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Serve as a key to those that are suppressed:
All zeal for a reform that gives offence
No works shall find acceptance in that day
Storms but enliven its unfading green;
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies,
Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies.
To look at Him who formed us and redeemed,
So glorious now, though once so disesteemed,
To see a God stretch forth his human hand,
To uphold the boundless scenes of his command,—
To recollect that in a form like ours
He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powers,
Captivity led captive, rose to claim
The wreath he won so dearly in our name;
That throned above all height ■ he condescends
To call the few that trust in him his friends;
That in the heaven of heavens, that space he deems
Too scanty for the exertion of his beams,
And shines, as if impatient to bestow
Life and a kingdom upon worms below;
That sight imparts a never-dying flame,
Though feeble in degree, in kind the same.
Like Him the soul thus kindled from above
Spreads wide her arms of universal love,
And still enlarged as she receives the grace,
Includes creation in her close embrace.
Behold a Christian!—and without the fires
The founder of that name alone inspires,
Though all accomplishments, all knowledge meet,
To make the shining prodigy complete,
Whoever boasts that name—behold a cheat!
Were love, in these the world's last doting years, As frequent, as the want of it appears, The churches warmed, they would no longer hold Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold; Relenting forms would lose their power or cease, And e'en the dipped and sprinkled, live in peace: Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, And flow in free communion with the rest. The statesman skilled in projects dark and deep, Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep; His budget often filled, yet always poor, Might swing at ease behind his study door, No longer prey upon our annual rents, Nor scare the nation with its big contents: Disbanded legions freely might depart, And slaying man would cease to be an art. No learned disputants would take the field, Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield; Both sides deceived, if rightly understood, Pelting each other for the public good. Did charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love; And I might spare myself the pains to show 1 Paradise Lost, iii/58.
What few can learn, and all suppose they know.
Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay
Virg. Eel. 5.
Though nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
And conversation in its better part
May be esteemed a gift and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture, and the sowing of the soil.
Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse,
Not more distinct from harmony divine
The constant creeking of a country sign,
As alphabets in ivory employ
Hour after hour the yet unlettered boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those seeds of science called his ABC,
So language in the mouths of the adult,
Witness its insignificant result,
Too often proves an implement of play,
A toy to sport with and pass time away.
Collect at evening what the day brought forth,
Compress the sum into its solid worth,
And if it weigh the importance of a fly,
The scales are false, or algebra a lie.
Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect or use thee as they ought!
But all shall give account of every wrong
Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue,
Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,
Or sell their glory at a market-price,
Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon.
There is a prurience in the speech of some, Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them du"il>: His wise forbearance has their end in view, They fill their measure and receive their due. The heathen lawgivers of ancient days, Names almost worthy of a Christian praise.
Would drive them forth from the resort of men,
And shut up every satyr in his den.
Oh, come not ye near innocence and truth,
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth!
Infectious as impure, your blighting power
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower,
Its odour perished and its charming hue;
Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you.
Not even the vigorous and headlong rage
Of adolescence or a firmer age,
Affords a plea allowable or just,
For making speech the pamperer of lust;
But when the breath of age commits the fault,
'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault,
So withered stumps disgrace the sylvan scene,
No longer fruitful and no longer green,
The sapless wood divested of the bark
Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark.
Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife;
Go quit the rank to which ye stood preferred,
Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are,
Divert the champions prodigal of breath,
And put the peaceably-disposed to death.
Oh, thwart me not, Sir Soph., at every turn,
Nor carp at every flaw you may discern;
Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue,
I am not surely always in the wrong;
'Tis hard if all is false that I advance,
A fool must now and then be right by chance.
Not that all freedom of dissent I blame;
No,—there I grant the privilege I claim.
A disputable point is no man's ground,
Rove where you please, 'tis common all around;
Discourse may want an ammated No,
To brush the surface and to make it flow;
But still remember, if you mean to please,
To press your point with modesty and ease.
The mark at which my juster aim I take,
Is contradiction for its own dear sake:
Set your opinion at whatever pitch,
Knots and impediments make something hitch;
Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain,
Your thread of argument is snapt again;
The wrangler, rather than accord with you,
Will judge himself deceived,—and prove it too.
Vociferated logic kills me quite,—
A noisy man is always in the right;
I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair,
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare,
And when I hope his blunders are all out,
Reply discreetly—To be sure—no doubt.
Dubius is such a scrupulous good man,— Yes, you may catch him tripping if you can. He would not with a peremptory tone Assert the nose upon his face his own; With hesitation admirably slow, He humbly hopes, presumes it may be so. His evidence, if he were called by law To swear to some enormity he saw, For want of prominence and just relief, Would hang an honest man and save a thief. Through constant dread of giving truth offence, He ties up all his hearers in suspense, Knows what he knows as if he knew it not, What he remembers seems to have forgot, His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, Centering at last in having none at all. Yet though he tease and baulk your listening ear, He makes one useful point exceeding clear; Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme A sceptic in philosophy may seem, Reduced to practice, his beloved rule Would only prove him a consummate fool.