WHEN streams of unkindness, as bitter as gall,

Bubble up from the heart to the tongue,
And Meekness is writhing in torment and thrall,

By the hands of Ingratitude wrung,
In the heat of injustice, unwept and unfair,

While the anguish is festering yet,
None, none but an angel or God can declare

“ I now can forgive and forget."

But, if the bad spirit is chased from the heart,

And the lips are in penitence steep'd, With the wrong so repented the wrath will depart,

Though scorn on injustice were heaped ; For the best compensation is paid for all ill,

When the cheek with contrition is wet, And every one feels it is possible still

At once to forgive and forget.

To forget? It is hard for a man with a mind,

However his heart may forgive,
To blot out all perils and dangers behind,

And but for the future to live :
Then how shall it be? for at every turn

Recollection the spirit will fret,
And the ashes of injury smoulder and burn,

Though we strive to forgive and forget.

Oh, hearken! my tongue shall the riddle unseal,

And mind shall be partner with heart, While thee to thyself I bid conscience reveal,

And show thee how evil thou art :
Remember thy follies, thy sins, and—thy crimes,

How vast is that infinite debt!
Yet Mercy hath seven by seventy times

Been swift to forgive and forget!

Brood not on insults or injuries old,

For thou art injurious too,-
Count not their sum till the total is told,

For thou art unkind and untrue :
And if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven,

Now mercy with justice is met,
Oh, who would not gladly take lessons of heaven,

Nor learn to forgive and forget?


Yes, yes ;

let a man, when his enemy weeps, Be quick to receive him a friend ; For thus on his head in kindness he heaps

Hot coals,—to refine and amend;
And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yearn,

As a nurse on her innocent pet,
Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn,

And whisper, Forgive and forget.


EUREKA! this is truth sublime,
Defying change, outwrestling time-
Eureka! well that truth is told,
Wisely spake the bard of old-
Eureka! there is peace and praise
In this short and simple phrase,
A sea of comforts, wide and deep,
Wherein my conscious soul to steep,
A hoard of happy-making wealth
To doat on, miserly, by stealth,
Through Time my reason's ripest fruit,
For all eternity its root,
Earth's harvest, and the seed of heaven,
To me, to me, by mercy given !

Yes, eureka,- I have found it,
And before the world will sound it;

This remains, and still shall stay
When life's gauds have past away,
This, of old my treasure-truth,
The bosom joy that warm’d my youth,
My happiness in manhood's prime,
My triumph down the stream of time,
Till death shall lull this heart in age,
And deathless glory crown my page,
My grace-born truth and treasure this,
“ My mind to me a kingdom is."


Noble solace, true and strong,
Great reward for human wrong,
With an inward blessing still
To compensate all earthly ill,
To recompense for adverse fates,
Woes, or wants, or scorns, or hates,
To cherish, after man's neglect,
When foes deride, and friends suspect,
To soothe and bless the spirit bow'd
Down by the selfish and the proud,
To lift the soul above this scene
Of petty troubles trite and mean,
O there is moral might in this,-
“ My mind to me a kingdom is."

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