Part 4

A horse knoweth his rider, be he confident or timid, And the fierce spirit of Bucephalus stoopeth unto none but Alexander; The tigress, roused in the jungle by the prying spaniels of the fowler, Will quail at the eye of man, so he assert his dignity; Nay, the very ships, those giant swans breasting the mighty waters, Roll in the trough, or break the wave, to the pilot's fear or courage: How much more shall man, discerning the Fountain of authority, Bow to superior commands, and make his own obeyed. And yet, in travelling the world, hast thou not often known A gallant host led on to ruin by a feeble Xerxes? Hast thou not often seen the wanton luxury of indolence Sullying with its sleepy mist the tarnished crown of headship? Alas! for a thousand fathers, whose indulgent sloth Hath emptied the vial of confusion over a thousand homes: Alas! for the palaces and hovels, that might have been nurseries for heaven, By hot intestine broils blighted into schools for hell: None knoweth his place, yet all refuse to serve, None weareth the crown, yet all usurp the sceptre; And perchance some fiercer spirit, of natural nobility of mind, That needed but the kindness of constraint to have grown up great and good, Now--the rich harvest of his heart choked by unweeded tares,-- All bold to dare and do, unchecked by wholesome fear, A scoffer about bigotry and priestcraft, a rebel against government and God, And standard-bearer of the turbulent, leading on the sons of Belial, Such an one is king of that small state, head tyrant of the thirty, Brandishing the torch of discord in his village home: And the timid Eli of the house, yon humble parish-priest, Liveth in shame and sorrow, fearing his own handywork; The mother, heart-stricken years agone, hath dropped into an early grave; The silent sisters long to leave a home they cannot love; The brothers, casting off restraint, follow their wayward wills; And the chance-guest, early departing, blesseth his kind stars, That on his humbler home hath brooded no domestic curse! Yet is that curse the fruit; wouldest thou the root of the evil? A kindness--most unkind, that hath always spared the rod; A weak and numbing indecision in the mind that should be master; A foolish love, pregnant of hate, that never frowned on sin; A moral cowardice of heart, that never dared command.

A kingdom is a nest of families, and a family a small kingdom; And the government of whole or part differeth in nothing but extent. The house, where the master ruleth, is strong in united subjection, And the only commandment with promise, being honoured, is a blessing to that house: But and if he yieldeth up the reins, it is weak in discordant anarchy, And the bonds of love and union melt away, as ropes of sand. The realm, that is ruled with vigour, lacketh neither peace nor glory, It dreadeth not foes from without, nor the sons of riot from within: But the meanness of temporizing fear robbeth a kingdom of its honour, And the weakness of indulgent sloth ravageth its bowels with discord. The best of human governments is the patriarchal rule; The authorized supremacy of one, the prescriptive subjection of many: Therefore, the children of the East have thriven from age to age, Obeying, even as a god, the royal father of Cathay: Therefore, to this our day, the Rechabite wanteth not a man, But they stand before the Lord, forsaking not the mandate of their sire: Therefore shall Magog among nations arise from his northern lair, And rend, in the fury of his power, the insurgent world beneath him: For the thunderbolt of concentrated strength can be hurled by the will of one, While the dissipated forces of many are harmless as summer lightning.

OF REST.

In the silent watches of the night, calm night that breedeth thoughts, When the task-weary mind disporteth in the careless play-hours of sleep, I dreamed; and behold, a valley, green and sunny and well watered, And thousands moving across it, thousands and tens of thousands: And though many seemed faint and toil-worn, and stumbled often, and fell, Yet moved they on unresting, as the ever-flowing cataract. Then I noted adders in the grass, and pitfalls under the flowers, And chasms yawned among the hills, and the ground was cracked and slippery: But Hope and her brother Fear suffered not a foot to linger; Bright phantoms of false joys beckoned alluringly forward, While yelling grisly shapes of dread came hunting on behind: And ceaselessly, like Lapland swarms, that miserable crowd sped along To the mist-involved banks of a dark and sullen river. There saw I, midway in the water, standing a giant fisher, And he held many lines in his hand, and they called him Iron Destiny. So I tracked those subtle chains, and each held one among the multitude: Then I understood what hindered, that they rested not in their path: For the fisher had sport in his fishing, and drew in his lines continually, And the new-born babe, and the aged man, were dragged into that dark river: And he pulled all those myriads along, and none might rest by the way, Till many, for sheer weariness, were eager to plunge into the drowning stream.

So I knew that valley was Life, and it sloped to the waters of Death. But far on the thither side spread out a calm and silent shore, Where all was tranquil as a sleep, and the crowded strand was quiet: And I saw there many I had known, but their eyes glared chillingly upon me, As set in deepest slumber; and they pressed their fingers to their lips. Then I knew that shore was the dwelling of Rest, where spirits held their Sabbath, And it seemed they would have told me much, but they might not break that silence; For the law of their being was mystery: they glided on, hushing as they went. Yet further, under the sun, at the roots of purple mountains, I noted a blaze of glory, as the night-fires on northern skies; And I heard the hum of joy, as it were a sea of melody; And far as the eye could reach, were millions of happy creatures Basking in the golden light; and I knew that land was Heaven. Then the hill whereon I stood split asunder, and a crater yawned at my feet, Black and deep and dreadful, fenced round with ragged rocks; Dimly was the darkness lit up by spires of distant flame: And I saw below a moving mass of life, like reptiles bred in corruption, Where all was terrible unrest, shrieks and groans and thunder.

So I woke, and I thought upon my dream; for it seemed of Wisdom's ministration. What man is he that findeth Rest, though he hunt for it year after year? As a child he had not yet been wearied, and cared not then to court it; As a youth he loved not to be quiet, for excitement spurred him into strife; As a man he tracketh rest in vain, toiling painfully to catch it, But still is he pulled from the pursuit, by the strong compulsion of his fate: So he hopeth to have peace in old age, as he cannot rest in manhood, But troubles thicken with his years, till Death hath dodged him to the grave. There remaineth a rest for the spirit on the shadowy side of life; But unto this world's pilgrim no rest for the sole of his foot. Ever, from stage to stage, he travelleth wearily forward, And though he pluck flowers by the way, he may not sleep among the flowers. Mind is the perpetual motion; for it is a running stream From an unfathomable source, the depth of the Divine Intelligence: And though it be stopped in its flowing, yet hath it a current within, The surface may sleep unruffled, but underneath are whirlpools of contention. Seekest thou rest, O mortal?--seek it no more on earth, For destiny will not cease from dragging thee through the rough wilderness of life; Seekest thou rest, O immortal?--hope not to find it in heaven, For sloth yieldeth not happiness: the bliss of a spirit is action. Rest dwelleth only on an island in the midst of the ocean of existence, Where the world-weary soul for a while may fold its tired wings, Until, after short sufficient slumber, it is quickened unto deathless energy, And speedeth in eagle flight to the Sun of unapproachable Perfection.

OF HUMILITY.

Vice is grown aweary of her gawds, and donneth russet garments, Loving for change to walk as a nun, beneath a modest veil: For Pride hath noted how all admire the fairness of Humility, And to clutch the praise he coveteth, is content to be drest in hair-cloth; And wily Lust tempteth the young heart, that is proof against the bravery of harlots, With timid tears and retiring looks of an artful seeming maid; And indolent Apathy, sleepily ashamed of his dull lack-lustre face, Is glad of the livery of meekness, that charitable cloak and cowl; And Hatred hideth his demon frown beneath a gentle mask; And Slander, snake-like, creepeth in the dust, thinking to escape recrimination. But the world hath gained somewhat from its years, and is quick to penetrate disguises, Neither in all these is it deceived, but divideth the true from the false.

Yet there is a meanness of spirit, that is fair in the eyes of most men, Yea, and seemeth fair unto itself, loving to be thought Humility. Its choler is not roused by insolence, neither do injuries disturb it: Honest indignation is strange unto its breast, and just reproof unto its lip. It shrinketh, looking fearfully on men, fawning at the feet of the great; The breath of calumny is sweet unto its ear, and it courteth the rod of persecution. But what! art thou not a man, deputed chief of the creation? Art thou not a soldier of the right, militant for God and good? Shall virtue and truth be degraded, because thou art too base to uphold them? Or Goliath be bolder in blaspheming for want of a David in the camp? I say not, avenge injuries; for the ministry of vengeance is not thine: But wherefore rebuke not a liar? wherefore do dishonour to thyself? Wherefore let the evil triumph, when the just and the right are on thy side? Such Humility is abject, it lacketh the life of sensibility, And that resignation is but mock, where the burden is not felt: Suspect thyself and thy meekness: thou art mean and indifferent to sin; And the heart that should grieve and forgive, is case-hardened and forgetteth.

Humility mainly becometh the converse of man with his Maker, But oftentimes it seemeth out of place in the intercourse of man with man: Yea, it is the cringer to his equal, that is chiefly seen bold to his God, While the martyr, whom a world cannot brow-beat, is humble as a child before Him. Render unto all men their due, but remember thou also art a man, And cheat not thyself of the reverence which is owing to thy reasonable being. Be courteous, and listen, and learn: but teach and answer if thou canst: Serve thee of thy neighbour's wisdom, but be not enslaved as to a master. Where thou perceivest knowledge, bend the ear of attention and respect; But yield not further to the teaching, than as thy mind is warranted by reasons. Better is an obstinate disputant, that yieldeth inch by inch, Than the shallow traitor to himself, who surrendereth to half an argument.

Modesty winneth good report, but scorn cometh close upon servility; Therefore, use meekness with discretion, casting not pearls before swine. For a fool will tread upon thy neck, if he seeth thee lying in the dust; And there be companies and seasons where a resolute bearing is but duty. If a good man discloseth his secret failings unto the view of the profane, What doeth he but harm unto his brother, confirming him in his sin? There is a concealment that is right, and an open-mouthed humility that erreth; There is a candour near akin to folly, and a meekness looking like shame. Masculine sentiments, vigorously holden, well become a man; But a weak mind hath a timorous grasp, and mistaketh it for tenderness of conscience. Many are despised for their folly, who put it to the account of their religion, And because men treat them with contempt, they look to their God for glory; But contempt shall still be their reward, who betray their Master unto ridicule, Reflecting on Him in themselves, meanness and ignorance and cowardice. A Christian hath a royal spirit, and need not be ashamed but unto One: Among just men walketh he softly, but the world should see him as a champion. His humbleness is far unlike the shame that covereth the profligate and weak, When the sober reproof of virtue hath touched their tingling ears; It is born of love and wisdom, and is worthy of all honour, And the sweet persuasion of its smile changeth contempt into reverence.

A man of a haughty spirit is daily adding to his enemies: He standeth as the Arab in the desert, and the hands of all men are against him: A man of a base mind daily subtracteth from his friends, For he holdeth himself so cheaply, that others learn to despise him: But where the meekness of self-knowledge veileth the front of self-respect, There look thou for the man, whom none can know but they will honour. Humility is the softening shadow before the stature of Excellence, And lieth lowly on the ground, beloved and lovely as the violet: Humility is the fair-haired maid, that calleth Worth her brother, The gentle silent nurse, that fostereth infant virtues: Humility bringeth no excuse; she is welcome to God and to man: Her countenance is needful unto all, who would prosper in either world: And the mild light of her sweet face is mirrored in the eyes of her companions, And straightway stand they accepted, children of penitence and love. As when the blind man is nigh unto a rose, its sweetness is the herald of its beauty, So when thou savourest Humility, be sure thou art nigh unto merit. A gift rejoiceth the covetous, and praise fatteneth the vain, And the pride of man delighteth in the humble bearing of his fellow; But to the tender benevolence of the unthanked Almoner of good, Humility is queen among the graces, for she giveth Him occasion to bestow.

OF PRIDE.

Deep is the sea, and deep is hell, but Pride mineth deeper; It is coiled as a poisonous worm about the foundations of the soul. If thou expose it in thy motives, and track it in thy springs of thought, Complacent in its own detection, it will seem indignant virtue; Smoothly will it gratulate thy skill, O subtle anatomist of self, And spurn at its very being, while it nestleth the deeper in thy bosom. Pride is a double traitor, and betrayeth itself to entrap thee, Making thee vain of thy self-knowledge; proud of thy discoveries of Pride. Fruitlessly thou strainest for humility, by darkly diving into self; Rather look away from innate evil, and gaze upon extraneous good: For in sounding the deep things of the heart, thou shalt learn to be vain of its capacities, But in viewing the heights above thee, thou shalt be taught thy littleness: Could an emmet pry into itself, it might marvel at its own anatomy, But let it look on eagles, to discern how mean a thing it is. And all things hang upon comparison; to the greater, great is small: Neither is there anything so vile, but somewhat yet is viler: On all sides is there an infinity: the culprit at the gallows hath his worse, And the virgin martyr at the stake need not look far for a better. Therefore see thou that thine aim reacheth unto higher than thyself: Beware that the standard of thy soul wave from the loftiest battlement: For Pride is a pestilent meteor, flitting on the marshes of corruption, That will lure thee forward to thy death, if thou seek to track it to its source: Pride is a gloomy bow, arching the infernal firmament, That will lead thee on, if thou wilt hunt it, even to the dwelling of despair. Deep calleth unto deep, and mountain overtoppeth mountain, And still shalt thou fathom to no end the depth and the height of Pride: For it is the vast ambition of the soul, warped to an idol object, And nothing but a Deity in Self can quench its insatiable thirst.

Be aware of the smiling enemy, that openly sheatheth his weapon, But mingleth poison in secret with the sacred salt of hospitality: For Pride will lie dormant in thy heart, to snatch his secret opportunity, Watching, as a lion-ant, in the bottom of his toils. Stay not to parley with thy foe, for his tongue is more potent than his arm; But be wiser, fighting against Pride in the simple panoply of prayer. As one also of the poets hath said, let not the Proteus escape thee; For he will blaze forth as fire, and quench himself in likeness of water; He will fright thee as a roaring beast, or charm thee as a subtle reptile. Mark, amid all his transformations, the complicate deceitfulness of Pride, And the more he striveth to elude thee, bind him the closer in thy toils. Prayer is the net that snareth him; prayer is the fetter that holdeth him: Thou canst not nourish Pride, while waiting as an almsman on thy God,-- Waiting in sincerity and trust, or Pride shall meet thee even there; Yea, from the palaces of Heaven, hath Pride cast down his millions. Root up the mandrake from thy heart, though it cost thee blood and groans, Or the cherished garden of thy graces will fade and perish utterly.

OF EXPERIENCE.

I knew that age was enriched with the hard-earned wages of knowledge, And I saw that hoary wisdom was bred in the school of disappointment: I noted that the wisest of youth, though provident and cautious of evil, Yet sailed along unsteadily, as lacking some ballast of the mind: And the cause seemed to lie in this, that while they considered around them, And warded off all dangers from without, they forgat their own weakness within. So steer they in self-confidence, until, from the multitude of perils, They begin to be wary of themselves, and learn the first lesson of Experience. I knew that in the morning of life, before its wearisome journey, The youthful soul doth expand, in the simple luxury of being; It hath not contracted its wishes, nor set a limit to its hopes; The wing of fancy is unclipt, and sin hath not seared the feelings: Each feature is stamped with immortality, for all its desires are infinite, And it seeketh an ocean of happiness, to fill the deep hollow within. But the old and the grave look on, pitying that generous youth, For they also have tasted long ago the bitterness of hope destroyed: They pity him, and are sad, remembering the days that are past, But they know he must taste for himself, or he will not give ear to their wisdom. For Experience hath another lesson, which a man will do well if he learn, By checking the flight of expectation, to cheat disappointment of its pain.

Experience teacheth many things, and all men are his scholars: Yet is he a strange tutor, unteaching that which he hath taught. Youth is confident, manhood wary, and old age confident again: Youth is kind, manhood cold, and age returneth unto kindness. For youth suspecteth nought, till manhood, bitterly learned, Mistrusteth all, overleaping the mark; and age correcteth his excess. Suspicion is the scaffold unto faith, a temporary needful eyesore, By which the strong man's dwelling is slowly builded up behind; But soon as the top-stone hath been set to the well-proved goodly edifice, The scaffold is torn down, and timely trust taketh its long leave of suspicion.

A thousand volumes in a thousand tongues enshrine the lessons of Experience, Yet a man shall read them all, and go forth none the wiser: For self-love lendeth him a glass, to colour all he conneth, Lest in the features of another he find his own complexion. And we secretly judge of ourselves as differing greatly from all men, And love to challenge causes to show how we can master their effects: Pride is pampered in expecting that we need not fear a common fate, Or wrong-headed prejudice exulteth, in combating old Experience; Or perchance caprice and discontent are the spurs that goad us into danger, Careless, and half in hope to find there an enemy to joust with. Private Experience is an unsafe teacher, for we rarely learn both sides, And from the gilt surface reckon not on steel beneath: The torrid sons of Guinea think scorn of icy seas, And the frostbitten Greenlander disbelieveth suns too hot. But thou, student of Wisdom, feed on the marrow of the matter: If thou wilt suspect, let it be thyself; if thou wilt expect, let it not be gladness.

OF ESTIMATING CHARACTER.

Rashly, nor ofttimes truly, doth man pass judgment on his brother; For he seeth not the springs of the heart, nor heareth the reasons of the mind. And the world is not wiser than of old, when justice was meted by the sword, When the spear avenged the wrong, and the lot decided the right, When the footsteps of blinded innocence were tracked by burning plough-shares, And the still condemning water delivered up the wizard to the stake: For we wait, like the sage of Salamis, to see what the end will be, Fixing the right or the wrong, by the issues of failure or success. Judge not of things by their events: neither of character by providence; And count not a man more evil, because he is more unfortunate: For the blessings of a better covenant lie not in the sunshine of prosperity, But pain and chastisement the rather show the wise Father's love.

Behold that daughter of the world: she is full of gaiety and gladness; The diadem of rank is on her brow, uncounted wealth is in her coffers: She tricketh out her beauty like Jezebel, and is welcome in the courts of kings: She is queen of the fools of fashion, and ruleth the revels of luxury: And though she sitteth not as Tamar, nor standeth in the ways as Rahab, Yet in the secret of her chamber, she shrinketh not from dalliance and guilt. She careth not if there be a God, or a soul, or a time of retribution; Pleasure is the idol of her heart: she thirsteth for no purer heaven. And she laugheth with light good humour, and all men praise her gentleness; They are glad in her lovely smile, and the river of her bounty filleth them. So she prospered in the world: the worship and desire of thousands; And she died even as she had lived, careless and courteous and liberal. The grave swallowed up her pomp, the marble proclaimed her virtues, For men esteemed her excellent, and charities soundeth forth her praise: But elsewhere far other judgment setteth her--with infidels and harlots! She abused the trust of her splendour: and the wages of her sin shall be hereafter.