PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. PREFATORY. fч0чGHTS, that have tarried in my mind, and peopled its inner chambers. The sober children of reason, or desultory train of fancy; Clear running wine of conviction, with the scum and the lees of specu lation; Corn from the sheaves of Science, with stubble from mine own garner, Searchings after Truth, that have tracked her secret lodes, And come up again to the surface-world with a knowledge grounded deeper; Arguments of high scope, that have soared to the keystone of heaven, And thence have swooped to their certain mark, as the falcon to its quarry; The fruits I have gathered of prudence, the ripened harvest of my musings, These commend I unto thee, O docile scholar of Wisdom, These I give to thy gentle heart, thou lover of the right. What though a guilty man renew that hallowed theme, What, though a youthful tongue take up that ancient parable, And utter faintly forth dark sayings as of old? Sweet is the virgin honey, though the wild bee have stored it in a reed; The passions of puny man; the majestic characters of God; The feverish shadows of time, and the mighty substance of eternity. Commend thy mind unto candour, and grudge not as though thou hadst a teacher, Nor scorn angelic Truth for the sake of her evil herald; Heed not him, but hear his words, and care not whence they come; I come a man of peace, to comfort, not to combat; With soft persuasive speech to charm thy patient ear, Giving the hand of fellowship, acknowledging the heart of sympathy: THE WORDS OF WISDOM. FEW and precious are the words which the lips of Wisdom utter: No lovely thing on earth can picture all their beauty. They be chance pearls, flung among the rocks by the sullen waters of Oblivion. Which Diligence loveth to gather, and hang round the neck of Memory; They be white-winged seeds of happiness, wafted from the islands of the blessed, Which Thought carefully tendeth, in the kindly garden of the heart; They be sproutings of an harvest for eternity, bursting through the tilth of time, Green promise of the golden wheat, that yieldeth angels' food; They be drops of the crystal dew, which the wings of seraphs scatter, When on some brighter Sabbath, their plumes quiver most with delight; Such, and so precious, are the words which the lips of Wisdom utter. Yet more, for the half is not said, of their might, and dignity, and value, Yet once again, loving student, suffer the praises of thy teacher. And kindling the eye of youth with a fire not its own; And her words, whereunto canst thou liken them? for earth cannot show their peers: |