Its necessary difference of error is the character it most esteemeth: The tost sand darkeneth the waves; and clear had been the pages of truth, In all things consider thine own ignorance, and gladly take occasion to be taught; But suffer not excess of liberality to neutralize thy mental independence. The faults and follies of most men make their deaths a gain; But thou also art a man, full of faults and follies; Therefore sorrow for the dead, or none shall weep for thee, For the measure of charity thou dealest, shall be poured into thine own bosom. That which vexeth thee now, provoking thee to hate thy brother, Thou canst not shape another's mind to suit thine own body, God will not love thee less because men love thee more (28) OF SORROW. I SAID, I will seek out sorrow, and minister the balm of pity: So I turned to the cabin of the poor, where famine dwelt with disease; labour. So I stopped, and mused within myself, to remember where sorrow dwelt, I went to the prison, but penitence was there, and promise of better times; His infancy wanted not guilt; his life was continued evil: He drew in pride with his mother's milk, and a father's lips taught him cursing. I marked him as the wayward boy; I traced the dissolute youth: I saw him betray the innocent, and sacrifice affection to his lust. I saw him the companion of knaves, and a squanderer of ill-got gain, I heard him curse his own misery, while he hugged the chains that gall ed him : For well had experience declared the bitterness of guilty pleasure, But habit, with its iron net, involved him in its folds. Behind him lowered the thunder-storm, which the caldron of his wicked ness had brewed; Before him was the smooth steep cliff, whose base is ruin and despair. So he madly rushed on, and tried to forget his being: The noisy revel and the low debauch, and fierce excitement of play, With dreary interchange of palling pleasures, filled the dull round of existence: Memory was to him as a foe, so he flew for false solace to the wine-cup, And stunned his enemy at even, but she rent him as a giant in the morning. I TURNED aside to weep; 1 lost him a little while: I looked, and years had past: he was hoar with the winter of his age. And I said, this is sorrow; but pity cannot reach it. This is to be wretched indeed, to be guilty without repentance. OF JOY. My soul was sickened within me, so I sought the dwelling-place of Joy : And I met it not in laughter; I found it not in wealth or power; But I saw it in the pleasant home, where religion smiled upon content, And the satisfied ambition of the heart rejoiced in the favour of its God. Behold the happy man, his face is rayed with pleasure, His thoughts are of calm delight, and none can know his blessedness: I have watched him from his infancy, and seen him in the grasp of death, Yet never have I noted on his brow the cloud of desponding sorrow. He hath knelt beside his cradle; his mother's hymn lulled him to sleep: In childhood he hath loved holiness, and drank from that fountain-head of peace. Wisdom took him for her scholar, guiding his steps in purity : He lived unpolluted by the world; and his young heart hated sin. But he owned not the spurious religion engendered of faction and mo roseness, Neither were the sproutings of his soul seared by the brand of super stition. His love is pure and single, sincere, and knoweth not change: For his manhood hath been blest with the pleasant choice of his youth: Behold his one beloved, she leaneth on his arm, And he looketh on the years that are past, to review the dawn of her affection. Memory is sweet unto him as a perfect landscape to the sight; Each object is lovely in itself, but the whole is the harmony of nature. Behold his little ones around him, they bask in the sunshine of his smile; And infant innocence and joy lighten their happy faces; He is holy, and they honour him: he is loving, and they love him : He is consistent, and they esteem him; he is firm, and they fear him. His friends are the excellent among men ; and the bands of their friené ship are strong; His house is the palace of peace: for the Prince of Peace is there. As the wearied man to his couch, as the thoughtful man to h musings, Even so, from the bustle of life, he goeth to his well-ordered home. For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warme gratitude. THUS did he walk in happiness, and sorrow was a stranger to his soul; The light of affection sunned his heart, the tear of the grateful bedewed his feet, He put his hand with constancy to good, and angels knew him as a brother, And the busy satellites of evil trembled as at God's ally: He used his wealth as a wise steward, making him friends for fu turity; He bent his learning to religion, and religion was with him at the last: For I saw him after many days, when the time of his release was come, And I longed for a congregated world, to behold that dying saint, As the aloe is green and well-liking, till the last best summer of its age, And then hangeth out its golden bells to mingle glory with corruption; Look on this picture of joy, and remember that portrait of sorrow: |