Lay not the plummet to the line: religion hath no landmarks: n some the dayspring from on high breaketh in all its praise. Wrecked on the shoals of passion, and numbered of the lost; 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 he hath slain his foe, but not yet levelled the stronghold, 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: THERE is to whom all things are easy: his mind, as a master-key, To force, with groaning labour, the stubborn lock of learning: And often, when thou lookest on an eye, dim in native dulness, Little shalt thou wot of the wealth diligence hath gathered to its gaze; Yet are not the sons of men cast as in moulds by the lot? Yea, and it holdeth in the converse, that growing similarity of mind 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, And the might of other men's example, among whom his lot is cast, 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 HATRED AND ANGER. BLUNTED unto goodness is the heart which anger never stirreth, But that which hatred swelleth, is keen to carve out evn. Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous failing of the just, The one degree that riseth above zeal, asserting the prerogatives of virtue : But hatred is a slow continuing crime, a fire in the bad man's breast, A dull and hungry flame, for ever craving insatiate. 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: Hatred is the atmosphere of hell; but anger is known in heaven. Is there not a righteous wrath, an anger just and holy, When goodness is sitting in the dust, and wickedness enthroned on Babel? Appealing to the line and to the plummet, incognizant of moral sense? 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. Speedily be reconciled in love, and receive the returning offender, For wittingly prolonging anger, thou tamperest unconsciously with hatred. 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 shall thou stand without reproach, mailed in all the dignity of virtue. |