Part 2

Thou hast seen many sorrows, travel-stained pilgrim of the world, But that which hath vexed thee most hath been the looking for evil; And though calamities have crossed thee, and misery been heaped on thy head, Yet ills, that never happened, have chiefly made thee wretched. The sting of pain and the edge of pleasure are blunted by long expectation, For the gall and the balm alike are diluted in the waters of patience: And often thou sippest sweetness, ere the cup is dashed from thy lip; Or drainest the gall of fear, while evil is passing by thy dwelling. A man too careful of danger liveth in continual torment, But a cheerful expecter of the best hath a fountain of joy within him: Yea, though the breath of disappointment should chill the sanguine heart, Speedily gloweth it again, warmed by the live embers of hope; Though the black and heavy surge close above the head for a moment, Yet the happy buoyancy of Confidence riseth superior to Despair. Verily, evils may be courted, may be wooed and won by distrust: For the wise Physician of our weal loveth not an unbelieving spirit; And to those giveth He good, who rely on His hand for good; And those leaveth He to evil, who fear, but trust Him not. Ask for good, and hope it, for the ocean of good is fathomless; Ask for good, and have it, for thy Friend would see thee happy; But to the timid heart, to the child of unbelief and dread, That leaneth on his own weak staff, and trusteth the sight of his eyes, The evil he feared shall come, for the soil is ready for the seed, And suspicion hath coldly put aside the hand that was ready to help him. Therefore look up, sad spirit; be strong, thou coward heart, Or fear will make thee wretched, though evil follow not behind: Cease to anticipate misfortune; there are still many chances of escape; But if it come, be courageous; face it, and conquer thy calamity. There is not an enemy so stout, as to storm and take the fortress of the mind, Unless its infirmity turn traitor, and Fear unbar the gates. The valiant standeth as a rock, and the billows break upon him; The timorous is a skiff unmoored, tost and mocked at by a ripple: The valiant holdeth fast to good, till evil wrench it from him; The timorous casteth it aside, to meet the worst half way: Yet oftentimes is evil but a braggart, that provoketh and will not fight; Or the feint of a subtle fencer, who measureth his thrust elsewhere: Or perchance a blessing in a masque, sent to try thy trust, The precious smiting of a friend, whose frowns are all in love: Often the storm threateneth, but is driven to other climes, And the weak hath quailed in fear, while the firm hath been glad in his confidence.

OF HIDDEN USES.

The sea-wort floating on the waves, or rolled up high along the shore, Ye counted useless and vile, heaping on it names of contempt: Yet hath it gloriously triumphed, and man been humbled in his ignorance, For health is in the freshness of its savour, and it cumbereth the beach with wealth; Comforting the tossings of pain with its violet-tinctured essence, And by its humbler ashes enriching many proud. Be this, then, a lesson to thy soul, that thou reckon nothing worthless, Because thou heedest not its use, nor knowest the virtues thereof. And herein, as thou walkest by the sea, shall weeds be a type and an earnest Of the stored and uncounted riches lying hid in all creatures of God: There be flowers making glad the desert, and roots fattening the soil, And jewels in the secret deep, scattered among groves of coral, And comforts to crown all wishes, and aids unto every need, Influences yet unthought, and virtues, and many inventions, And uses above and around, which man hath not yet regarded. Not long to charm away disease hath the crocus yielded up its bulb, Nor the willow lent its bark, nor the nightshade its vanquished poison; Not long hath the twisted leaf, the fragrant gift of China, Nor that nutritious root, the boon of far Peru, Nor the many-coloured dahlia, nor the gorgeous flaunting cactus, Nor the multitude of fruits and flowers, ministered to life and luxury: Even so, there be virtues yet unknown in the wasted foliage of the elm, In the sun-dried harebell of the downs, and the hyacinth drinking in the meadow, In the sycamore's winged fruit, and the facet-cut cones of the cedar; And the pansy and bright geranium live not alone for beauty, Nor the waxen flower of the arbute, though it dieth in a day, Nor the sculptured crest of the fir, unseen but by the stars; And the meanest weed of the garden serveth unto many uses, The salt tamarisk, and juicy flag, the freckled orchis, and the daisy. The world may laugh at famine, when forest-trees yield bread, When acorns give out fragrant drink, and the sap of the linden is as fatness: For every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel, Is rich with delicate aids to help incurious man.

Still, Mind is up and stirring, and pryeth in the corners of contrivance, Often from the dark recesses picking out bright seeds of truth: Knowledge hath clipped the lightning's wings, and mewed it up for a purpose, Training to some domestic task the fiery bird of heaven; Tamed is the spirit of the storm, to slave in all peaceful arts, To walk with husbandry and science; to stand in the vanguard against death: And the chemist balanceth his elements with more than magic skill, Commanding stones that they be bread, and draining sweetness out of wormwood. Yet man, heedless of a God, counteth up vain reckonings, Fearing to be jostled and starved out, by the too prolific increase of his kind; And asketh, in unbelieving dread, for how few years to come Will the black cellars of the world yield unto him fuel for his winter. Might not the wide waste sea be pent within narrower bounds? Might not the arm of diligence make the tangled wilderness a garden? And for aught thou canst tell, there may be a thousand methods Of comforting thy limbs in warmth, though thou kindle not a spark. Fear not, son of man, for thyself nor thy seed:--with a multitude is plenty; God's blessing giveth increase, and with it larger than enough.

Search out the wisdom of nature, there is depth in all her doings; She seemeth prodigal of power, yet her rules are the maxims of frugality: The plant refresheth the air, and the earth filtereth the water, And dews are sucked into the cloud, dropping fatness on the world: She hath, on a mighty scale, a general use for all things; Yet hath she specially for each its microscopic purpose: There is use in the prisoned air, that swelleth the pods of the laburnum; Design in the venomed thorns, that sentinel the leaves of the nettle; A final cause for the aromatic gum, that congealeth the moss around a rose: A reason for each blade of grass, that reareth its small spire. How knoweth discontented man what a train of ills might follow, If the lowest menial of nature knew not her secret office? If the thistle never sprang up to mock the loose husbandry of indolence, Or the pestilence never swept away an unknown curse from among men? Would ye crush the buzzing myriads that float on the breath of evening? Would ye trample the creatures of God that people the rotting fruit? Would ye suffer no mildew forest to stain the unhealthy wall, Nor a noisome savour to exhale from the pool that breedeth disease? Pain is useful unto man, for it teacheth him to guard his life, And the fetid vapours of the fen warn him to fly from danger: And the meditative mind, looking on, winneth good food for its hunger, Seeing the wholesome root bring forth a poisonous berry; For otherwhile falleth it out that truth, driven to extremities, Yieldeth bitter folly as the spoilt fruit of wisdom. O, blinded is thine eye, if it see not just aptitude in all things: O, frozen is thy heart, if it glow not with gratitude for all things: In the perfect circle of creation not an atom could be spared, From earth's magnetic zone to the bindweed round a hawthorn.

The sage, and the beetle at his feet, hath each a ministration to perform: The briar and the palm have the wages of life, rendering secret service. Neither is it thus alone with the definite existences of matter; But motion and sound, circumstance and quality, yea, all things have their office. The zephyr playing with an aspen-leaf,--the earthquake that rendeth a continent; The moon-beam silvering a ruined arch,--the desert-wave dashing up a pyramid; The thunder of jarring icebergs,--the stops of a shepherd's pipe; The howl of the tiger in the glen,--and the wood-dove calling to her mate; The vulture's cruel rage,--the grace of the stately swan; The fierceness looking from the lynx's eye, and the dull stupor of the sloth: To these, and to all, is there added each its USE, though man considereth it lightly; For Power hath ordained nothing which Economy saw not needful.

All things being are in concord with the ubiquity of God; Neither is there one thing overmuch, nor freed from honourable servitude. Were there not a need-be of wisdom, nothing would be as it is; For essence without necessity argueth a moral weakness. We look through a glass darkly, we catch but glimpses of truth; But, doubtless, the sailing of a cloud hath Providence to its pilot, Doubtless, the root of an oak is gnarled for a special purpose, The foreknown station of a rush is as fixed as the station of a king, And chaff from the hand of the winnower, steered as the stars in their courses. Man liveth only in himself, but the Lord liveth in all things; And His pervading unity quickeneth the whole creation. Man doeth one thing at once, nor can he think two thoughts together; But God compasseth all things, mantling the globe like air: And we render homage to His wisdom, seeing use in all His creatures, For, perchance, the universe would die, were not all things as they are.

OF COMPENSATION.

Equal is the government of heaven in allotting pleasures among men, And just the everlasting law, that hath wedded happiness to virtue: For verily on all things else broodeth disappointment with care, That childish man may be taught the shallowness of earthly enjoyment. Wherefore, ye that have enough, envy ye the rich man his abundance? Wherefore, daughters of affluence, covet ye the cottager's content? Take the good with the evil, for ye all are pensioners of God, And none may choose or refuse the cup His wisdom mixeth. The poor man rejoiceth at his toil, and his daily bread is sweet to him: Content with present good, he looketh not for evil to the future: The rich man languisheth with sloth, and findeth pleasure in nothing, He locketh up care with his gold, and feareth the fickleness of fortune. Can a cup contain within itself the measure of a bucket? Or the straitened appetites of man drink more than their fill of luxury? There is a limit to enjoyment, though the sources of wealth be boundless: And the choicest pleasures of life lie within the ring of moderation.

Also, though penury and pain be real and bitter evils, I would reason with the poor afflicted, for he is not so wretched as he seemeth. What right hath an offender to complain, though others escape punishment, If the stripes of earned misfortune overtake him in his sin? Wherefore not endure with resignation the evils thou canst not avert? For the coward pain will flee, if thou meet him as a man: Consider, whatever be thy fate, that it might and ought to have been worse, And that it lieth in thy hand to gather even blessing from afflictions: Bethink thee, wherefore were they sent? and hath not use blunted their keenness? Need hope, and patience, and courage, be strangers to the meanest hovel? Thou art in an evil case, it were cruel to deny to thee compassion, But there is not unmitigated ill in the sharpest of this world's sorrows: I touch not the sore of thy guilt; but of human griefs I counsel thee, Cast off the weakness of regret, and gird thee to redeem thy loss: Thou hast gained, in the furnace of affliction, self-knowledge, patience, and humility, And these be as precious ore, that waiteth the skill of the coiner: Despise not the blessings of adversity, nor the gain thou hast earned so hardly, And now thou hast drained the bitter, take heed that thou lose not the sweet.

Power is seldom innocent, and envy is the yoke-fellow of eminence; And the rust of the miser's riches wasteth his soul as a canker. The poor man counteth not the cost at which such wealth hath been purchased; He would be on the mountain's top, without the toil and travail of the climbing. But equity demandeth recompense: for high-place, calumny and care; For state, comfortless splendour eating out the heart of home; For warrior fame, dangers and death; for a name among the learned, a spirit overstrained; For honour of all kinds, the goad of ambition; on every acquirement, the tax of anxiety. He that would change with another, must take the cup as it is mixed: Poverty, with largeness of heart; or a full purse, with a sordid spirit; Wisdom, in an ailing body; or a common mind, with health: Godliness, with man's scorn; or the welcome of the mighty, with guilt: Beauty, with a fickle heart; or plainness of face, with affection. For so hath Providence determined, that a man shall not easily discover Unmingled good or evil, to quicken his envy or abhorrence. A bold man or a fool must he be, who would change his lot with another; It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath lovingly refused it: For we know the worst of ourselves, but the secrets of another we see not, And better is certain bad, than the doubt and dread of worse.

Just, and strong, and opportune is the moral rule of God; Ripe in its times, firm in its judgments, equal in the measure of its gifts: Yet men, scanning the surface, count the wicked happy, Nor heed the compensating peace, which gladdeneth the good in his afflictions. They see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow, Like wreathed adders crawling round his midnight conscience; They hear not the terrible suggestions, that knock at the portal of his will, Provoking to wipe away from life the one weak witness of the deed; They know not the torturing suspicions that sting his panting breast, When the clear eye of penetration quietly readeth off the truth. Likewise of the good what know they? The memories bringing pleasure, Shrined in the heart of the benevolent, and glistening from his eye; The calm self-justifying reason that establisheth the upright in his purpose; The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all the thoughts of the religious. Many a beggar at the cross-way, or grey-haired shepherd on the plain, Hath more of the end of all wealth, than hundreds who multiply the means.

Moreover, a moral compensation reacheth to the secrecy of thought; For if thou wilt think evil of thy neighbour, soon shalt thou have him for thy foe: And yet he may know nothing of the cause that maketh thee distasteful to his soul,-- The cause of unkind suspicion, for which thou hast thy punishment: And if thou think of him in charity, wishing or praying for his weal, He shall not guess the secret charm that lureth his soul to love thee. For just is retributive ubiquity: Samson did sin with Dalilah, And his eyes and captive strength were forfeit to the Philistine: Jacob robbed his brother, and sorrow was his portion to the grave: David must fly before his foes, yea, though his guilt is covered: And He who, seeming old in youth, was marred for others' sin, For every special crime must bear its special penalty: By luxury, or rashness, or vice, the member that hath erred suffereth,-- And therefore the Sacrifice for all was pained at every pore.

Alike to the slave and his oppressor cometh night with sweet refreshment, And half of the life of the most wretched is gladdened by the soothings of sleep. Pain addeth zest unto pleasure, and teacheth the luxury of health; There is a joy in sorrow, which none but a mourner can know: Madness hath imaginary bliss, and most men have no more; Age hath its quiet calm, and youth enjoyeth not for haste: Daily, in the midst of its beatitude, the righteous soul is vexed; And even the misery of guilt doth attain to the bliss of pardon. Who, in the face of the born-blind, ever looked on other than content? And the deaf ear listeneth within to the silent music of the heart. There is evil poured upon the earth from the overflowings of corruption,-- Sickness, and poverty, and pain, and guilt, and madness, and sorrow; But, as the water from a fountain riseth and sinketh to its level, Ceaselessly toileth justice to equalize the lots of men: For, habit and hope and ignorance, and the being but one of a multitude, And strength of reason in the sage, and dulness of feeling in the fool, And the light elasticity of courage, and the calm resignation of meekness, And the stout endurance of decision, and the weak carelessness of apathy, And helps invisible but real, and ministerings not unfelt, Angelic aid with worldly discomfiture, bodily loss with the soul's gain, Secret griefs, and silent joys, thorns in the flesh, and cordials for the spirit, (--Short of the insuperable barrier dividing innocence from guilt,--) Go far to level all things, by the gracious rule of Compensation.

OF INDIRECT INFLUENCES.

Face thy foe in the field, and perchance thou wilt meet thy master, For the sword is chained to his wrist, and his armour buckled for the battle; But find him when he looketh not for thee, aim between the joints of his harness, And the crest of his pride will be humbled, his cruelty will bite the dust. Beard not a lion in his den, but fashion the secret pitfall; So shall thou conquer the strong, thyself triumphing in weakness. The hurricane rageth fiercely, and the promontory standeth in its might, Breasting the artillery of heaven, as darts glance from the crocodile: But the small continual creeping of the silent footsteps of the sea Mineth the wall of adamant, and stealthily compasseth its ruin. The weakness of accident is strong, where the strength of design is weak: And a casual analogy convinceth, when a mind beareth not argument. Will not a man listen? be silent; and prove thy maxim by example: Never fear, thou losest not thy hold, though thy mouth doth not render a reason. Contend not in wisdom with a fool, for thy sense maketh much of his conceit; And some errors never would have thriven, had it not been for learned refutation: Yea, much evil hath been caused by an honest wrestler for truth, And much of unconscious good, by the man that hated wisdom: For the intellect judgeth closely, and if thou overstep thy argument, Or seem not consistent with thyself, or fail in thy direct purpose, The mind that went along with thee, shall stop and return without thee, And thou shalt have raised a foe, where thou mightest have won a friend.

Hints, shrewdly strown, mightily disturb the spirit, Where a bare-faced accusation would be too ridiculous for calumny: The sly suggestion toucheth nerves, and nerves contract the fronds, And the sensitive mimosa of affection trembleth to its root; And friendships, the growth of half a century, those oaks that laugh at storms, Have been cankered in a night by a worm, even as the prophet's gourd. Hast thou loved, and not known jealousy? for a sidelong look Can please or pain thy heart more than the multitude of proofs: Hast thou hated, and not learned that thy silent scorn Doth deeper aggravate thy foe than loud-cursing malice?-- A wise man prevaileth in power, for he screeneth his battering engine, But a fool tilteth headlong, and his adversary is aware.

Behold those broken arches, that oriel all unglazed, That crippled line of columns bleaching in the sun, The delicate shaft stricken midway, and the flying buttress Idly stretching forth to hold up tufted ivy: Thinkest thou the thousand eyes that shine with rapture on a ruin, Would have looked with half their wonder on the perfect pile? And wherefore not--but that light hints, suggesting unseen beauties, Fill the complacent gazer with self-grown conceits? And so, the rapid sketch winneth more praise to the painter, Than the consummate work elaborated on his easel: And so, the Helvetic lion caverned in the living rock Hath more of majesty and force, than it upon a marble pedestal.

Tell me, daughter of taste, what hath charmed thine ear in music? Is it the laboured theme, the curious fugue or cento,-- Nor rather the sparkles of intelligence flashing from some strange chord, Or the soft melody of sounds far sweeter for simplicity? Tell me, thou son of science, what hath filled thy mind in reading? Is it the volume of detail where all is orderly set down, And they that read may run, nor need to stop and think; The book carefully accurate, that counteth thee no better than a fool, Gorging the passive mind with annotated notes;-- Nor rather the half-suggested thoughts, the riddles thou mayst solve, The fair ideas, coyly peeping like young loves out of roses, The quaint arabesque conceptions, half cherub and half flower, The light analogy, or deep allusion, trusted to thy learning, The confidence implied in thy skill to unravel meaning mysteries? For ideas are ofttimes shy of the close furniture of words, And thought, wherein only is power, may be best conveyed by a suggestion: The flash that lighteth up a valley, amid the dark midnight of a storm, Coineth the mind with that scene sharper than fifty summers.

A worldly man boasteth in his pride, that there is no power but of money; And he judgeth the characters of men by the differing measures of their means: He stealeth all goodly names, as worth, and value, and substance, Which be the ancient heritage of Virtue, but such an one ascribeth unto Wealth: He spurneth the needy sage, whose wisdom hath enriched nations, And the sons of poverty and learning, without whom earth were a desert: Music, the soother of cares, the tuner of the dank discordant heart-strings, It is nought unto such an one but sounds, whereby some earn their living: The poem, and the picture, and the statue, to him seem idle baubles, Which wealth condescendeth to favour, to gain him the name of patron. But little wotteth he the might of the means his folly despiseth; He considereth not that these be the wires which move the puppets of the world. A sentence hath formed a character, and a character subdued a kingdom; A picture hath ruined souls, or raised them to commerce with the skies: The pen hath shaken nations, and stablished the world in peace; And the whole full horn of plenty been filled from the vial of science. He regardeth man as sensual, the monarch of created matter, And careth not aught for mind, that linketh him with spirits unseen; He feedeth his carcase and is glad, though his soul be faint and famished, And the dull brute power of the body bindeth him a captive to himself.