Part 6

Scorner, thy thoughts are weak, they reach not the summit of the matter; Go to, for the mouth of a child might show thee the mystery of prayer: Verily, there is no change in the counsels of the Mighty Ruler: Verily, His purpose is strong, and rooted in the depths of necessity: But who hath shown thee His purpose, who hath made known to thee His will? When, O gainsayer! hast thou been schooled in the secrets of wisdom? Fate is a creature of God, and all things move in their orbits, And that which shall surely happen is known unto Him from eternity; But as, in the field of nature, He useth the sinews of the ox, And commandeth diligence and toil, Himself giving the increase; So, in the kingdom of His grace, granteth He omnipotence to prayer, For He knoweth what thou wilt ask, and what thou wilt ask aright. No man can pray in faith, whose prayer is not grounded on a promise: Yet a good man commendeth all things to the righteous wisdom of his God: For those, who pray in faith, trust the immutable Jehovah, And they, who ask blessings unpromised, lean on uncovenanted mercy.

Man, regard thy prayers as a purpose of love to thy soul; Esteem the providence that led to them as an index of God's good will; So shalt thou pray aright, and thy words shall meet with acceptance. Also, in pleading for others, be thankful for the fulness of thy prayer: For if thou art ready to ask, the Lord is more ready to bestow. The salt preserveth the sea, and the saints uphold the earth; Their prayers are the thousand pillars that prop the canopy of nature. Verily, an hour without prayer, from some terrestrial mind, Were a curse in the calendar of time, a spot of the blackness of darkness. Perchance the terrible day, when the world must rock into ruins, Will be one unwhitened by prayer,--shall He find faith on the earth? For there is an economy of mercy, as of wisdom, and power, and means; Neither is one blessing granted, unbesought from the treasury of good: And the charitable heart of the Being, to depend upon whom is happiness, Never withholdeth a bounty, so long as His subject prayeth; Yea, ask what thou wilt, to the second throne in heaven, It is thine, for whom it was appointed; there is no limit unto prayer: But and if thou cease to ask, tremble, thou self-suspended creature, For thy strength is cut off as was Samson's: and the hour of thy doom is come.

Frail art thou, O man, as a bubble on the breaker, Weak and governed by externals, like a poor bird caught in the storm; Yet thy momentary breath can still the raging waters, Thy hand can touch a lever that may move the world. O Merciful, we strike eternal covenant with thee, For man may take for his ally the King who ruleth kings: How strong, yet how most weak, in utter poverty how rich, What possible omnipotence to good is dormant in a man! Behold that fragile form of delicate transparent beauty, Whose light-blue eye and hectic cheek are lit by the bale-fires of decline: All droopingly she lieth, as a dew-laden lily, Her flaxen tresses, rashly luxuriant, dank with unhealthy moisture; Hath not thy heart said of her, Alas! poor child of weakness? Thou hast erred; Goliah of Gath stood not in half her strength: Terribly she fighteth in the van as the virgin daughter of Orleans, She beareth the banner of Heaven, her onset is the rushing cataract, Seraphim rally at her side, and the captain of that host is God, And the serried ranks of evil are routed by the lightning of her eye; She is the King's remembrancer, and steward of many blessings, Holding the buckler of security over her unthankful land: For that weak fluttering heart is strong in faith assured, Dependence is her might, and behold--she prayeth.

Angels are round the good man, to catch the incense of his prayers, And they fly to minister kindness to those for whom he pleadeth; For the altar of his heart is lighted, and burneth before God continually, And he breatheth, conscious of his joy, the native atmosphere of heaven: Yea, though poor, and contemned, and ignorant of this world's wisdom, Ill can his fellows spare him, though they know not of his value. Thousands bewail a hero, and a nation mourneth for its king, But the whole universe lamenteth the loss of a man of prayer. Verily, were it not for One, who sitteth on His rightful throne, Crowned with a rainbow of emerald, the green memorial of earth,-- For One, a mediating man, that hath clad His Godhead with mortality, And offereth prayer without ceasing, the royal priest of Nature, Matter and life and mind had sunk into dark annihilation, And the lightning frown of Justice withered the world into nothing.

Thus, O worshipper of reason, thou hast heard the sum of the matter: And woe to his hairy scalp that restraineth prayer before God. Prayer is a creature's strength, his very breath and being; Prayer is the golden key that can open the wicket of Mercy: Prayer is the magic sound that saith to Fate, So be it; Prayer is the slender nerve that moveth the muscles of Omnipotence. Wherefore, pray, O creature, for many and great are thy wants; Thy mind, thy conscience, and thy being, thy rights commend thee unto prayer, The cure of all cares, the grand panacea for all pains, Doubt's destroyer, ruin's remedy, the antidote to all anxieties.

So then, God is true, and yet He hath not changed: It is He that sendeth the petition, to answer it according to His will.

THE LORD'S PRAYER.

Inquirest thou, O man, wherewithal may I come unto the Lord? And with what wonder-working sounds may I move the majesty of Heaven? There is a model to thy hand; upon that do thou frame thy supplication; Wisdom hath measured its words; and redemption urgeth thee to use them. Call thy God thy Father, and yet not thine alone, For thou art but one of many, thy brotherhood is with all: Remember His high estate, that He dwelleth King of Heaven; So shall thy thoughts be humbled, nor love be unmixed with reverence: Be thy first petition unselfish, the honour of Him who made thee, And that in the depths of thy heart His memory be shrined in holiness: Pray for that blessed time, when good shall triumph over evil, And one universal temple echo the perfections of Jehovah: Bend thou to His good will, and subserve His holy purposes, Till in thee, and those around thee, grow a little heaven upon earth: Humbly, as a grateful almsman, beg thy bread of God,-- Bread for thy triple estate, for thou hast a trinity of nature: Humility smootheth the way, and gratitude softeneth the heart, Be then thy prayer for pardon mingled with the tear of penitence; Yea, and while, all unworthy, thou leanest on the hand that should smite, Thou canst not from thy fellows withhold thy less forgiveness. To thy Father thy weaknesses are known, and thou hast not hid thy sin, Therefore ask Him, in all trust, to lead thee from the dangers of temptation; While the last petition of the soul, that breatheth on the confines of prayer, Is deliverance from sin and the evil one, the miseries of earth and hell. And wherefore, child of hope, should the rock of thy confidence be sure? Thou knowest that God heareth and promiseth an answer of peace; Thou knowest that He is King, and none can stay His hand; Thou knowest His power to be boundless, for there is none other: And to Him thou givest glory, as a creature of His workmanship and favour, For the never-ending term of thy saved and bright existence.

OF DISCRETION.

For what then was I born?--to fill the circling year With daily toil for daily bread, with sordid pains and pleasures?-- To walk this chequered world, alternate light and darkness, The day-dreams of deep thought followed by the night-dreams of fancy?-- To be one in a full procession?--to dig my kindred clay?-- To decorate the gallery of art?--to clear a few acres of forest? For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life. Is then that noble end to feed this mind with knowledge, To mix for mine own thirst the sparkling wine of wisdom, To light with many lamps the caverns of my heart, To reap, in the furrows of my brain, good harvest of right reasons?-- For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life. Is it to grow stronger in self-government, to check the chafing will, To curb with tightening rein the mettled steeds of passion, To welcome with calm heart, far in the voiceless desert, The gracious visitings of heaven that bless my single self?-- For more than these, my soul, thy God hath lent thee life. To aim at thine own happiness, is an end idolatrous and evil; In earth, yea in heaven, if thou seek it for itself, seeking thou shalt not find. Happiness is a road-side flower, growing on the highway of Usefulness; Plucked, it shall wither in thy hand; passed by, it is fragrance to thy spirit: Love not thine own soul, regard not thine own weal, Trample the thyme beneath thy feet; be useful, and be happy!

Thus unto fair conclusions argueth generous youth, And quickly he starteth on his course, knight-errant to do good. His sword is edged with arguments, his vizor terrible with censures; He goeth full mailed in faith, and zeal is flaming at his heart. Yet one thing he lacketh, the Mentor of the mind, The quiet whisper of Discretion--Thy time is not yet come. For he smiteth an oppressor; and vengeance for that smiting Is dealt in doubled stripes on the faint body of the victim: He is glad to give and to distribute; and clamorous pauperism feasteth, While honest labour, pining, hideth his sharp ribs: He challengeth to a fair field that subtle giant Infidelity, And, worsted in the unequal fight, strengtheneth the hands of error; He hasteth to teach and preach, as the war-horse rusheth to the battle, And to pave a way for truth, would break up the Apennines of prejudice: He wearieth by stale proofs, where none looked for a reason, And to the listening ear will urge the false argument of feeling. So hath it often been, that, judging by results, The hottest friends of truth have done her deadliest wrong. Alas! for there are enemies without, glad enough to parley with a traitor, And a zealot will let down the drawbridge, to prove his own prowess: Yea, from within will he break away a breach in the citadel of truth, That he may fill the gap, for fame, with his own weak body.

Zeal without judgment is an evil, though it be zeal unto good; Touch not the ark with unclean hand, yea, though it seem to totter. There are evil who work good, and there are good who work evil, And foolish backers of wisdom have brought on her many reproaches. Truth hath more than enough to combat in the minds of all men, For the mist of sense is a thick veil, and sin hath warped their wills; Yet doth an officious helper awkwardly prevent her victory,-- These thy wounded hands were smitten in the house of friends:-- To point out a meaning in her words, he will blot those words with his finger; And winnow chaff into the eyes, before he hath wheat to show: He will heap sturdy logs on a faint expiring fire, And with a room in flames, will cast the casement open; By a shoulder to the wheel down hill harasseth the labouring beast, And where obstruction were needed, will harm by an ill-judged thrusting-on.

A vessel foundereth at sea, if a storm hath unshipped the rudder; And a mind with much sail shall require heavy ballast. Take a lever by the middle, thou shalt seem to prove it powerless, Argue for truth indiscreetly, thou shalt toil for falsehood. There is plenty of room for a peaceable man in the most thronged assembly; But a quarrelsome spirit is straitened in the open field: Many a teacher, lacking judgment, hindereth his own lessons; And the savoury mess of pottage is spoiled by a bitter herb: The garment woven of a piece is rashly torn by schism, Because its unwise claimants will not cast lots for its possession.

Discretion guide thee on thy way, noble-minded youth, Help thee to humour infirmities, to wink at innocent errors, To take small count of forms, to bear with prejudice and fancy: Discretion guard thine asking, discretion aid thine answer, Teach thee that well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech, Whisper thee, thou art Weakness, though thy cause be Strength, And tell thee, the key-stone of an arch can be loosened with least labour from within. The snows of Hecla lie around its troubled smoking Geysers; Let the cool streams of prudence temper the hot spring of zeal: So shalt thou gain thine honourable end, nor lose the midway prize: So shall thy life be useful, and thy young heart happy.

OF TRIFLES.

Yet once more, saith the fool, yet once, and is it not a little one? Spare me this folly yet an hour, for what is one among so many? And he blindeth his conscience with lies, and stupifieth his heart with doubts;-- Whom shall I harm in this matter? and a little ill breedeth much good; My thoughts, are they not mine own? and they leave no mark behind them; And if God so pardoneth crime, how should these petty sins affect Him?-- So he transgresseth yet again, and falleth by little and little, Till the ground crumble beneath him, and he sinketh in the gulf despairing. For there is nothing in the earth so small that it may not produce great things, And no swerving from a right line, that may not lead eternally astray. A landmark tree was once a seed; and the dust in the balance maketh a difference; And the cairn is heaped high by each one flinging a pebble: The dangerous bar in the harbour's mouth is only grains of sand; And the shoal that hath wrecked a navy is the work of a colony of worms: Yea, and a despicable gnat may madden the mighty elephant; And the living rock is worn by the diligent flow of the brook. Little art thou, O man, and in trifles thou contendest with thine equals, For atoms must crowd upon atoms, ere crime groweth to be a giant. What, is thy servant a dog?--not yet wilt thou grasp the dagger, Not yet wilt thou laugh with the scoffers, not yet betray the innocent; But, if thou nourish in thy heart the reveries of injury or passion, And travel in mental heat the mazy labyrinths of guilt, And then conceive it possible, and then reflect on it as done, And use, by little and little, thyself to regard thyself a villain, Not long will crime be absent from the voice that doth invoke him to thy heart, And bitterly wilt thou grieve, that the buds have ripened into poison.

A spark is a molecule of matter, yet may it kindle the world: Vast is the mighty ocean, but drops have made it vast. Despise not thou a small thing, either for evil or for good; For a look may work thy ruin, or a word create thy wealth: The walking this way or that, the casual stopping or hastening, Hath saved life, and destroyed it, hath cast down and built up fortunes. Commit thy trifles unto God, for to Him is nothing trivial; And it is but the littleness of man that seeth no greatness in a trifle. All things are infinite in parts, and the moral is as the material, Neither is anything vast, but it is compacted of atoms. Thou art wise, and shalt find comfort, if thou study thy pleasure in trifles, For slender joys, often repeated, fall as sunshine on the heart: Thou art wise, if thou beat off petty troubles, nor suffer their stinging to fret thee; Thrust not thine hand among the thorns, but with a leathern glove. Regard nothing lightly which the wisdom of Providence hath ordered; And therefore, consider all things that happen unto thee or unto others. The warrior that stood against a host, may be pierced unto death by a needle; And the saint that feareth not the fire, may perish the victim of a thought: A mote in the gunner's eye is as bad as a spike in the gun; And the cable of a furlong is lost through an ill-wrought inch. The streams of small pleasures fill the lake of happiness: And the deepest wretchedness of life is continuance of petty pains. A fool observeth nothing, and seemeth wise unto himself; A wise man heedeth all things, and in his own eyes is a fool: He that wondereth at nothing hath no capabilities of bliss: But he that scrutinizeth trifles hath a store of pleasure to his hand. If pestilence stalk through the land, ye say, This is God's doing; Is it not also His doing when an aphis creepeth on a rosebud? If an avalanche roll from its Alp, ye tremble at the will of Providence: Is not that will concerned when the sear leaves fall from the poplar?-- A thing is great or little only to a mortal's thinking, But abstracted from the body, all things are alike important: The Ancient of Days noteth in His book the idle converse of a creature, And happy and wise is the man to whose thought existeth not a trifle.

OF RECREATION.

To join advantage to amusement, to gather profit with pleasure, Is the wise man's necessary aim, when he lieth in the shade of recreation. For he cannot fling aside his mind, nor bar up the flood-gates of his wisdom; Yea, though he strain after folly, his mental monitor shall check him: For knowledge and ignorance alike have laws essential to their being,-- The sage studieth amusements, and the simple laugheth in his studies. Few, but full of understanding, are the books of the library of God, And fitting for all seasons are the gain and the gladness they bestow: The volume of mystery and Grace, for the hour of deep communings, When the soul considereth intensely the startling marvel of itself: The book of destiny and Providence, for the time of sober study, When the mind gleaneth wisdom from the olive grove of history: And the cheerful pages of Nature, to gladden the pleasant holiday, When the task of duty is complete, and the heart swelleth high with satisfaction. The soul may not safely dwell too long with the deep things of futurity; The mind may not always be bent back, like the Parthian, straining at the past; And, if thou art wearied with wrestling on the broad arena of science, Leave awhile thy friendly foe, half vanquished in the dust, Refresh thy jaded limbs, return with vigour to the strife,-- Thou shalt easier find thyself his master, for the vacant interval of leisure.

That which may profit and amuse is gathered from the volume of creation, For every chapter therein teemeth with the playfulness of wisdom. The elements of all things are the same, though nature hath mixed them with a difference, And Learning delighteth to discover the affinity of seeming opposites: So out of great things and small draweth he the secrets of the universe, And argueth the cycles of the stars, from a pebble flung by a child. It is pleasant to note all plants, from the rush to the spreading cedar, From the giant king of palms, to the lichen that staineth its stem; To watch the workings of instinct, that grosser reason of brutes,-- The river horse browsing in the jungle, the plover screaming on the moor, The cayman basking on a mud-bank, and the walrus anchored to an iceberg, The dog at his master's feet, and the milch-kine lowing in the meadow; To trace the consummate skill that hath modelled the anatomy of insects, Small fowls that sun their wings on the petals of wild flowers; To learn a use in the beetle, and more than a beauty in the butterfly; To recognize affections in a moth, and look with admiration on a spider. It is glorious to gaze upon the firmament, and see from far the mansions of the blest, Each distant shining world, a kingdom for one of the redeemed; To read the antique history of earth, stamped upon those medals in the rocks Which Design hath rescued from decay, to tell of the green infancy of time; To gather from the unconsidered shingle mottled starlike agates, Full of unstoried flowers in the bubbling bloom-chalcedony: Or gay and curious shells, fretted with microscopic carving, Corallines, and fresh seaweeds, spreading forth their delicate branches. It is an admirable lore, to learn the cause in the change, To study the chemistry of Nature, her grand, but simple secrets, To search out all her wonders, to track the resources of her skill, To note her kind compensations, her unobtrusive excellence. In all it is wise happiness to see the well-ordained laws of Jehovah, The harmony that filleth all His mind, the justice that tempereth His bounty, The wonderful all-prevalent analogy that testifieth one Creator, The broad arrow of the Great King, carved on all the stores of His arsenal. But beware, O worshipper of God, thou forget not Him in His dealings, Though the bright emanations of His power hide Him in created glory; For if, on the sea of knowledge, thou regardest not the pole-star of religion, Thy bark will miss her port, and run upon the sand-bar of folly: And if, enamoured of the means, thou considerest not the scope to which they tend, Wherein art thou wiser than the child, that is pleased with toys and baubles? Verily, a trifling scholar, thou heedest but the letter of instruction: For, as motive is spirit unto action, as memory endeareth place, As the sun doth fertilize the earth, as affection quickeneth the heart, So is the remembrance of God in the varied wonders of creation.

Man hath found out inventions, to cheat him of the weariness of life, To help him to forget realities, and hide the misery of guilt. For love of praise, and hope of gain, for passion and delusive happiness, He joineth the circle of folly, and heapeth on the fire of excitement; Oftentimes sadly out of heart at the tiresome insipidity of pleasure, Oftentimes labouring in vain, convinced of the palpable deceit: Yet a man speaketh to his brother, in the voice of glad congratulation, And thinketh others happy, though he himself be wretched: And hand joineth hand to help in the toil of amusement, While the secret aching heart is vacant of all but disappointment. The cheapest pleasures are the best; and nothing is more costly than sin; Yet we mortgage futurity, counting it but little loss: Neither can a man delight in that which breedeth sorrow, Yet do we hunt for joy even in the fires that consume it. Whoso would find gladness may meet her in the hovel of poverty, Where benevolence hath scattered around the gleanings of the horn of plenty; Whoso would sun himself in peace, may be seen of her in deeds of mercy, When the pale lean cheek of the destitute is wet with grateful tears. If the mind is wearied by study, or the body worn with sickness, It is well to lie fallow for a while, in the vacancy of sheer amusement; But when thou prosperest in health, and thine intellect can soar untired, To seek uninstructive pleasure is to slumber on the couch of indolence.

The Train of Religion.