Part 7

Stay awhile, thou blessed band! be entreated, daughters of heaven! While the chance-met scholar of Wisdom learneth your sacred names: He is resting a little from his toil, yet a little on the borders of earth, And fain would he have you his friends, to bid him glad welcome hereafter. Who among the glorious art thou, that walkest a Goddess and a Queen, Thy crown of living stars, and a golden cross thy sceptre? Who among flowers of loveliness is she, thy seeming herald, Yet she boasteth not thee nor herself, and her garments are plain in their neatness? Wherefore is there one among the train, whose eyes are red with weeping, Yet is her open forehead beaming with the sun of ecstasy? And who is that bloodstained warrior, with glory sitting on his crest? And who that solemn sage, calm in majestic dignity? Also, in the lengthening troop see I some clad in robes of triumph, Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved on earth: Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, and Sciences, and Muses, That, like sisters of charity, tended in this world's hospital; Welcome, for verily I knew, ye could not but be children of the light, Though earth hath soiled your robes, and robbed you of half your glory; Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in heaven, And some I might scarce have looked for, as thou, light-hearted Mirth; Thou also, star-robed Urania; and thou, with the curious glass, That rejoicedst in tracking wisdom where the eye was too dull to note it: And art thou too among the blessed, mild, much-injured Poetry? Who quickenest with light and beauty the leaden face of matter, Who not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gardens with music, And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon us from the stars,-- That hast been to me for oil and for wine, to cheer and uphold my soul, When wearied, battling with the surge, the stunning surge of life: Of thee, for well have I loved thee, of thee may I ask in hope, Who among the glorious is she, that walketh a Goddess and a Queen? And who that fair-haired herald, and who that weeping saint? And who that mighty warrior, and who that solemn sage?

Son, happy art thou that Wisdom hath led thee hitherward: For otherwise never hadst thou known the joy-giving name of our Queen. Behold her, the life of men, the anchor of their shipwrecked hopes: Behold her, the shepherdess of souls, who bringeth back the wanderers to God. And for that modest herald, she is named on earth, Humility: And hast thou not known, my son, the tearful face of Repentance? Faith is yon time-scarred hero, walking in the shade of his laurels: And Reason, the serious sage, who followeth the footsteps of Faith: And we, all we, are but handmaids, ministers of minor bliss, Who rejoice to be counted servants in the train of a Queen so glorious: But for her name, son of man, it is strange to the language of heaven, For those who have never fallen need not and may not learn it: Ligeance we swear to our God, and ligeance well have we kept; It is only the band of the redeemed who can tell thee the fulness of that name; Yet will I comfort thee, my son, for the love wherewith thou hast loved me, And thou shalt touch for thyself the golden sceptre of Religion.

So that blessed train passed by me; but the vision was sealed upon my soul; And its memory is shrined in fragrance, for the promise of the Spirit was true: I learn from the silent poem of all creation round me, How beautiful their feet, who follow in that train.

OF A TRINITY.

Despise not, shrewd reckoner, the God of a good man's worship, Neither let thy calculating folly gainsay the unity of three: Nor scorn another's creed, although he cannot solve thy doubts; Reason is the follower of faith, where he may not be precursor: It is written, and so we believe, waiting not for outward proof, Inasmuch as mysteries inscrutable are the clear prerogatives of godhead. Reason hath nothing positive, faith hath nothing doubtful; And the height of unbelieving wisdom is to question all things. When there is marvel in a doctrine, faith is joyful and adoreth; But when all is clear, what place is left for faith? Tell me the sum of thy knowledge,--is it yet assured of anything? Despise not what is wonderful, when all things are wonderful around thee. From the multitude of like effects, thou sayest, Behold a law: And the matter thou art baffled in unmaking, is to thy mind an element. Then look abroad, I pray thee, for analogy holdeth everywhere, And the Maker hath stamped His name on every creature of His hand: I know not of a matter or a spirit, that is not three in one, And truly should account it for a marvel, a coin without the image of its Cæsar.

Man talketh of himself as ignorant, but judgeth by himself as wise: His own guess counteth he truth, but the notions of another are his scorn; But bear thou yet with a brother, whose thought may be less subtle than thine own, And suffer the passing speculation suggested by analogies to faith. Like begetteth like, and the great sea of Existence In each of its uncounted waves holdeth up a mirror to its Maker: Like begetteth like, and the spreading tree of being With each of its trefoil leaves pointeth at the Trinity of God. Let him whose eyes have been unfilmed, read this homily in all things, And thou, of duller sight, despise not him that readeth: There be three grand principles; life, generation, and obedience; Shadowing in every creature, the Spirit, and the Father, and the Son. There be three grand unities, variously mixed in trinities, Three catholic divisors of the million sums of matter: Yea, though science hath not seen it, climbing the ladder of experiment, Let faith, in the presence of her God, promulgate the mighty truth; Of three sole elements all nature's works consist: The pine, and the rock to which it clingeth, and the eagle sailing around it: The lion, and the northern whale, and the deeps wherein he sporteth; The lizard sleeping in the sun; the lightning flashing from a cloud; The rose, and the ruby, and the pearl; each one is made of three; And the three be the like ingredients, mingled in diverse measures. Thyself hast within thyself body, and life, and mind: Matter, and breath, and instinct, unite in all beasts of the field; Substance, coherence, and weight, fashion the fabrics of the earth; The will, the doing, and the deed, combine to frame a fact: The stem, the leaf, and the flower; beginning, middle, and end; Cause, circumstance, consequent: and every three is one. Yea, the very breath of man's life consisteth of a trinity of vapours, And the noonday light is a compound, the triune shadow of Jehovah.

Shall all things else be in mystery, and God alone be understood? Shall finite fathom infinity, though it sound not the shallows of creation? Shall a man comprehend his Maker, being yet a riddle to himself? Or time teach the Lesson that eternity cannot master? If God be nothing more than one, a child can compass the thought; But seraphs fail to unravel the wondrous unity of three. One verily He is, for there can be but one who is all mighty; Yet the oracles of nature and religion proclaim Him three in one. And where were the value to thy soul, O miserable denizen of earth, Of the idle pageant of the cross, where hung no sacrifice for thee? Where the worth to thine impotent heart, of that stirred Bethesda, All numbed and palsied as it is, by the scorpion stings of sin? No, thy trinity of nature, enchained by treble death, Helplessly craveth of its God, Himself for three salvations: The soul to be reconciled in love, the mind to be glorified in light, While this poor dying body leapeth into life. And if indeed for us all the costly ransom hath been paid, Bethink thee, could less than Deity have owned so vast a treasure? Could a man contend with God, and stand against the bosses of His buckler, Rendering the balance for guilt, atonement to the uttermost? Thou art subtle to thine own thinking, but wisdom judgeth thee a fool, Resolving thou wilt not bow the knee to a Being thou canst not comprehend: The mind that could compass perfection were itself perfection's equal; And reason refuseth its homage to a God who can be fully understood.

Thou that despiseth mystery, yet canst expound nothing, Wherefore rejectest thou the fact that solveth the enigma of all things? Wherefore veilest thou thine eyes, lest the light of revelation sun them, And puttest aside the key that would open the casket of truth? The mind and the nature of God are shadowed in all His works, And none could have guessed of His essence, had He not uttered it Himself. Therefore, thou child of folly, that scornest the record of His wisdom, Learn from the consistencies of nature the needful miracle of Godhead: Yea, let the heathen be thy teacher, who adoreth many gods, For there is no wide-spread error that hath not truth for its beginning. Be content; thine eye cannot see all the sides of a cube at one view, Nor thy mind in the self-same moment follow two ideas: There are now many marvels in thy creed, believing what thou seest, Then let not the conceit of intellect hinder thee from worshipping mystery.

OF THINKING.

Reflection is a flower of the mind, giving out wholesome fragrance, But reverie is the same flower, when rank and running to seed. Better to read little with thought, than much with levity and quickness; For mind is not as merchandize, which decreaseth in the using, But liker to the passions of man, which rejoice and expand in exertion: Yet live not wholly on thine own ideas, lest they lead thee astray; For in spirit, as in substance, thou art a social creature; And if thou leanest on thyself, thou rejectest the guidance of thy betters, Yea, thou contemnest all men,--Am I not wiser than they?-- Foolish vanity hath blinded thee, and warped thy weak judgment: For, though new ideas flow from new springs, and enrich the treasury of knowledge, Yet listen often, ere thou think much; and look around thee ere thou judgest. Memory, the daughter of Attention, is the teeming mother of Wisdom, And safer is he that storeth knowledge, than he that would make it for himself.

Imagination is not thought, neither is fancy reflection: Thought paceth like a hoary sage, but imagination hath wings as an eagle: Reflection sternly considereth, nor is sparing to condemn evil, But fancy lightly laugheth, in the sun-clad gardens of amusement. For the shy game of the fowler the quickest shot is the surest; But with slow care and measured aim the gunner pointeth his cannon: So for all less occasions, the surface-thought is best, But to be master of the great take thou heavier metal. It is a good thing, and a wholesome, to search out bosom sins, But to be the hero of selfish imaginings, is the subtle poison of pride: At night, in the stillness of thy chamber, guard and curb thy thoughts, And in recounting the doings of the day, beware that thou do it with prayer, Or thinking will be an idle pleasure, and retrospect yield no fruit. Steer the bark of thy mind from the syren isle of reverie, And let a watchful spirit mingle with the glance of recollection: Also, in examining thine heart, in sounding the fountain of thine actions, Be more careful of the evil than of the good; and humble thyself in thy sin.

The root of all wholesome thought is knowledge of thyself, For thus only canst thou learn the character of God toward thee. He made thee, and thou art; He redeemed thee, and thou wilt be: Thou art evil, yet He loveth thee; thou sinnest, yet He pardoneth thee. Though thou canst not perceive Him, yet is He in all His works, Infinite in grand outline, infinite in minute perfection: Nature is the chart of God, mapping out all His attributes; Art is the shadow of His wisdom, and copieth His resources. Thou knowest the laws of matter to be emanations of His will, And thy best reason for aught is this,--Thou, Lord, wouldst have it so. Yea, what is any law but an absolute decree of God? Or the properties of matter and mind, but the arbitrary fiats of Jehovah? He made and ordained necessity; He forged the chain of reason; And holdeth in His own right hand the first of the golden links. A fool regardeth mind as the spiritual essence of matter, And not rather matter as the gross accident of mind. Can finite govern infinite, or a part exceed the whole, Or the wisdom of God sit down at the feet of innate necessity? Necessity is a creature of His hand: for He can never change; And chance hath no existence where everything is needful.

Canst thou measure Omnipotence, canst thou conceive Ubiquity, Which guideth the meanest reptile, and quickeneth the brightest seraph, Which steereth the particle of dust, and commandeth the path of the comet? To Him all things are equal, for all things are necessary. The smith was weary at his forge, and welded the metal carelessly, And the anchor breaketh in its bed; and the vessel foundereth with her crew: A word of anger is muttered, engendering the midnight murder: The sun bursteth from a cloud, and maddeneth the toiling husbandman. Shall these things be, and God not know it? Shall He know, and not be in them? shall He see, and not be among them? And how can they be otherwise than as He knoweth? Truly, the Lord is in all things; verily, He worketh in all. Think thus, and thy thoughts are firm, ascribing each circumstance to Him; Yet know surely, and believe the truth, that God willeth not evil; For adversities are blessings in disguise, and wickedness the Lord abhorreth: That He is in all things is an axiom, and that He is righteous in all: Ascribe holiness to Him, while thou musest on the mystery of sin, For infinite can grasp that, which finite cannot compass.

In works of art, think justly: what praise canst thou render unto man? For he made not his own mind, nor is he the source of contrivance. If a cunning workman make an engine that fashioneth curious works, Which hath the praise, the machine or its maker,--the engine, or he that framed it? And could he frame it so subtly as to give it a will and freedom, Endow it with complicated powers, and a glorious living soul, Who, while he admireth the wondrous understanding creature, Will not pay deeper homage to the Maker of master minds? Otherwise, thou art senseless as the pagan, that adoreth his own handywork; Yea, while thou boastest of thy wisdom, thy mind is as the mind of the savage, For he boweth down to his idols, and thou art a worshipper of self, Giving to the reasoning machine the credit due to its creator.

The key-stone of thy mind, to give thy thoughts solidity, To bind them as in an arch, to fix them as the world in its sphere, Is to learn from the book of the Lord, to drink from the well of His wisdom. Who can condense the sun, or analyse the fulness of the Bible, So that its ideas be gathered, and the harvest of its wisdom be brought in? That book is easy to the man who setteth his heart to understand it, But to the careless and profane it shall seem the foolishness of God; And it is a delicate test to prove thy moral state; To the humble disciple it is bread, but a stone to the proud and unbelieving: A scorner shall find nothing but the husks, wherewith to feed his hunger, But for the soul of the simple, it is plenty of full-ripe wheat. The Scripture abideth the same, in the sober majesty of truth; And the differing aspects of its teaching proceed from diversity in minds. He that would learn to think may gain that knowledge there; For the living word, as an angel, standeth at the gate of wisdom, And publisheth, This is the way, walk ye surely in it. Religion taketh by the hand the humble pupil of repentance, And teacheth him lessons of mystery, solving the questions of doubt; She maketh man worthy of himself, of his high prerogative of reason, Threadeth all the labyrinths of thought, and leadeth him to his God.

Come hither, child of meditation, upon whose high fair forehead Glittereth the star of mind in its unearthly lustre: Hast thou nought to tell us of thine airy joys,-- When, borne on sinewy pinions, strong as the western condor, The soul, after soaring for a while round the cloud-capped Andes of reflection, Glad in its conscious immortality, leaveth a world behind, To dare at one bold flight the broad Atlantic to another? Hast thou no secret pangs to whisper common men, No dread of thine own energies, still active day and night, Lest too ecstatic heat sublime thyself away, Or vivid horrors, sharp and clear, madden thy tense fibres? In half-shaped visions of sleep hast thou not feared thy flittings, Lest reason, like a raking hawk, return not to thy call: Nor waked to work-day life with throbbing head and heart, Nor welcomed early dawn to save thee from unrest? For the wearied spirit lieth as a fainting maiden, Captive and borne away on the warrior's foam-covered steed, And sinketh down wounded, as a gladiator on the sand, While the keen faulchion of Intellect is cutting through the scabbard of the brain. Imagination, like a shadowy giant looming on the twilight of the Hartz, Shall overwhelm judgment with affright, and scare him from his throne: In a dream thou mayst be mad, and feel the fire within thee; In a dream thou mayst travel out of self, and see thee with the eyes of another; Or sleep in thine own corpse: or wake as in many bodies; Or swell, as expanded to infinity; or shrink, as imprisoned to a point; Or among moss-grown ruins mayst wander with the sullen disembodied, And gaze upon their glassy eyes until thy heart-blood freeze.

Alone must thou stand, O man! alone at the bar of judgment; Alone must thou bear thy sentence, alone must thou answer for thy deeds: Therefore it is well thou retirest often to secresy and solitude, To feel that thou art accountable separately from thy fellows: For a crowd hideth truth from the eyes, society drowneth thought, And being but one among many, stifleth the chidings of conscience. Solitude bringeth woe to the wicked, for his crimes are told out in his ear; But addeth peace to the good, for the mercies of his God are numbered. Thou mayst know if it be well with a man,--loveth he gaiety or solitude? For the troubled river rusheth to the sea, but the calm lake slumbereth among the mountains. How dear to the mind of the sage are the thoughts that are bred in loneliness; For there is as it were music at his heart, and he talketh within him as with friends: But guilt maddeneth the brain, and terror glareth in the eye, Where, in his solitary cell, the malefactor wrestleth with remorse. Give me but a lodge in the wilderness, drop me on an island in the desert, And thought shall yield me happiness, though I may not increase it by imparting: For the soul never slumbereth, but is as the eye of the Eternal, And mind, the breath of God, knoweth not ideal vacuity: At night, after weariness and watching, the body sinketh into sleep, But the mental eye is awake, and thou reasonest in thy dreams: In a dream, thou mayst live a lifetime, and all be forgotten in the morning: Even such is life, and so soon perisheth its memory.

OF SPEAKING.

Speech is the golden harvest that followeth the flowering of thought; Yet oftentimes runneth it to husk, and the grains be withered and scanty: Speech is reason's brother, and a kingly prerogative of man, That likeneth him to his Maker, who spake, and it was done: Spirit may mingle with spirit, but sense requireth a symbol; And speech is the body of a thought, without which it were not seen. When thou walkest, musing with thyself, in the green aisles of the forest, Utter thy thinkings aloud, that they take a shape and being: For he that pondereth in silence crowdeth the storehouse of his mind, And though he hath heaped great riches, yet is he hindered in the using. A man that speaketh too little, and thinketh much and deeply, Corrodeth his own heart-strings, and keepeth back good from his fellows: A man that speaketh too much, and museth but little and lightly, Wasteth his mind in words, and is counted a fool among men: But thou, when thou hast thought, weave charily the web of meditation, And clothe the ideal spirit in the suitable garments of speech.

Uttered out of time, or concealed in its season, good savoureth of evil; To be secret looketh like guilt, to speak out may breed contention: Often have I known the honest heart, flaming with indignant virtue, Provoke unneeded war by its rash ambassador the tongue: Often have I seen the charitable man go so slily on his mission, That those who met him in the twilight, took him for a skulking thief: I have heard the zealous youth telling out his holy secrets Before a swinish throng, who mocked him as he spake; And I considered, his openness was hardening them that mocked, Whereas a judicious keeping-back might have won their sympathy: I have judged rashly and harshly the hand, liberal in the dark, Because in the broad daylight, it hath holden it a virtue to be close; And the silent tongue have I condemned, because reserve hath chained it, That it hid, yea from a brother, the kindness it had done by comforting. No need to sound a trumpet, but less to hush a footfall: Do thou thy good openly, not as though the doing were a crime. Secresy goeth cowled, and Honesty demandeth wherefore? For he judgeth--judgeth he not well?--that nothing need be hid but guilt. Why should thy good be evil spoken of, through thine unrighteous silence? If thou art challenged, speak, and prove the good thou doest. The free example of benevolence, unobtruded, yet unhidden, Soundeth in the ears of sloth, Go, and do thou likewise: And I wot the hypocrite's sin to be of darker dye, Because the good man, fearing, thereby hideth his light: But neither God nor man hath bid thee cloak thy good, When a seasonable word would set thee in thy sphere, that all might see thy brightness. Ascribe the honour to thy Lord, but be thou jealous of that honour, Nor think it light and worthless, because thou mayst not wear it for thyself: Remember, thy grand prerogative is free unshackled utterance, And suffer not the flood-gates of secresy to lock the full river of thy speech.