When the clear eye of penetration quietly readeth off the truth.

Likewise of the good what know they? the memories bringing pleasure,

Shrined in the heart of the benevolent, and glistening from his eye;

The calm self-justifying reason that establisheth the upright in his purpose;

The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all the thoughts of the religious.

Many a beggar at the cross-way, or grey-haired shepherd on the plain,

Hath more of the end of all wealth, than hundreds who multiply the means.

Moreover, a moral compensation reacheth to the secrecy of thought;

For if thou wilt think evil of thy neighbor, soon shalt thou have him for thy foe:

And yet he may know nothing of the cause that maketh thee distasteful to his soul,

The cause of unkind suspicion, for which thou hast thy punishment:

And if thou think of him in charity, wishing or praying for his weal,

He shall not guess the secret charm that lureth his soul to love thee.

For just is retributive ubiquity: Sampson did sin with Dalilah,

And his eyes and captive strength were forfeit to the Philistine:

Jacob robbed his brother, and sorrow was his portion to the grave:

David must fly before his foes, yea, though his guilt is covered:

And He, who seeming old in youth, was marred for others' sin,

For every special crime must bear its special penalty:

By luxury, or rashness, or vice, the member that hath erred suffereth,

And therefore the Sacrifice for all was pained at every

pore.

Alike to the slave and his oppressor cometh night with sweet refreshment,

And half of the life of the most wretched is gladdened by the soothings of sleep.

Pain addeth zest unto pleasure, and teacheth the luxury of health;

There is a joy in sorrow, which none but a mourner can

know:

Madness hath imaginary bliss, and most men have no

more;

Age hath its quiet calm, and youth enjoyeth not for haste: Daily, in the midst of its beatitude, the righteous soul is vexed;

And even the misery of guilt doth attain to the bliss of pardon.

Who, in the face of the born-blind, ever looked on other than content?

And the deaf ear listeneth within to the silent music of the heart.

There is evil poured upon the earth from the overflowings of corruption,

Sickness, and poverty, and pain, and guilt, and madness, and sorrow;

But, as the water from a fountain riseth and sinketh to its level,

Ceaselessly toileth justice to equalize the lots of men; For, habit, and hope, and ignorance, and the being but one of a multitude,

And strength of reason in the sage, and dullness of feeling in the fool,

And the light elasticity of courage, and the calm resignation of meekness,

And the stout endurance of decision, and the weak carelesness of apathy,

And helps invisible but real, and ministerings not unfelt, Angelic aid with worldly discomfiture, bodily loss with the soul's gain,

Secret griefs, and silent joys, thorns in the flesh, and cordials for the spirit,

(-Short of the insuperable barrier dividing innocence from guilt,-)

Go far to level all things, by the gracious rule of Com pensation.

of Indirect Jufluences.

Face thy foe in the field, and perchance thou wilt meet thy master,

For the sword is chained to his wrist, and his armor buckled for the battle;

But find him when he looketh not for thee, aim between the joints of his harness,

And the crest of his pride will be humbled, his cruelty will bite the dust.

Beard not a lion in his den, but fashion the secret pit-fall, So shalt thou conquer the strong, thyself triumphing in weakness.

The hurricane rageth fiercely, and the promontory standeth in its might.

Breasting the artillery of heaven, as darts glance from the crocodile :

But the small continual creeping of the silent footsteps of the sea

Mineth the wall of adamant, and stealthily compasseth its ruin.

The weakness of accident is strong, where the strength of design is weak:

And a casual analogy convinceth, when a mind beareth not argument.

Will not a man listen? be silent; and prove thy maxina by example:

Never fear, thou losest not thy hold, though thy mouth doth not render a reason.

Contend not in wisdom with a fool, for thy sense maketh much of his conceit;

And some errors never would have thriven, had it not been for learned refutation:

Yea, much evil hath been caused by an honest wrestler for truth,

And much of unconscious good, by the man that hated wisdom:

For the intellect judgeth closely, and if thou overstep thy argument,

Or seem not consistent with thyself, or fail in thy direct

purpose,

The mind that went along with thee, shall stop and return without thee,

And thou shalt have raised a foe, where thou mightest have won a friend.

Hints, shrewdly strown, mightily disturb the spirit, Where a bare-faced accusation would be too ridiculous for calumny :

The sly suggestion toucheth nerves, and nerves contract the fronds,

And the sensitive mimosa of affection trembleth to its

root;

And friendships, the growth of half a century, those oaks that laugh at storms,

Have been cankered in a night by a worm, even as the prophet's gourd.

Hast thou loved and not known jealousy? for sidelong look

Can please or pain thy heart more than the multitude

of proofs:

Hast thou hated, and not learned that thy silent scorn Doth deeper aggravate thy foe than loud cursing malice?

A wise man prevaileth in power, for he screeneth his battering engine,

But a fool tilteth headlong, and his adversary is

aware.

Behold those broken arches, that oriel all unglazed,
That crippled line of columns bleaching in the sun,
The delicate shaft stricken midway, and the flying but-

tress

Idly streaching forth to hold up tufted ivy:

Thinkest thou the thousand eyes that shine with rapture on a ruin,

Would have looked with half their wonder on the perfect pile?

And wherefore not - but that light hints, suggesting unseen beauties,

Fill the complacent gazer with self-grown conceits? And so, the rapid sketch winneth more praise to the

painter,

Than the consummate work elaborated on his easel: And so, the Helvetic lion caverned in the living rock Hath more of majesty and force, than if upon a marble pedestal.

Tell me, daughter of taste, what hath charmed thine ear in music?

Is it the labored theme, the curious fugue or cento,Nor rather the sparkles of intelligence flashing from some strange note,

Or the soft melody of sounds far sweeter for simplicity? Tell me, thou son of science, what hath filled thy mind in reading?

Is it the volume of detail where all is orderly set down And they that read may run, nor need to stop and think; The book carefully accurate, that counteth thee no better than a fool,