crystal is latent in its many variations: For the map of the face, and the picture of the eye, are traced by the pen of passion; And the mind fashioneth a tabernacle suitable for itself. A mean spirit boweth down the back, and the bowing fostereth meanness: A resolute purpose knitteth the knees, and the firm tread nourisheth decision; Love looketh softly from the eye, and kindleth love by looking; There be deeper things than these, lying in the twilight of truth; Couldst read the history of character, the chequered story of a life, wrong, And inheritance of likeness from a father, and natural human frailty, And the habit of health or disease, and prejudices poured into his mind, And the myriad little matters none but Omniscience can know, And accidents that steer the thoughts, where none but Ubiquity can trace them; If thou couldst compass all these, and the consequents flowing from them, Of Batred and Auger. Blunted unto goodness is the heart which anger never stirreth, Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous failing of the just, The one degree that riseth above zeal, asserting the prerogatives of virtue: Hatred would harm another; anger would indulge itself: Hatred is a simmering poison; anger, the opening of a valve: Hatred destroyeth as the upas-tree: anger smiteth as a staff: When goodness is sitting in the dust, and wickedness enthroned on Babel? Beware of the angry in his passion; but fear not to approach him after ward; For if thou acknowledge thine error, he himself will be sorry for his wrath: Beware of the hater in his coolness; for he meditateth evil against thee: anger: The one lieth secret, as a serpent; the other chaseth, as a leopard. Patience is power in a man, nerving him to rein his spirit: Passion is as palsy to his arm, while it yelleth on the coursers to their speed: Patience keepeth counsel, and standeth in solid self-possession, But the weakness of sudden passion layeth bare the secrets of the soul. The sentiment of anger is not ill, when thou lookest on the impudence of vice, Or savourest the breath of calumny, or hast earned the hard wages of injustice, But see thou that thou curb it in expression, rendering the mildness of rebuke, So shalt thou stand without reproach, mailed in all the dignity of virtue. Of Good in Things Evil. I heard the man of sin reproaching the goodness of Jehovah, Wherefore, O holy One and just, is the horn of thy foul foe so high exalted?— And, alas! for this our groaning world, for that grief and guilt are here; Alas! for that Earth is the battle-field, where good must combat with evil: Angels look on and hold their breath, burning to mingle in the conflict, But the troops of the Captain of Salvation may be none but the soldiers of the cross: And that slender band must fight alone, and yet shall triumph gloriously, Enough shall they be for conquest, and the motto of their standard is, ENOUGH. Thou art sad, O denizen of earth, for pains and diseases, and death, thy doings: Thy guilt, and thy father's guilt, must bring many sorrows in their com pany, And if thou wilt drink sweet poison, doubtless it shall rot thee to the core. What art thou but the heritor of evil, with a right to nothing good? The respite of an interval of ease were a boon which Justice might deny thee: Therefore lay thy hand upon thy mouth, O man much to be forgiven, And wait, thou child of hope, for time shall teach thee all things. Yet hear, for my speech shall comfort thee: reverently, but with bold ness, I would raise the sable curtain, that hideth the symmetry of Providence. |