Part 11

Read thou first, and well approve, the books thou givest to thy child; But remember the weakness of his thought, and that wisdom for him must be diluted: In the honied waters of infant tales, let him taste the strong wine of truth: Pathetic stories soften the heart; but legends of terror breed midnight misery; Fairy fictions cram the mind with folly, and knowledge of evil tempteth to like evil: Be not loth to curb imagination, nor be fearful that truths will depress it; And for evil, he will learn it soon enough; be not thou the devil's envoy. Induce not precocity of intellect, for so shouldst thou nourish vanity; Neither can a plant, forced in the hot-bed, stand against the frozen breath of winter. The mind is made wealthy by ideas, but the multitude of words is a clogging weight: Therefore be understood in thy teaching, and instruct to the measure of capacity. Analogy is milk for babes, but abstract truths are strong meat; Precepts and rules are repulsive to a child, but happy illustration winneth him: In vain shalt thou preach of industry and prudence, till he learn of the bee and the ant; Dimly will he think of his soul, till the acorn and the chrysalis have taught him; He will fear God in thunder, and worship His loveliness in flowers; And parables shall charm his heart, while doctrines seem dead mystery: Faith shall he learn of the husbandman casting good corn into the soil; And if thou train him to trust thee, he will not withhold his reliance from the Lord. Fearest thou the dark, poor child? I would not have thee left to thy terrors; Darkness is the semblance of evil, and nature regardeth it with dread: Yet know thy father's God is with thee still, to guard thee: It is a simple lesson of dependence; let thy tost mind anchor upon Him. Did a sudden noise affright thee? lo, this or that hath caused it: Things undefined are full of dread, and stagger stouter nerves. The seeds of misery and madness have been sowed in the nights of infancy; Therefore be careful that ghastly fears be not the night companions of thy child.

Lo, thou art a landmark on a hill; thy little ones copy thee in all things: Let, then, thy religion be perfect: so shalt thou be honoured in thy house. Be instructed in all wisdom, and communicate that thou knowest, Otherwise thy learning is hidden, and thus thou seemest unwise. A sluggard hath no respect; an epicure commandeth not reverence; Meanness is always despicable, and folly provoketh contempt. Those parents are best honoured whose characters best deserve it; Show me a child undutiful, I shall know where to look for a foolish father: Never hath a father done his duty, and lived to be despised of his son: But how can that son reverence an example he dare not follow? Should he imitate thee in thine evil? his scorn is thy rebuke. Nay, but bring him up aright, in obedience to God and to thee; Begin betimes, lest thou fail of his fear; and with judgment, that thou lose not his love: Herein use good discretion, and govern not all alike, Yet, perhaps, the fault will be in thee, if kindness prove not all sufficient: By kindness, the wolf and the zebra become docile as the spaniel and the horse; The kite feedeth with the starling, under the law of kindness: That law shall tame the fiercest, bring down the battlements of pride, Cherish the weak, control the strong, and win the fearful spirit. Be obeyed when thou commandest; but command not often: Let thy carriage be the gentleness of love, not the stern front of tyranny. Make not one child a warning to another; but chide the offender apart: For self-conceit and wounded pride rankle like poisons in the soul. A mild rebuke in the season of calmness, is better than a rod in the heat of passion; Nevertheless, spare not, if thy word hath passed for punishment; Let not thy child see thee humbled, nor learn to think thee false; Suffer none to reprove thee before him, and reprove not thine own purposes by change; Yet speedily turn thou again, and reward him where thou canst, For kind encouragement in good cutteth at the roots of evil.

Drive not a timid infant from his home, in the early spring-time of his life, Commit not that treasure to an hireling, nor wrench the young heart's fibres: In his helplessness leave him not alone, a stranger among strange children, Where affection longeth for thy love, counting the dreary hours; Where religion is made a terror, and innocence weepeth unheard; Where oppression grindeth without remedy, and cruelty delighteth in smiting. Wherefore comply with an evil fashion? Is it not to spare thee trouble? Can he gather no knowledge at thy mouth? Wilt thou yield thine honour to another? What can he gain in learning, to equal what he loseth in innocence? Alas! for the price above gold, by which such learning cometh! For emulative pride and envy are the specious idols of the diligent, Oaths and foul-mouthed sin burn in the language of the idle: Bolder in that mimic world of boys stareth brazen-fronted vice, Than thereafter in the haunts of men, where society doth shame her into corners. My soul, look well around thee, ere thou give thy timid infant unto sorrows. There be many that say, We were happiest in days long past, When our deepest care was an ill-conned book, And when we sported in that merry sunshine of our life, Sadness a stranger to the heart, and cheerfulness its gay inhabitant. True, ye are now less pure, and therefore are more wretched: But have ye quite forgotten how sorely ye travailed at your tasks, How childish griefs and disappointments bowed down the childish mind? How sorrow sat upon your pillow, and terror hath waked you up betimes, Dreading the strict hand of justice, that would not wait for a reason, Or the whims of petty tyrants, children like yourselves, Or the pestilent extract of evil poured into the ear of innocence? Behold the coral island, fresh from the floor of the Atlantic, It is dinted by every ripple, and a soft wave can smooth its surface; But soon its substance hardeneth in the winds and tropic sun, And weakly the foaming billows break against its adamantine wall: Even thus, though sin and care dash upon the firmness of manhood, The timid child is wasted most by his petty troubles; And seldom, when life is mature, and the strength proportioned to the burden, Will the feeling mind, that can remember, acknowledge to deeper anguish, Than when, as a stranger and a little one, the heart first ached with anxiety, And the sprouting buds of sensibility were bruised by the harshness of a school. My soul, look well around thee, ere thou give thine infant unto sorrows. Yet there be boisterous tempers, stout nerves, and stubborn hearts, And there is a riper season, when the mind is well disciplined in good, And a time, when youth may be bettered by the wholesome occasions of knowledge, Which rarely will he meet with so well, as among the congregation of his fellows. Only for infancy, fond mother, rend not those first affections; Only for the sensitive and timorous, consign not thy darling unto misery.

A man looketh on his little one, as a being of better hope; In himself ambition is dead, but it hath a resurrection in his son: That vein is yet untried,--and who can tell if it be not golden? While his, well nigh worked out, never yielded aught but lead: And thus is he hurt more sorely, if his wishes are defeated there, He has staked his all upon a throw, and lo! the dice have foiled him. All ways, and at all times, men follow on in flocks, And the rife epidemic of the day shall tincture the stream of education. Fashion is a foolish watcher posted at the tree of knowledge, Who plucketh its unripe fruit to pelt away the birds; But, for its golden apples,--they dry upon the boughs, And few have the courage or the wisdom to eat in spite of fashion. One while, the fever is to learn, what none will be wiser for knowing, Exploded errors in extinct tongues, and occasions for their use are small; And the bright morning of life, for years of misspent time, Wasted in following sounds, hath tracked up little sense, Till at noon a man is thrown upon the world, with a mind expert in trifles, Having yet everything to learn that can make him good or useful: The curious spirit of youth is crammed with unwholesome garbage, While starving for the mother's milk the breasts of nature yield; And high-coloured fables of depravity lure with their classic varnish, While truth is holding out in vain her mirror much despised.

Of olden time, the fashion was for arms, to make an accomplished slayer, And set gregarious man a-tilting with his fellows; Thereafter, occult sciences, and mystic arts, and symbols, How to exorcise a wizard, and how to lay a ghost; Anon, all for gallantry and presence, the minuet, the palfrey, and the foil, And the grand aim of education was to produce a coxcomb; Soon came scholastical dispute with hydra-headed argument, And the true philosophy of mind confounded in a labyrinth of words; Then the Pantheon, and its orgies, initiating docile childhood, While diligent youth strove hard to render his all unto Cæsar; And now is seen the passion for utility, when all things are accounted by their price, And the wisdom of the wise is busied in hatching golden eggs: Perchance, not many moons to come, and all will again be for abstrusity, Unravelling the figured veil that hideth Egypt's gods; Or in those strange Avatars seeking benignant Vishnu, Kali, and Kamala the fair, and much invoked Ganesa.

The mines of knowledge are oft laid bare through the forked hazel wand of chance, And in a mountain of quartz we find a grain of gold. Of a truth, it were well to know all things, and to learn them all at once, And what, though mortal insufficiency attain to small knowledge of any? Man loveth exclusions, delighting in the sterile trodden path, While the broad green meadow is jewelled with wild flowers: And whether is it better with the many to follow a beaten track, Or by eccentric wanderings to cull unheeded sweets?

When his reason yieldeth fruit, make thy child thy friend; For a filial friend is a double gain, a diamond set in gold. As an infant, thy mandate was enough, but now let him see thy reasons; Confide in him, but with discretion: and bend a willing ear to his questions. More to thee than to all beside, let him owe good counsel and good guidance; Let him feel his pursuits have an interest, more to thee than to all beside. Watch his native capacities; nourish that which suiteth him the readiest; And cultivate early those good inclinations wherein thou fearest he is most lacking: Is he phlegmatic and desponding? let small successes comfort his hope: Is he obstinate and sanguine? let petty crosses accustom him to life: Showeth he a sordid spirit? be quick, and teach him generosity: Inclineth he to liberal excess? prove to him how hard it is to earn. Gather to thy hearth such friends as are worthy of honour and attention; For the company a man chooseth is a visible index of his heart: But let not the pastor whom thou hearest be too much a familiar in thy house, For thy children may see his infirmities, and learn to cavil at his teaching. It is well to take hold on occasions, and render indirect instruction; It is better to teach upon a system, and reap the wisdom of books: The history of nations yieldeth grand outlines: of persons, minute details: Poetry is polish to the mind, and high abstractions cleanse it. Consider the station of thy son, and breed him to his fortune with judgment: The rich may profit in much which would bring small advantage to the poor. But with all thy care for thy son, with all thy strivings for his welfare, Expect disappointment, and look for pain: for he is of an evil stock, and will grieve thee.

OF TOLERANCE.

A wise man in a crowded street winneth his way with gentleness, Nor rudely pusheth aside the stranger that standeth in his path; He knoweth that blind hurry will but hinder, stirring up contention against him, Yet holdeth he steadily right on, with his face to the scope of his pursuit: Even so, in the congress of opinions, the bustling highway of intelligence, Each man should ask of his neighbour, and yield to him again, concession. Terms ill-defined, and forms misunderstood, and customs, where their reasons are unknown, Have stirred up many zealous souls to fight against imaginary giants: But wisdom will hear the matter out, and often, by keenness of perception, Will find in strange disguise the precious truth he seeketh; So he leaveth unto prejudice or taste the garb and the manner of her presence, Content to see so nigh the mistress of his love. There is no similitude in nature that owneth not also to a difference, Yea, no two berries are alike, though twins upon one stem; No drop in the ocean, no pebble on the beach, no leaf in the forest, hath its counterpart, No mind in its dwelling of mortality, no spirit in the world unseen: And therefore, since capacity and essence differ alike with accident, None but a bigot partizan will hope for impossible unity. Wilt thou ensue peace, nor buffet with the waters of contention, Wilt thou be counted wise and gain the love of men, Let unobtruded error escape the frown of censure, Nor lift the glass of truth alway before thy fellows: I say not, compromise the right, I would not have thee countenance the wrong, But hear with charitable heart the reasons of an honest judgment; For thou also hast erred, and knowest not when thou art most right, Nor whether to-morrow's wisdom may not prove thee simple to-day: Perchance thou art chiding in another what once thou wast thyself; Perchance thou sharply reprovest what thou wilt be hereafter. A man that can render a reason, is a man worthy of an answer; But he that argueth for victory, deserveth not the tenderness of Truth.

Whiles a man liveth he may mend: count not thy brother reprobate; When he is dead his chance is gone: remember not his faults in bitterness. A man, till he dieth, is immortal in thy sight; and then he is as nothing: Make not the living thy foe, nor take weak vengeance of the dead. For life is as a game of chess, where least causeth greatest, And an ill move bringeth loss, and a pawn may ensure victory. Dost thou suspect? seek out certainty: for now, by self-inflicted pain, Or ill-directed wrath, thou wrongest thyself or thy neighbour: Suspicion is an early lesson, taught in the school of experience, Neither shalt thou easily unlearn it, though charity ply thee with her preaching; Yet look thou well for reasons, or ever mistrust hath marred thee, Or fear curdled thy blood, or jealousy goaded thee to madness; For a look, or a word, or an act, may be taken well or ill As construed by the latitude of love, or the closeness of cold suspicion.

Better is the wrong with sincerity, rather than the right with falsehood: And a prudent man will not lay siege to the stronghold of ignorant bigotry. To unsettle a weak mind were an easy inglorious triumph, And a strong cause taketh little count of the worthless suffrage of a fool: Lightly he held to the wrong, loosely will he cling to the right; Weakness is the essence of his mind, and the reed cannot yield an acorn. Dogged obstinacy is oftentimes the buttress that proppeth an unstable spirit, But a candid man blusheth not to own, he is wiser to-day than yesterday. A man of a little wisdom is a sage among fools; But himself is chief among the fools, if he look for admiration from them. A heresy is an evil thing, for its shame is its pride: Its necessary difference of error is the character it most esteemeth: Give a man all things short of liberty, thou shalt have no thanks, And little wilt thou speed with thine opponent, by proving points he will concede. The tost sand darkeneth the waves; and clear had been the pages of truth, Had not the glosses of men obscured the simplicity of faith. 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, Bear with it; the annoyance passeth, and may not return for ever: The same combinations and results which aggravate thy soul to-day, May not meet again for centuries in the kaleidoscope of circumstance; For men and matters change, new elements mixing in continually, And, as with chemical magic, the sour is transmuted into sweetness: A little explained, a little endured, a little passed over as a foible, And lo, the jagged atoms fit like smooth mosaic. Thou canst not shape another's mind to suit thine own body, Think not, then, to be furnishing his brain with thy special notions. Charity walketh with a high step, and stumbleth not at a trifle: Charity hath keen eyes, but the lashes half conceal them: Charity is praised of all, and fear not thou that praise, God will not love thee less, because men love thee more.

OF SORROW.

I said, I will seek out Sorrow, and minister the balm of pity; So I sought her in the house of mourning; but peace followed in her train. Then I marked her brooding silently in the gloomy cavern of Regret; But a sunbeam of heavenly hope gleamed on her folded wing. So I turned to the cabin of the poor, where famine dwelt with disease: But the bed of the sick was smoothed, and the ploughman whistled at his labour. So I stopt, and mused within myself, to remember where Sorrow dwelt, For I sought to see her alone, uncomforted, uncompanioned. I went to the prison, but penitence was there, and promise of better times; I listened at the madman's cell, but it echoed with deluded laughter. Then I turned me to the rich and noble; I noted the sons of fashion: A smile was on the languid cheek, that had no commerce with the heart; Unhallowed thoughts, like fires, gleamed from the window of the eye; And sorrow lived with those whose pleasures add unto their sins.

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 galled 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 wickedness had brewed; Before him was the smooth steep cliff, whose base is ruin and despair. So he rushed madly 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; I lost him a little while: I looked, and years had past; he was hoar with the winter of his age. And what was now his hope? where was the balm for his sadness? The memory of the past was guilt: the feeling of the present, remorse. Then he set his affections on gold, he worshipped the shrine of Mammon, And to lay richer gifts before his idol, he starved his own bowels; So, the youth spent in profligacy ended in the gripings of want: The miser grudged himself husks to take deeper vengeance of the prodigal. 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 moroseness, Neither were the sproutings of his soul seared by the brand of superstition. 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 warmth 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 friendship 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 his musings, Even so, from the bustle of life, he goeth to his well-ordered home. And though he often sin, he returneth with weeping eyes: For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warmer 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 futurity: 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; As a meteor travelleth in splendour, but bursteth in dazzling light; Such was the end of the righteous: his death was the sun at its setting.