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. 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, And if thou leanest on thyself, thou rejectest the guidance of thy betters, 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 daugter 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 garden 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: 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. 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, Or the wisdom of God sit down at the feet of innate necessity? Canst thou measure Omnipotence, canst thou conceive Ubiquity, comet ? To Him all things are equal, for all things are necessary. The smith is weary at his forge, and weldeth 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; In works of art, think justly: what praise canst thou render unto man? And could he frame it so subtly as to give it a will and freedom, Otherwise, thou art senseless as the pagan, that adoreth his own handi work; 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, The keystone of thy mind, to give thy thoughts solidity, To bind them as in an arch, to fix them as a world in its sphere, Is to learn from the book of the Lord, to drink from the well of his wisdom. So that its ideas be gathered, and the harvest of its wisdom be brought in? To the humble disciple it is bread, but a stone to the proud and ur believing : A scorner shall find nothing but the husks, wherewith to feed his hunger Come hither, child of meditation, upon whose high fair forehead 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? No dread of thine own energies, still active, day and night, Or vivid horrors, sharp and clear, madden thy tense fibres ? 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 falchion 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 may 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: To feel that thou art accountable separately from thy fellows: 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; |