Yea, no two berries are alike, though twins upon one stem; No drop in the ocear, no pebble on the beach, no leaf in the forest, hath its counterpart, No mind in its dwelling of mortality, no spirit in the world unseen: And therefore, since capacity and essence differ alike with accident, None but a bigot partisan will hope for impossible unity. Wilt thou ensue peace, nor buffet with the waters of contention, I say not, compromise the right, I would not have thee countenance the wrong, But hear with charitable heart the reasons of an honest judgment; Whiles a man liveth he may mend: count not thy brother reprobate; Neither shalt thou easily unlearn it, though charity ply thee with her preaching; Yet look thou well for reasons, or ever mistrust hath marred thee, Or fear curdled thy blood, or jealousy goaded thee to madness: For a look, or a word, or an act, may be taken well or ill, As construed by the latitude of love, or the closeness of cold suspicion. Better is the wrong with sincerity, rather than the right with falsehood: And a prudent man will not lay siege to the stronghold of ignorant bigotry. To unsettle a weak mind were an easy inglorious triumph, And a strong cause taketh little count of the worthless suffrage of a fool: Lightly he held to the wrong, loosely will he cling to the right ; Weakness is the essence of his mind, and the reed cannot yield an acorn. Dogged obstinacy is oftentimes the buttress that proppeth an unstable spirit, But a candid man blusheth not to own he is wiser to-day than yesterday. A man of little wisdom is a sage among fools; But himself is chief among the fools, if he look for admiration from them. A heresy is an evil thing, for its shame is its pride : Its necessary difference of error is the character it most esteemeth: Give a man all things short of liberty, thou shalt have no thanks, And little wilt thou speed with thine opponent, by proving points he will concede. The tost sand darkeneth the waves ; and clear had been the pages of truth, Had not the glosses of men obscured the simplicity of faith. In all things consider thine own ignorance, and gladly take occasion to be taught; But suffer not excess of liberality to neutralize thy mental independence. The faults and follies of most men make their deaths a gain; But thou also art a man, full of faults and follies; Therefore sorrow for the dead, or none shall weep for thee, For the measure of charity thou dealest, shall be poured into thine own bosom. That which vexeth thee now, provoking thee to hate thy brother, Thou canst not shape another's mind to suit thine own body, OF SORROW. I SAID, I will seek out sorrow, and minister the balm of pity: So I sought her in the house of mourning: but peace followed in her train. So I turned to the cabin of the poor, where famine dwelt with disease; labour. So I stopped, and mused within myself, to remember where sorrow dwelt, I went to the prison, but penitence was there, and promise of better times; His infancy wanted not guilt; his life was continued evil : He drew in pride with his mother's milk, and a father's lips taught him cursing. I marked him as the wayward boy; I traced the dissolute youth: I saw him betray the innocent, and sarifice affection to his lust. I saw him the companion of knaves, and a squanderer of ill-got gain; I heard him curse his own misery, while he hugged the chains that galled him: For well had experience declared the bitterness of guilty pleasure, But habit, with its iron net, involved him in its folds. Behind him lowered the thunder-storm, which the caldron of his wickedness had brewed; Before him was the smooth steep cliff whose base is ruin and despair. The noisy revel and the low debauch, and fierce excitement of play, istence : Memory was to him as a foe, so he flew for false solace to the wine-cup, And stunned his enemy at even, but she rent him as a giant in the morn ing. I turned aside to weep; I lost him a little while: I looked, and years had past: he was hoar with the winter of his age. So, the youth spent in profligacy ended in the gripings of want: The miser grudged himself husks, to take deeper vengeance of the prodigal. And I said, this is sorrow; but pity cannot reach it. This is to be wretched indeed, to be guilty without repentance. OF JOY. My soul was sickened within me, so I sought the dwelling-place of Joj And I met it not in laughter; I found it not in wealth or power; But I saw it in the pleasant home, where religion smiled upon content, His thoughts are of calm delight, and none can know his blessedness; Wisdom took him for her scholar, guiding his steps in purity: He lived unpolluted by the world; and his young heart hated sin. But he owned not the spurious religion engendered of faction and mo roseness, Neither were the sproutings of his soul seared by the brand of supe stition. His love is pure and single, sincere, and knoweth not change: For his manhood hath been blest with the pleasant choice of his youth: And he looketh on the years that are past, to review the dawn of her affection. Memory is sweet unto him as a perfect landscape to the sight; Each object is lovely in itself, but the whole is the harmony of nature. He is holy, and they honour him; he is loving, and they love him; His house is the palace of peace: for the Prince of Peace is there. As the wearied man to his couch, as the thoughtful man to his musings, For he feeleth the mercies of forgiveness, and gloweth with warmer gratitude. Thus did he walk in happiness, and sorrow was a stranger to his soul; The light of affection sunned his heart, the tear of the grateful bedewed his feet, He put his hand with constancy to good, and angels knew him as a brother, And the busy satellites of evil trembled as at God's ally: He used his wealth as a wise steward, making him friends for futurity; Look on this picture of joy, and remember that portrait of sorrow: |