UC-NRLF $B lb? 713 u ll^H i llP5::iBB 1 ' ^P t ; ''■ u BERKBIBY LIBRARY UNIVatSITV Of Beads without a String.- §ritf i;|flugjts on Pang Subjtds. S. W. PARTRIDGE, AUTHOR OF UPWARD AND ONWARD," " OUR ENGLISH MONTHS," ETC. " If yoii would be pungent, be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams, the more they are condensed the better they burn." SOCTHF.Y. LONDON: S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., 9, PATERNOSTER ROW. PREFACE. Busy of brain and enamoured of authorship, yet precluded, by the peculiar stress of my daily duties, from the continuous leisure necessary to the writing of books, my only alternative has been to produce very occasionally such a fragmentary volume as the present. Such thoughts, however, as compose it have, from time to time, come to me, — sometimes almost unbidden, — and have cheered and stimulated me on numberless occasions. With little effort I have crystallized them into blank verse, for the sake of greater terseness and rememberableness \ and here present them to the reader in the earnest hope that they may have to him a similar ministry, even although, as is not unlikely, he may find many of the thoughts not of the newest. S. W. P. Paternoster Row : February^ 1872. 935 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arcliive.org/details/beadswitlioutstriOOpartricli BEADS WITHOUT A STRING. Poverty Doth oft work out for us a real good, By showing us resources in ourselves That we had never dreamed of. Trees and flowers, Thus, when the droughty summer mocks their thirst, Forget awhile the disappointing clouds, And strike their rootlets deeper. II. Learn to be humble, workful, capable : Pride, indolence, and incapacity Form no triangle to include success. III. The truly great Broaden to th' occasion ; and expand Ev'n to the height of the necessity. But smaller natures, shrinking from their task, Collapsing, become miserably less. Less even than. their wont. §znb0 toith^txt a (String: IV. Wedded to gold, alas, men often are. But welded to it, never. They must part, The fondest miser and his cherished store. Peers even, dead, are paupers, nothing else. Loss often cruelly doth bark men now ; And, if not. Death will fell them presently, And point with mocking finger to the heap Strangers shall have anon. 'Tis use that gives such dignity to life, And Christ-use, most of all. VI. What madness is there in men's By-and-byes ! Oh that they listened more to faithful JVow, Than to deceitful T/ienf VII. To Christful natures usefulness is meat. And service, sustenance. VIII. God's blessed work Shall be by friends or foes most surely done ; For, if His helpers oft are hinderers. His hinderers ev'n are helpers. ^xut WxovtQhU on JEang gubjerts. IX. The Devil, with a wise sagacity, Never permits a truth to walk alone ; But plants an error upon either side, So as to keep men's eyes from seeing it. X. The law of death , Is quite as merciful as that of life : Our exit is as lovingly arranged As is our entrance. XL God often works Both by strange workmen and unlikely tools ; So does the Devil also. •xn. The infinite capacity of man Is filled by nothing but the infinite." The heart-ache, the soul-hunger, of the world Are met by nought within it. XIII. Death will soon Untie this tangled knot of hopes and fears, And disengage these ravelled impulses. However close-wreathed now. §zribs> tDtthrrttt a <Stnnjj: XIV. When worldlings meet, they talk of worldly things- Fame, fortune, ease, enjoyment, company ; Why do not Christians oftener talk of heaven, Peace, hope, assurance, gratitude, content, Christ truth, Christ life, Christ work ? XV. Shrink not from labour, nay, not, even toil : There's nothing greater in God's world, than work. He is no man, who works not. XVI. Young man, See to th' inceptive chapters of thy life : How difficult it is to stop midway, Down an incline especially ! • XVII. Th' unresting heart — That sleepless keeper of the house of life — He is indeed a worker ! XVIII. How prone man is to offer to his God, Instead of the sweet kernel, the mere shell ; The husks of form, and rite, and ritual, Instead of pure devotion ! §xxzi ^hxnt0ht0 on JEan^ (Subjedef. 5 XIX. Combined, our senses never lead us wrong, Though singly, often. How the dextrous hand Can cheat the quickest eye ! The juggler's art Is only in the seeming. XX. That leaden-footed devil. Avarice, How, last and worst, he lingers at the door, Watching to seize on the vacated seats Of those twin tempters of our earlier years. Passion and Indolence ! XXI. Companionship is good. But forced companionship is misery. XXII. 'TwoULD be well for us Were but our lives as good as our best thoughts, Our daily deeds and hourly habits raised Up to the level of our high resolves. XXIII. What things there are, in this degenerate world, That pass, forsooth, as men ! Mere human vanes, Useless, except to show the world around, Whence blows the wind of interest. ^eab0 tDtthxmt a <Strinjj: XXIV. Some men are buried ev'n before their death : Their friends, nay ev'n themselves, no longer hope ; Their purity, strength, manhood, character, AUj all, entombed already. • XXV. The line of life is not a level one, But an incline ; and thus we hurry on, • Daily, at an accelerated pace. Manhood's a steeper gradient than youth ; Old age, than either. XXVI. Life is not so much building up, as growth ; Not progress merely, but necessity. We are just what we have been, and no more ; And shall be presently just what we are. The shoot, the blade, the ear, the flower, the corn, Are not so much successive buildings up. As evidence of one progressive life. XXVII. 'Tis nobler far To hew, God helping us, an upward path, And thumb the tedious primer of success, Than merely be a spender of the gold Our betters have earned for us. XXVIII. Seek unity, not uniformity. Christ's orchestra was surely never meant Merely to play in unison. Agree As fully as thou canst.. Should Christian work Wait till the various workmen are agreed ? Nay, so far as thou art, already, one. Work with thy Christian brother. XXIX. God's very kindest answers to our prayers Come often in denials or delays. XXX. God is no Pharaoh, harsh and tyrannous. When Christian work is difficult to us. Mere willinghood is counted service too ; Honest intent, achievement. XXXI. Age gives the lie to youth in most of us. So terrible a falling-off there is 'Tween the fulfilment and the prophecy. XXXII. The drover's dog Rounds savagely the scared and scattered flock How like the Devil with poor humankind ! ^twbis toitkxrtit a gtring:: XXXIII. Flowers, music, little children — what a wealth Of joy and beauty doth this earth contain ! Oh that as much of Eden innocence As Eden beauty, still remained to us ! XXXIV. The poetry of life is f/ien, not now ; Not /lere, but t/iere. XXXV. It is some comfort that bad things die fiorst. Grief dies anon, while Gladness is long-lived : Joy lives to bury Sorrow. XXXVI. Young brother, see thou make thy youth a prayer. Or scarcely will thy old age be a psalm. XXXVII. Uniformity, Born of compression, is unnatural. For nature loathes it. But where freedom is, There will most surely be diversity. XXXVIII. Our better natures, stifled, pine away In this rank bristling thistle-field, the world. §xuf ^hxrtijjht^f on JEan^ gttbprt^. XXXIX. Gold may buy many covetable things ; Select surroundings, elegance, and ease, A choice of occupation and of place. But ah, the best things it can never buy : Say, can it purchase health or happiness, Contentment, joy, serenity, and peace ? XL. He serves the best of masters who serves Christ ; The worst, who serves the Devil. XLI. Tis a conceited self-sufficient age : It hath more confidence in work than prayer ; More faith in what it can do for itself, Than what God can do for it. XLII. God would not only woo us to Himself, But make us like Himself. XLIII. Unless a man is wealthy in himself. Nothing can much enrich him. Wealth must be Not so much what he has, as what he is. Money makes no man rich. lo Jp^ab0 toithrrut a ^Strittij: XLIV. It is men's passions uglify them so, And demonize the features, else divine. But true religion beautifies the face : The Christian's features always are at rest. Serene and tranquil as a summer eve, Betokening his peace. XLV. 'Tis not alone the troubles we endure That makes the cup of life so often sour. But what we have to witness. XLVI. Owe not to any. Unindebtedness — It is an added sinew in the neck, And makes a man erect and self-possessed, Among his equals, aye, superiors. XLVII. He who to-day is doing all he can. Will presently have done more than he thinks. XLVIII. Endurance may be eloquent ; sick beds The most successful pulpits, after all. The quiet tenor of a Christian life Itself is no mean service. XLIX. The springtide of the world comes slowly on, Its winter tediously passes. Lord, " How long, how long ?" is still the watcher's cry, As, musing on the prophecies, he looks Out on the dark horizon. Ah, God's buds — How long they take t' unfold ! L. Whate'er we do, we all are doing this : — Reaping the harvest of our yesterdays, Sowing for our to-morrows. LI. Few things should make us angry, except sin — Especially our own. LII. In the Christian life The heart must give the impulse to the mind ; (Duty performed is always luminous :) He that will do shall know. Love shall be light Obedience, understanding. LIII. How many in life's seed-field sow but tares — The Devil's husbandmen ! 1 2 §znb<5 toithrrut a (String : LIV. Brood not too much Over this world's enigmas. One there is Who the disjointed pieces of this puzzle Shall wisely re-arrange, this ravelled skein Untangle presently. Meantime, be still, And learn to trust and wait. LV. The great offender of the world is Truth, So false and lying is it. LVI. If thou art listless, thou art unlike Christ, Who was intensely earnest, and did all With His whole heart and soul. LVII. Be doing, and waste not life's precious hours In idle rev'rie. Get upon the line, And dream not at the station all the day. Till every train has passed. LVIII. Prate not of systems and philosophies : There's no collyrium like the Saviour's truth T' enlighten these sin-clouded minds of ours. §xizi ^kouQhU on JEang §ubjert^. 13 LIX. The sowing time of life is quickly past, And all the rest is reaping. Our fo be Is thus soon shadowed forth by what we are, And the life's prophecy oft fully writ Before our thirtieth summer. LX. This many-sided life, Changeful of hue as a chameleon, Hath no enduring colour. LXI. How plain are Satan's footprints in the world. Whichever way we turn ! And if not God's, The sliadow of His hand is plain enough To men of heavenly vision. LXII. Avoid extremes. Oh how erroneous even truth may be ; And right itself, how wrong ! LXIII. Be teachable to God. Better be wooed by heavenly Love, than scourged By that most tyrannous of masters, Self, Into subjection and obedience. 14 ^znls toith0tit a (String: LXIV. How the gay colours of the world do fade In one brief hour of sickness ! How a pain Tones down the garish yellows, reds, and blues That charmed our eye in health ! LXV. Alas, how oft is man's religion, gold ! Woman's religion, dress ! LXVI. God honours all the cheques we draw on Him, Whatever the amount. LXVII. The wares that are least noticed in life's fair Are often those that we should covet most ; While many that are bought at greatest price. Are oft scarce worth the least. LXVI II. Lies are not always children of the tongue : A look may be a lie. LXIX. Pride is the shadow of a dwarfed soul. The puffy cloak that puny natures use To hide their meagre limbs. LXX. We should have patience, and forbearance too, In dealing each with each. Life's wear and tear Do often gnarl us to most crooked shapes. As we grow struggling up from day to day Out of the pleasant symmetry of youth. LXXI. War is a game that princes love to play, But peasants have to pay for. LXXII. Consider, brother ; ponder, meditate : Heaven, hell ; salvation, ruin ; Christ, thyself — Thought is the first step heavenward. LXXI 1 1. God hath a nobler pattern for our lives. Than most men seem t' imagine. LXXIV. There is no altitude in our poor lives. We live in the low valley of the world, Nor see beyond its mists. LXXV. 'Tis certain he who knows himself the most, Will love himself the least. i6 g^a!b0 tDtthctit a ^String: LXXVI. It is your little men that covet so The vulgar potency of wealth. The great, Especially the good, are well content To use the noble leverage of themselves On the prone world around them. LXXVII. Let the prince walk, while the poor beggar rides ; 'Let judges plead, while criminals decide : But Feeling — let him never helm thy bark, Usurping Reason's office. LXXVIII. . Believe in charity, as well as creeds ; Love, after all, is truth. LXXIX. Self is a monster, vile and hideous : Deformed and prone, he never stands erect, Has neither eyes nor ears. LXXX. Life is dear ; Yet to how many, both of old and young, A tedious balancing of ands and huts ; A weary sentinelling to and fro, They long to be released from. §xxzf ^honQhts on JEang cSubjert^. 17 LXXXI. It is not always noblest, greatest men That climb the readiest up the hill Success : 'Tis honeycombed with man-holes, all of it, — Sure pathways to the summit, but, alas, So small that only mean unconscienced men Could worm their way along them. LXXXI I. Like some tall sentinel, that duskly stands Between us and the moon, the Devil strives To keep the soul from Christ. LXXXIII. Ah, 'tis so easy to deceive ourselves ! How many a man who daily dreams of heaven, Leans hell-ward notwithstanding ! LXXXI V. How slow we are, the wisest, best of us. To learn the lesson for to-day ! perceive The nearest duty and the present truth That doth so much concern us ! LXXXV. Bury the slothful in a wayside ditch. For he is dead already while he lives, And only waits his grave, c 1 8 ^eab0 iDtthottt a <Stnnij: LXXXVI. There is no Christian manhood in our time, Nor Christian manUness. The church is prone, Cold, feeble, narrow, and emasculate ; And as the mother is, so are the sons — Unworthy of the Master. LXXXVI I. See thou take God to thy companionship. 'Tis sad enough to walk through life alone. With no one greater, better, than one's self : How much more sad thus to encounter death — Alone, unaided ! LXXXVIII. God's ought should be enough for Christian men, Without His regal must. LXXXIX. Noise is not always work. The quiet servant oft may be the best. And God may sometimes be as truly served By silence as by speech. xc. Man writes his alphas large, His opening chapters in big capitals. How small are God's beginnings ! §xut ^hxjtt^ht^ on Jttartg <Stibjat0. 19 xci. Duty is hoarse, and yet we scarcely heed : But Pleasure rarely needs to beckon us, Such magic is there in her syren voice. So men are chimed to prayers : the theatre Needs no reminding bell. XCII. If sharpness must be in me, let it be Like to a sabre's, threatening to my foes. Than, like a scythe's, edge inwards, to my friends. XCIII. We dying die. The shadow of black death, On man, unlike the lower animals, Falls long before the cold reality. And chills his very childhood. xciv. School thy tongue : A single right word may a lever be To elevate some thoughtless listener To a diviner life. xcv. The bodily presence of true genius Is always disappointing. §z^^B toithatit a ^String:: xcvi. How chequered and how changeable is life ! How suddenly, sometimes, the rack of care, Like a brown ragged curtain, rudely comes Across life's crystal sky ! XCVII. The Christian heaven is no mere Dreamland, friend ; Our God, no great Perhaps. XCVIII. The complex circles of God's providence, If not concentric, are coincident, Howe'er confused they seem. xcix. Whatever storms may gather round thy path, Let there be calm within. c. Men soon outlive the relish of their lives Unless their aims are godlike, brotherly. Centrifugal, unselfish. CI. He is ill sentinelled who guards himself, And seeks no better keeper. How well kept Is he whom God keeps ! §nzi ^houQhU on JEang <Subi^rt0. 21 CII. In thy choice of friends, Beware both of Conceit and Vanity ; For both of theni are self-idolatrous, And neither love nor worship. cm. There's many an angel footprint upon earth, Had we but angel eyes. CIV. I LIKE an honest and outspoken No : 'Tis often manlier than the unmeant Yes, That weakness mocks our expectation with. cv. There's nothing in this world one half so fair As Hope's bright pictures. cvi. In spiritual things, If thou wouldst add to thy too little strength, Use what thou hast CVII. In this rough rugged world There's nothing easy : all is difficult, Even the road to helL §znbs initkxrut a cString;: CVIII. Yes, we musif be immortal. We're too great To sleep an endless sleep. We must live on. Far meaner powers and faculties than these Had well sufficed for this poor world's brief work, If there were no hereafter. cix. Gold-worship, misused leisure, are the gates Through which how many thousands press to hell ex. Too many of our noblest, best resolves, Having no roots of prayer, grow never up To trees of purpose. CXI. Wisdom is oft displayed Far more in reticence than utterance. CXI I. God is about us like the air we breathe. From birth to death we quit not, nor can quit, Th' Eternal Presence. CXIII. 'Tis but a masquerade — this life of ours ; And death, but the undressing. §nti ^hottgkts on Jftang <StibJ£rt0. 23 cxiv. Some natures have a strange antipathy, A loathing of each other ; stand apart, Instinctive with dislike, antagonist. Others, like rain-drops down a window-pane, Have such mysterious affinity, They scarce can help but mingle. cxv. Prophet, dear Lord, thou wast, and Priest thou art : Oh when wilt thou be King ? cxvi. Oh that our lives were level with our prayers I And what we sometimes, fitful, pray to be, We always strove to be ! GXVII. How many are there who can prate of heaven, Yet crawl and wriggle on along life's path, Palsied in soul, and paralyzed for good, Contented with the babyhood of grace ! There's little Christian manhood. CXVI 1 1. If thou must covet greatness, covet it Within the orbit God assigns to thee ; Never beyond iff 24 §zrtb!S without a ^String: cxix. The Christian's life is full of paradox. His loss is gain, his hindrances are helps ; His weakness is his strength; his sorrow, joy ; His winter is his spring ; his night, his day ; His conflict is his peace ; his age, his youth ; His peril is his safety; death is life; Defeat is victory. cxx. Life seems but a short bridge, Seen from youth's side of it. How long a one. Looked back on from old age ! cxxi. One half the evils that men so lament. Are only angels veiled. One half the good They long and live for in their ignorance, But devils in disguise. cxxii. We are so damaged and untuned by sin, That it doth need a lifetime, and God's hand. To mend, re-string, and tune us. cxxiii. Answers to prayer are telegrams from God : Prayers, telegrams to Him. • ^xitt '^houQhis on JKang <Subjert0. 25 CXXIV. What strange confusion reigneth in this world, — Men in wrong places almost everywhere ! Be-wigged incapables, be-doctored fools, Be-sworded cowards, and be-titled knaves ; While Merit, purseless, foots the dusty road, . And Genius, with his empty haversack. Asks, 'mid his inspirations, with a sigh. How he shall dine to-morrow. cxxv. How plain our neighbour's duties are to us 1 , How indistinct our own ! cxxvi. The overflowing drops of a full cup. Doled out with grudging parsimonious hand, — This is what men call liberality. Call that man liberal, and him alone. Whose gifts are self-denying. cxxvii. Unlike the fig-tree, man doth bear no fruit. Without the previous leaf and blossoming. CXXVIII. Our lives are low and narrow : they want breadth ; How much more, altitude ! 26 ^tntis tDitkxrut a cStrtit^: cxxix. I HONOUR him who fears to die too rich, And counts his gifts up as his truest gains. Like some far-travelled brook, that, though she boasts No breadth of waters, can look calmly back On leagues of blessing and fertility ; Or some fair tree whose greatness still is seen More in the leaves that he hath parted with. Than those that still adorn him. cxxx. We are all Morifuri, yet we live As though Death, knocking at our neighbours' doors, Would never knock at ours. cxxxi. Coins are worth more than counters ; Weigh therefore, rather than count up, thy friends. CXXXII. Nothing on earth Hath such high possibilities as man ; Who hath an angelhood within his reach, A kingship for the taking. CXXXIII. It is the truth we live, we understand ; Tis what we feel, we know. §xuf ^houQhU on JEang (Subjects. 27 cxxxiv. How a high motive sanctifies a deed, Even the least ! A look may be a psalm ; Work may be prayer, and gladness may be praise ; Sickness, best service ; silence, eloquence : Everything incense, if the heart be true. And the intent religious. cxxxv. How cheap time is with us while we are young ! How dear when we are old ! cxxxvi. Seeming ends Are often but beginnings. Death itself Is but a station on the line of life. Between us and th' eternal. cxxxvii. A TRUE man Will surely scorn to make his brother's neck A stepping-stone to greatness. CXXXVIII. Our best resolves, howe'er sincere they be, Will only mock us, unless steeped in prayer, And cradled in humility of mind. And moral self-mistrust. 28 ^tn'b'o \i)xihoui n §ixxnQ: cxxxix. TjiERE are few things more beautiful in life Than true gentility. It is in-born, That sense of courteous propriety, That instinct t'wards th' appropriate and fit. That knows not how to do a vulgar act, And scorns to do a mean one. Sad it is, When earth breeds such a plethora of men. There should be so few gentlemen. CXL. The greatest gain that any man can have Is that of a good name ; the greatest loss, The loss of character. CXLI. There have been men in hovels who have lived Most regal lives ; and men in mansions too, Most mean, most abject, and most miserable. 'Tis the mind makes the palace. CXLII. Take care thou want'st not what thou needest not. True riches is to live contentedly, Below our wants, down to our very needs : All else is poverty. Whate'er thou hast, Though it be little more than '* daily bread," Make it enough. §xxd ^houQhtfS on JKaitg gubjert^. 29 CXLIII. Giving is getting also. The scant rill, That wanders far adown the mountain side, To feed the stream below, goes trickling on Long after the broad pond has dried away. A slip may propagate a thousand more As vigorous as itself. The flickering torch That serves to light a hundred neighbour lamps, Still burns undimmed. Just so, the generous gift Impoverishes not the giver's self, Rather enriches him. CXLIV. Nothing exhausts its possibilities Less then poor human nature : nothing bears So plain an impress of a mighty fall ; A great intention, sadly unfulfilled. CXLV. Postponement is the pregnant curse of men. If their to-morrow had but been to-day, How different had been the lives of most ! CXLVI. We are thrice linked to earth : — Linked to the present by our friends around ; Linked to the past by our progenitors ; Linked to the future by our Httle ones. so §znhs toithiJttt a (String CXLVII. Man likes to play the priest, and servile men Dislike not the ambition of the few, That saves them so much study, pains, and thought. Hence priest-makers, and priests. But nought avails (There's no such thing as proxy holiness), Unless Christ be in heaven a priest for us ; We, priests on earth for Him. CXLVIII. 'Tis sad to think, while we learn truth at church, There's in the churchyard such untruthfulness : So lying "are our epitaphs. CXLIX. How fitting to the individual plant Is its own special blossom ! So in dress : What best becomes thy station and thyself, That is the best for thee. CL. Each hath his work, and if he do it not, It may be never done. Oh solemn thought ! — My work none can do for me. CLI. The curse of manhood is ambitiousness ; Fashion, of womanhood §xxzi ^honQhis on JKaitg Subjects?. 31 CLIT. Alas, with all our Sunday sermon-seed How meagre is the harvest ! What we need Is the warm influence of the Holy Ghost,- To vitalize our knowledge into deeds. Assimilating truth to inner life, And spiritual manhood. CLIII. How many a man Doth mortgage the sweet autumn of his life By wilful drafts in youth, and make old age A pure impossibility to him ! CLIV. Weak intellects drift superstition-ward ; Strong ones, to unbelief. CLV. 'Tis our earned money that is wisest spent, And most enriches us. Not, after all. That which we beg or borrow, filch or find, Or e'en inherit, is true wealth to us, Like what we earn ourselves. CLVI. 'Tis a poor life where childhood's lived but once, How wretched where 'tis scarcely lived at all ! 32 §znbs toitk0ttt a §trinij CLVII. Little things Are not without their force, nor mighty ones . Without their weakness too. The Hfeful sun May be eclipsed by the smallest cloud That wanders o'er the sky ; the wrestling sea Is dammed by the mean sand. CLVIII. Tii' high- water mark of spiritual life Is but, with most, a sorry altitude. CLIX. Ready ? Aye, ready always. Wherefore not ? Christ is my readiness : who lives in Him Can scarcely be unready. CLX. Life is a pupilage. Love keeps the school : Need, Trouble, Suffering, are the schoolmasters. And does not man need stern ones such as they ? He is for pastime, and is indolent. And life's great lessons would be never learned But for such monitors. CLXI. The good man standeth on the graves of vice, For virtue helps him to live out his days. §xizi ^honQhis on JEang (Stibj^rt^. 33 CLXII. Age lives on memory, as youth lives on hope : Both are thus dual lived. Th' impatient boy, Hustling through the big leafy book of life, Buries himself already in its midst, — The chapters of stern manhood. The old crone, With an unfailing instinct, turns again To the first sunlit pages, thumbing still The opening leaves, and reads and reads again With all the ardour of an untold tale. CLXIII. Did we but know, how we should love, the Lord Did we but know, how we should hate, ourselves ! CLXIV. Infancy — That tedious apprenticeship to life, — Childhood that transient April of life's year, — Youth, with its feverish sexual unrest, — Manhood, with its ambition, toil, and care, — Old age, abounding in still added needs : Such are life's chapters. CLXV. Christ love is the best bond of brotherhood : 'Tis because Christians are so far from Christ, They're far from one another. 34 ^t^hs toith0tit a gtrin^;: CLXVI. The children of the great Are always envied ; but none, after all, So much our sympathy and pity need. As those to whom a soft luxurious life Has come to be a stern necessity. CLXVII. 'Tis not perhaps so very difficult On great occasions to be great ourselves ; But oh, how hard to do the little well. Nobly and Christianly ! CLXVIII. It is a dangerous maxim, and untrue, That the reformed repentant profligate Will make the better husband. CLXIX. Tis patience, rather than deliverance. Most need in time of trouble. CLXX. Even in this world we live o'er again Our every action. Still stern Memory Is busy, duplicating every deed ; With fussy spade unburying all the past, Earth it howe'er we may. Iprief '^h0ttght0 on JEanp gub jert^. 35 CLXXI. Religion is no ceremonial thing : It is a life, a motive power within. It is the mainspring of the human watch, Without which there is no reality, Nothing but sham and semblance. CLXXII. 'Tis easier to admire than imitate. Many commend the life the Christian lives, Who care not to live like him. CLXXI 1 1. Keep a good spotless name, Whate'er thou losest, for 'tis difficult To caulk the seams of character. What card Shall he lay down who hath already lost The trump-card, Reputation ? CLXXIV. Few men but feel th' unrest there is in. sin : How few, what rest in Christ ! CLXXV. It is the effort, not the mere desire ; Trying, not sighing — that hath so much worth. If wishing were but working ! . 36 §z^hQ toithxmt a <Stnng: CLXXVI. Earth's truest heroes are unpedestalled, He who hath stormed the breach and won the fight, The world hath bowed to him its supple knee, And, with its laurels, titles, wealth, repaid The eifort of an hour. But ah, for him. Him who life-long hath braved with manful heart All adverse things, the world hath scarce for him A single " Friend, well done !" CLXXVII. So prone and so degenerate are our hearts, Our prayers and psalms are sometimes sins with us. How often, when the praise has left the heart, It lingers on the lip ! How oft we speak Long after prayer has ended ! CLXXVIII. Be not a worldling : live not just to make Thy nothing, something ; and thy something, more But rather to improve on what thou art, To better that estate — thyself; to ride High on the tide of possibiHty, Above a stranded world. CLXXIX. Prate not, but rein and curb thy lawless tongue. Hear, and be wise. There would be fewer fools If men would learn to listen. §xxd ^houQhU on JEang §ttbjert0. 37 CLXXX. The melancholy yew Nods like a hearse-plume in the sobbing wind, And throws his shadow o'er a hundred graves. But be thou rather like the graceful birch, That doth not shut a single sunbeam out, That strives to cheer the landscape. CLXXXI. Few things but sometimes differ from their wont. The sun is often pallid as a ghost, The moon as ruddy as the setting sun. All things have their exceptions. CLXXXII. Defeat's not necessarily disgrace. He may be no mean horseman, though unhorsed ; Nor he a good one, though he keep his seat. CLXXXIII. To turn my back to sin, my face to Christ, — This, this, is true reHgion. CLXXXIV. What is this life that men so dearly love ' A ceaseless futile wrestling with Death ; A vain endeavour to dam out the tide Of bitter care and sorrow. 38 g^a!b0 iDitk0ttt a .Strinij;: CLXXXV. Our Christian life is like the branching trees : , Not pendant as the willow by the stream, Nor soaring upward suddenly to heaven Like the sky-kissing poplar. Rather thus — A nether growth between the two extremes : Still slowly struggling out horizon-ward, Yet tending feebly upward. CLXXXVI. Man is the only creature God hath made Who walks in death's dark shadow, and who feels How much there may be between him and death, Of pain and suffering, worse than death itself CLXXXVII. If thou wouldst know who dwells within the heart, Watch well at Lip-gate. CLXXXVIII. We empty first what we design to fill : So God does with our foul and sin-brimmed hearts. But terrible this emptying process To proud and selfish man. CLXXXIX. The three chief hardeners of the human heart Are, Pleasure, Care, and Wealth. ^xui ^hottgkt^ on Jttang <Subject0. 39 cxc. Make no mistake about thy priceless soul, Whatever thy mistakes. Be certain, sure. For here " perhapses " may be ruinous, And "ifs," damnation. Catechize thyself: What, as a Saviour, is Christ unto thee ? What, as a servant, art thou unto Him ? cxci. Then is the Christian nearest to his God, When farthest from himself. CXCII. Wishes are feminine compared with deeds, Benevolence is not beneficence. Be masculine in goodness. CXCIII. The honest man will live on what he has ; The prudent man, on less. cxciv. How often wealth brings indigence of soul ; And poverty, true riches ! cxcv. Oh, were we always what we sometimes are, We should live nearer heaven. 40 ^ea!b0 iotth^ttt e <Stnrtg: cxcvi. In all life's doubtful and perplexing paths, Obedience to known duty is the torch That best shall light our feet Who strives to-day To act according as he knows, shall know How best to act to-morrow. CXCVII. We pass away like shadows, but we leave Behind us footprints far from shadowy. CXCVIII. The Bible is the only honest book That photographs man's nature as it is, With all its light and shadow. None but this Portrays that angelhood and devilry, So strangely mixed within him. cxcix. Life should be something higher, nobler far. Than oscillation between heaven and hell. cc. There's many a pauper hath a crest in heaven : Aye, there are many hodmen of the world That have a more than regal greatness ; boast Souls that would grace an angel or a child. The good are God's nobilit);. §xxd %honQhU on JEang §ttbje£t0. 41 cci. How oft the fondly-cherished buds of hope Blossom in disappointment, after all; And the pet egg that we sat brooding on, So patient and so anxious, proves at last A very cuckoo, bom to vex the nest, And oust us from our comfort ! ecu. It is the curse of life That men buy wisdom oft so very late, At such a price too. CCIII. How very low some mental ceilings are ! One-thoughted, and with no brain-capital, Horizonless and dull. Next to the bad, Keep me from little men. cciv. There is in life no melody so sweet, But some sad minor chord intrudes its wail Into th' accompaniment. ccv. " I WISH " is feeble, and too oft untrue, For most might be what they desire to be, Or something very like it. 42 ^eais ioithxTttt a §triitg ccvi. A MAN may wrestle with impediments, And hew his path to glory manfully ; But truest greatness he will ne'er achieve Without self-conflict and self-mastery. CCVII. 'Tis little men that want a wider sphere : The great are rather anxious how to fill That which th' All-wise has giv'n them. CCVIII. A LIE is seldom childless, So sure one breeds another. ccix. Sin is unrest, but holiness is peace. The Devil is the great disquieter Within us and around us. ccx. Insanity Is sometimes not so much in intellect : There is heart madness also. ccxi. Duty is bitter first, sweet afterwards : Pleasure, first sweet ; then bitter. §xuf '^houQhU on JEaitg §ubjed0. 43 CCXII. Man's love is sexual ; woman's, personal ; Man smiles and sighs, but woman laughs and weeps : Man is creative, woman imitates : Man reasons truthward, woman feels to it : It is the woman's feeling that doth think ; 'Tis the man's thought that feels. CCXIII. If thou must needs be great. Be great with thine own greatness. There are some, Mere parasites, smooth-tongued and supple-kneed, Who are but great because content to bear The trains of Wealth and Power. ccxiv. Seekest thou Pleasure ? Shun the broad smooth road The many tread, adown the sunny slopes, So fair and fatal. Take the upward path Over the hill-side. Duty : keep right on. And thou shalt surely find her. ccxv. How the world pets its mountebanks and clowns. And starves its regal thinkers J Thought is rare, Rarest of all things, yet, alas, how cheap In this vain world's esteem ! 44 ^zn'bB ioithrrtit a (String: ccxvi. Oh how conversable is God with man ! To him who hath a reverent, filial ear, Some fatherly, sweet, loving utterance Is never lacking. Ever, day and night, Some heavenly whisper echoes every prayer, Some answer falls responsive. ccxvii. God hath not only claims on mine, but me : First, therefore, I must give Him what I am. Then, after, what I have. CCXVIII. Th' hypocrisies of life, its specious lies. Its subterfuges, shams, and make-believes, Might make an angel weep.* CCXIX. Acts are not always habits. Many a gift Scarce hides a grudging and ungiving hand. Ev'n the most selfish man will sometimes feel A spasm of philanthropy. ccxx. Laughter and mirth Are but the vulgar exponents of joy ; True joy is tranquil, silent. §xxd ^h^xtghtsf on JEang <Stibjert0. 45 ccxxi. War is a hellish game : Men are the counters; and the players, kings. Units reap fame, tens honour ; but the rest, The peasantry, — disaster, ruin, wounds. Death is the only gainer. ccxxir. Christ's service is the only liberty : All, without this, is serfdom. CCXXIII. The world Is still repeating its old tale of love. Isaac is seeking his Rebekah still, Eros, his Psyche. ccxxiv. How easily does this fine soul of ours. In the rough daily wear-and-tear of life. If not untuned, sink lower in its pitch, Till all the heavenly melody is marred. That once welled up within us ! ccxxv. The actual and possible, in man, Stand further sundered than in aught beside. Throughout God's wide creation. 46 ^z-^hs toithottt a ^String: CCXXVI. There is a pleasant may be in life's morn, A glorious possibility in youth. That sheds a lustrous halo round the young, And strange ideal greatness. How unlike That ugly might have beeji that haunts our age With its reproving presence. CCXXVII. It is not what I have, but what I am. Myself must be the measure of my wealth. The heart is the true purse. We cannot have More than we really are. CCXXVIII. Living outside one's self — this, this is life \ And less than this is death. CCXXIX. Whatever youth may be. Old age should be the heavenward side of life, And an increasing glory gild our path, Each step we travel westward. ccxxx. Be stirring ; laziness is wickedness : Death and the Devil are not indolent. Whatever thou mayst be. §xut ^ho«jjht0 on JEang §ttbjert0. 47 ccxxxi. Mirth is the vulgar copper of our youth, That manhood, wiser, changes presently For silver happiness. That, too, ere long, Is, in its turn, unvalued ; our ripe age Contented only with the gold of peace. CCXXXI I, Oh to serve Christ as well and zealously As some men serve the Devil ! CCXXXIII. Throw thy whole self into the now of life. The coffin of thy yesterday is closed ; To-morrow's cradle is as yet unwreathed. Now is the only arch to stand upon, Between the past and future. CCXXXIV. Pleasure's a target most would like to hit ; But few so miserably miss the mark. As they who aim straight at it. ccxxxv. Let us be pleased with all that pleases God. 'Tis not so much submission to God's will, As acquiescence, cheerful and complete, That is so priceless.. 48 ^taii^ toitkxrttt a (String: ccxxxvi. What thou wouldst do, do now, without delay, Before life's evening mocks thee. Life's poor clock . Runs down apace : what is not sown to-day- Will not be grown to-morrow. Look around ; See how the Devil cheats, with By-and-bye, Even the best and wisest. ccxxxvii. Have no hard thoughts of God. He loves thee well, Aye, better far than they who love thee best. His providences, though they seem severe, Are always loving, kind. Although His hand May sometimes seem to be antagonist, His heart is always with thee. CCXXXVIII. Where is the pious man who hath not felt, * Like the great prophets in the ages past, " The burden of the Lord " for this prone world, For godless friends and neighbours specially ? The giddy crowd that hath no thought of heaven. Scarcely the fear of hell ? ccxxxix. Clear-cut in that strange gem o' th' head — the eye, Is every man and woman's character, Which he that's learned may read. The tongue contains A further revelation. §xxzi ^hxrttght^ on JEaitg §ttbj^rt0. 49 CCXL. Some fly for safety into solitude, Yet oft companionship is strengthening. There is soul-peril for us everywhere, Whether in crowds or deserts. Everywhere The Tempter is beside us. Jesus sent His young disciples through the land by twos, None singly. Ah, he should be good indeed Who can be good alone. CCXLI. How th' unscrupulous achieved success — History is little else. CCXLII. The way to get more spiritual truth Is to live that which we already have. Alas ! we know, the most of us, too much. And live, alas, too little. CCXLIII. The deepest grief is always quietest : There are heart-tears that have no witnesses. Save God and our sad selves. CCXLIV. He is the real priest, and he alone, Whose life and work are priestly. F 50 §zw:iQ toith0tit a gtriitQ: CCXLV. We,We always far more cause for joy than tears, Had we but clearer vision. Were we wise We should o'erlook the unit weeds that vex, Amid the crop of pleasureable things That gladden and that bless us. Courage, soul, Ev'n should the inky hull of gaunt Despair Bear threatening down upon thee through the surf. There's always Hope beyond, with snowy sails. Rides, sunlit, in the offing. CCXLVI. How oft the mere appearance doth belie The real essence ! The laburnum swoll'n Yields fruit nor berry ; while the withered vine Bedecks his dry attenuated branch With large and luscious clusters. % CCXLVII. To be slow and quiet, (Unless emergency do call for speed,) Is one characteristic of the great. God is Himself no haster. CCXLVIII. Not only pray, but persevere in prayer. Silence is not refusal, after all ; No, nor delay, denial. ^rief ^hx)xtght0 on J^ait^ (Subjects. 51 CCXLIX. Oh that the key of prayer, through sad misuse, Should rusty lie in our cold palsied hands. While God's great treasure-house hath so much good For our lean needing souls ! CCL. Few things seem so unnatural and strange As a child's death. The old of course must die ; But a dead child (like a fair fuchsia bloom, Abruptly fallen from the parent stem. Its petals all unwithered) is a sight Mysterious and perplexing. CCLI. Worship and service are the only things That a good man may crave. He'll leave the rest, Howe'er pretentious their appearances, For fools to scuffle for. CCLII. Few lives but have their lone Gethsemane, If not their Calvary too. CCLI 1 1. He alone is great, Who hath a stature so divinely high. That he looks down upon this petty world. 52 geal)0 toithotit a <Stnng: CCLIV. There's not a man I am not bound to serve By every means within my can and ought, However base he be. His worthlessness, His probable ingratitude to boot, Must be no barrier to my sympathies, Or check. to my poor service. Who can tell, But I may prove a lever ev'n to him, A soother of his sorrow ; raise his thoughts To higher aims and a diviner life ? CCLV. Why is the heaven that we look forward to, So future and so distant to our minds ? Ah, how much better, wiser, would it be. To make it here and now — at least in bud — Despite all circumstantials. CCLVI. The Christian is the wealthiest, after all, For how can he be reckoned poor, who hath The Levites' portion — God ? CCLVII. What energy there is willinghood ; What an almightiness in that " I will !" Why, nought within the possibilities Can hope to stand against it. §xui ^hongihis on JKaitg cSub jerte. 53 CCLVIII. Let us thank God for Bibles multiplied : But oh for Bibles searched and pondered well ! Not merely kept to ease men's consciences, But used as levers to their earth-bound souls, And lanterns to their duties. CCLIX. How few can bear the test Of unaccustomed wealth ! How very few Can keep their hearts unstained and unshrunk By that defiling and collapsing gold Men do so hunger after ! CCLX. There's a strange sunlight on our earlier years, As we look back, in life. . Thrice blessed he Who can look onward also with calm joy, And humble meek assurance. CCLXI. As we grow on in life. How much the moss of our past memories Grows thickening round our hearts ! CCLXII. 'Tis not so much the circle that we fill, As how we fill it. 54 ^twb0 toithcttt a ^String: CCLXIII. Our natures here are but in infancy, Small, dwarfed, and undeveloped. Narrow earth Is but the cradle of the real man. That chafes and frets to stretch its unknit limbs To a maturer size. CCLXIV. The world has many a question for defeat ; None for success. 'Tis quite enough for it, The man's astride some lofty pinnacle, And, without question as to how he climbed. It straight falls down and worships. CCLXV. Resist temptation, and avoid it too : To shun the conflict may be sometimes wise. Wiser, perchance, than hazard a defeat. CCLXVI. What poetry there is in f/iere and fken ! What prose in here and now ! CCLXVII. The mysteries of suffering and sin — Approach them less by reason than by faith. How much there is, in spiritual things. Above our highest powers ! §xuf ^hon^hU on Jttans <Sitbjert0. 55 CCLXVIII. Despise not any man. Wert thou the best, (which certainly thou'rt not,) The vilest is thy brother : none is mean ; The worst has stuff to make an angel of, And in the most degraded there lurks still A possible nobility. CCLXIX. 'Tis what man is, far more than what he does, That constitutes Heaven's quarrel with the race. CCLXX. Whatever is not born of steady growth Can scarcely hope for long continuance : Precocious things die soonest. CCLXXI. This wondrous Me, It hides its subtle self most cunningly From keenest observation. Warp and woof, How strongly and mysteriously knit — Body, and soul, and spirit ! CCLXXII. The Christian, in his daily intercourse, Should be a joyous presence everywhere ; Absent, a pleasant memory. 56 ^eab£f iDith0ttt a ^String : CCLXXIII. The Christian's sacrifice Should be a whole bumt-offering. Dare I call My station, talents, gold, or influence, mine ? All these, my dearest Master, all belong No more to me, but Thee. If Thine be mine, Oh, should not mine be Thine ? CCLXXIV. The bard is but the normal type of man, Man on the highest platform. Eden's lord, God's first man, Adam, was not he a bard, When, with the poet's inner eye, he read The nature plain of each created thing ; Read their characteristics at a glance, And named each one therefrom ? CCLXXV. The church should be the lever of the world ; And, while it teaches it the love of truth. Show it the truth of love. CCLXXVI. How poor duped man doth disbelieve in God To satisfy his soul, and yet believes The promise of that shameless liar. Gold ; Ev'n the poor word of that convicted cheat — The syren. Pleasure ! §xxd ^hmQhU on JKans Sttbj^^t^. 57 CCLXXVII. From bad to worse, and then from worse to worst, Is some men's wretched history. Other lives Are chequered with alternate good and bad. How blest when life is one symmetric whole ; A continuity of godliness, Round, perfect, monolithal : youth to age Successive chapters of the right and true ; One sweet unbroken and melodious strain : Ev'n death itself but the serene Amen To the harmonious anthem ! CCLXXVIII. Not always is success so worshipful : There's many a crooked stair that leads to wealth, Beside that grand one. Effort. CCLXXIX. 'Tis sad to see The budding child cut down in Hfe's fresh morn, Defrauded of his manhood : sadder still To see the adult man still living on, Who hath outlived his childhood. CCLXXX. Half-heartedness brings neither joy nor peace : 'Tis thoroughness, in spiritual things, That makes us truly happy. 58 §^a!b0 toith^ttt a <Strins;: CCLXXXI. There are few things more wearying in life, To men of sense and sensibility, Than the intrusion of some babbling fool Upon one's thoughtful moods or working hours. The brainless simperer, valuing not one's time. Frets one with his unmeaning How-d'ye-do's, And lingering Good-byes. CCLXXXII. Think of the poor, If not for their sake, yet ev'n for thine own. They must live somehow, and a starving man Is a most dangerous neighbour. CCLXXXIII. In nature, God's great law is — Get, to give ; Man's law is — Get, to keep. CCLXXXIV. The truth that does not melt us, hardens us. If it turn not to life and nutriment, It turns to death and poison. CCLXXXV. Despise not anything because 'tis small : A gem is never bulky. §xuf ^It0tiQht0 on JEang (Subjerts. 59 CCLXXXVI. I RENOUNCE The pomp and pageantry of this poor world ; Convinced so much that earth is but the dream, Heaven the reaUty. CCLXXXVI I. Our individual days Are not so much like stones in obelisks, As joints in a bamboo : each one of them Grows out of the preceding. Our to-day Is but the arrow we shot yesterday, Fall'n at our feet again. CCLXXXVIII. Gold satisfies — and multiplies— our wants ; As every rich man learns. CCLXXXIX. Shams, falses, wrongs — How they crowd out the real, right, and true, In this poor shadowy world ! ccxc. In soul life How few expand and broaden with their years ! The mass are prone, and grow, like stalactites. Lessening, and downwards. 6o ' ^^aii0 toith^ttt a (String: CCXCIr We should count troubles, mercies, were we wise, For 'tis life's trouble-chapters that so help To perfect us as Christians, and complete Our spiritual manhood. CCXCII. Deeds may be very prayers. She also prayed who touched Christ's garment's hem With reverent faith ; aye, and was answered too, Although no word escaped her. CCXCIII. Ponder the end, nor dare procrastinate, When duty calls. How few of all the crowds That have gone drifting pleasantly along The coast of By-and-bye, ere paused to think They would be surely landed presently On that dark island — Never ! ccxciv. Oh 'tis a mercy we have not God's eyes ! Compelled to see the sights of sin and woe He every night looks down on. ccxcv. It is our self-denial makes us rich ; Our self-indulgence, poor. ^rief ^h0tt0ht0 on Jftang <Subj^rt0. 6i ccxcvi. The kneading hand of Trouble's not in vain ; For we are dullards in our Father s school, And, spite of all the coaxings of His love, We should learn little did not Suffering, Like a stern usher, nudge us at our task, And quicken our attention. CCXCVII. We should sleep sounder were we heavenlier, What an uneasy bed Ambition hath ! How soft Contentment's pillow ! CCXCVIII. There's often, in unnoticeable things, A power and greatness that we vainly seek In more obtrusive ones. The noisy hail Possesses less of worth and potency Than the soft quiet dew. The lightning flash That blinds us with its glare, is valueless Beside the quiet sunbeam. ccxcix. A limpet life on the smooth rocks of ease, Above the rude fierce surges of the world. However much we seek and covet it, Is not intended for us. 62 §Z(tbs toithout a (String: ccc. Aim, if thou wilt, young brother, at success, But see it be success of noblest kind, Above the world's base sense. To overtop Thy neighbour's petty pyramid of gold. To write thy name in larger characters Than common men can do ; t' enlarge thy tent To huge proportions, tall and temple-like, — Is but a poor ambition, after all. Being is greater than accomplishing ; Thyself, than thy achievements. ccci. What an Aceldama is this poor world ! Ambition striding over swaths of slain ; Plethoric Avarice pining for more gold ; Ev'n Childhood flickering down to ghastly death ; And Penury, unnoticed and unalmsed. Shuffling to his cold grave ! CCCII. Except in Christian men. Conscience itself is fallen and untrue : The scales are there, but ah, the beam is false. Such is man's natural conscience. CCCIII. Beware of thy two special enemies, — The Devil, and thyself. §xxzi ^hou^hU on JEmtg gubjeds. 6^ CCCIV. Pride is for fools, humility for men : Pause, therefore, in thy self-complacency, And, what or whereso'er thou hast attained However high or noble, humbly write Across that arrogant / am of thine, / migA^ have been. cccv. There's a nobility in godhness : The good man is a great man anywhere, Whatever his surroundings. cccvi. There is no heaven for the unheavenly man ; For anywhere is shadowed by himself, And everywhere is hell. cccvii. ^ The great are discontented with themselves ; The little, with their sphere. CCCVIII. Some seem to have no other creed than this — That God Himself is merely some great If; Heaven, but some dim Perhaps. 64 ^z^hs iDith;0Xtt a (Strinij: CCCIX. Too oft the infidel is base in heart, And therefore warped in intellect : too oft There is a sinister reason in the Hfe, That clouds the understanding. Often thus Is disbelief begotten of dislike, And thus is ignorance sinful. cccx. Live, work, for Jesus : this alone is life, All else is sin, or folly. cccxi. With paltry gold God seldom pays his servants. Heavenly work He pays with heavenly wages. CCCXII. It is a mystery That, wide as sin's vast circle is, on earth. Yet that of suffering is wider still, And overlaps it strangely everywhere ; For ev'n the sinless suffer. CCCXIII. There's much of peril in the storms of life : Its calms — are they less perilous ? §xui ^honQhU on JKang §tibjert0. 65 cccxiv. Life's chequered chapters, while they pass along, Are seldom self-interpreting. We need The light of after-ones to comprehend The bearing and the full significance Of those that went before. We spell them out Far oftener from their footprints than their brow. 'Tis the departing glance of angelhood That makes its presence known, cccxv. Among thy blessings may be poverty. Thou wouldst, perchance, have been a far worse man Hadst thou been richer. cccxvi.' I ENVY less Those old late-sitters at the feast of life, Than them who, their short, plain and hearty meal Quickly discussed, rise from the board betimes With appetite unpalled. CCCXVII. Think not repentance can efiace the past. Christ's blood of course can cleanse the guilt of sin. But ah, the stain, the stain ! F 66 §ztLbQ iuithottt a ^String CCCXVIII. There is a dual nature in our souls, That pulls us different ways : another mind, That with strange contrariety of will. Combats alike our low and soaring thoughts. And neither suffers us to sink or rise. According to our bent. cccxix. Our sorrows are the shadows of our sins. Our disappointments would be few indeed If we had no idolatries of heart. cccxx. Select thy books for mental nourishment, Not mental dissipation. Read to think. Or else thy reading will be little worth. Books are not always blessings. cccxxi. Man's deepest degradation is, conceit ; His greatest dignity, humility. CCCXXII. 'Tis difficult to teach at one's own hearth ; 'Tis hard to find an audience at home. However good the lesson. §xui %houQhU on Jftans §xibj^rt0. 67 CCCXXIII. How little fitted is Christ's orchestra To play acceptably before the world ! Some are unskilled, and so play out of tune, Or, still worse, out of time ; some must, perverse, Handle an instrument unsuitable : Others play solos and fantasias, Instead of the concerted music chos'n. Some can sound nothing but th' eternal a. As though mere unison were harmony. Impatient, some miscount their bars of rest. So few indeed, of all the numerous band, Play with intelligence. So very few Stand in Christ's orchestra, musician-like, One eye attentive to the written score, And one on the Conductor. cccxxiv. Many are world-sick who are not sin-:.ick. Because they're somehow out of love with life, They think, forsooth, they are in love with heaven. cccxxv. In Christ's school The end of teaching should be duteousness ; Learning should lead to living, sermon-seed Grow into deeds. All true discipleship Should culminate in service. 68 §tubs toithawt a (String:: CCCXXVI. Mourn not the loss, fond'parent, of thy child ; An early death may be a priceless boon. Crowned without conflict, safe at once in port, Without the ocean peril — happy they. Who travel thus a shorter road to heaven Than we poor adults can. CCCXXVII. The mass of men drift into their beliefs ; Few think their way to truth. cccxxviii: Whate'er thou doest, do it heartily, If it be worth the doing. Nothing great. Was ever yet coined by Indifference. Half done is undone. cccxxix. Oh could we but live up to our beliefs, Among our aspirations and resolves, Life would not be the wretched thing it is. cccxxx. 'Tis rather feasts than fasts that injure us. 'Tis sloth, not work, that kills so many oflf, In their unripened youth. Hard work, plain fare, 'Tis this that lengthens life, and makes us men. §xxzi '^honQhis on JRang <Sttbj^rt0. 69 cccxxxi. There is a strange transparency in man : His eye, his lip, his every Hneament, Conspire to let his inmost secret out, And blab his hidden nature. Let him mask. And cloak his skulking motives as he may, Yet to his fellows he shall stand revealed, And every fool spell out the mummer's name. Spite of his vizor or his domino. CCCXXXII. Oh that men aimed at greatness in themselves, Rather than their surroundings ! CCCXXXIII. It is the heart, not purse, that makes us rich ; And I should deem myself indeed most poor Were I not richer, with just what I have, Than all earth's gold could make me. CCCXXXIV. God's promises are nuggets, and our faith Should melt and mould them into precious coin For daily joy and use. cccxxxv. Who walks with God will have a lonely path, In spite of all our crowded sanctuaries. 70 §znb0 toith0ttt a (String: cccxxxvi. 'Tis well for us When joy is crystallized to happiness ; Better, when happiness becomes, in turn, A concrete peace. CCCXXXVII. Prone, sinful man, Th' unlovely tenant of this lovely earth. How patient God is with him ! CCCXXXVIII. The worldling's aim Is how to get most pleasure out of life ; The Christian's should be rather how to put Most service into it. cccxxxix. No offering is acceptable to God, Short of a truer and diviner life. CCGXL. The tide in life flows seldom more than once, So coy the maiden, Opportunity. Neglected once, she hotly takes offence, And straight returns no more. ^xid 1^h0ttgkt0 on Jftang <SttbJBct0. 71 CCCXLI. How insignificant that dwarf, / JVzs/i, Beside the man, / IVz// ! Wish looks and longs, Pauses and ponders, sighs and meditates : But Will it is that clutches fast the prize. Wish fingers, all irresolute, the lock ; But Will breaks-in the door. CCCXLII. How few men know their ignorance, or feel How that unfathomed sea of the unknown Washes around their footsteps everywhere ! CCCXLIII. Every life Should rather stand on its subjective base Than its objective apex. It were well If we were greater, though our deeds were less. Than with such lordly aims to be so small. CCCXLIV. What varied motives prompt men's daily acts, And what unworthy ones ! CCCXLV. " No " does not always frown, " Yes " always smile. How wise, how loving, may denials be ! How foolish, acquiescence ! 72 ^eab0 tDxthout a §tnitjj: CCCXLVI. Christ calls his servants " brethren," " friends." ' Our Lord Is no exacting master. Smallest gifts Are oft, in His kind estimation, great : Our willingness, He reckons it as work ; And oftentimes, unheeding the result, ' Lauds our poor puny efforts in His cause, As mightiest achievements. CCCXLVII. 'Tis a sure sign that we are growing old. When the mind wanders back to youthful scenes. And friends around, bent, wizened, and besnowed, Are not as we once knew them. CCCXLVIII. Not only live above the world, but live Above the Christian world, if thou wouldst rise To the high level of a regal life. CCCXLIX. Full many a thing will disappoint thy hope. As, journeying on across this desert world, ■ Thou find'st each spring polluted. But thyself — This will thy chiefest disappointment be, Beside which all is little. §xxzf ^hxrught^ on JEang (Subj^k. 73 CCCL. What a mysterious and confused wail Murmurs beneath those clamorous pealing bells, In spite of all their wild delirious joy ! Such sadness underlies all earthly things, However glad their seeming. CCCLI. God is the great and only alchemist. And will turn all the dross of life to gold. If thou wilt only let Him. CCCLII. How seldom do gold-heapers ask themselves, AVhy, and For whom ? CCCLIII. Though the world tolerates religious truth, 'Tis less from choice than from necessity. It is its physic rather than its food, Endured it may be, but 'tis not enjoyed. CCCLIV. By nature man is Romanist at heart. Prefers objective to subjective life, ('Tis so much easier to do than de,) And hath an instinct in religious things Towards the outward merely. 74 ^zicbs toitk^ttt a ^String;: CCCLV. Men mourn o'er their diseases, but forget They're moral oftener than physical. Consumption, ague, rheumatism, gout, Are far less terrible realities Than passion, envy, pride, and avarice, And similar soul maladies. CCCLVI. The man who is not little to himself Is never truly great. CCCLVI I. The exhortation of a holy life Is always eloquent. Oh to have more Of this persuasive preaching ! cccLVin. A man's a draft. And payable at sight or on demand ; A child is a mere promissory note, Due by-and-bye, and then presentable. CCCLIX. We are not like the sexless angels yet ; So woman is the poetry of man, As man of woman. §xui '^honQhis on JEang <Stibjert5. 75 CCCLX. In the stem plans and purposes of life We promise fair at starting, most of us : But, though we've lusty energy enough, *Tis fitful and impulsive, and the goal Is, after all our efforts, never reached. Oh were there more of plodding patient stuff In our poor gusty natures, were the oar As pleasant as the sail, had we but learned The virtue of that motto — Persevere, How seldom should we have to turn again Unfreighted, unsuccessful ! CCCLXI. It is our worldliness and self That barbs our disappointments. CCCLXII. 'Tis not the palace, but the regal life. That makes a man a king. 'Tis not the crown. But kingliness of nature, is so great, And worthy all ambition. CCCLXIII. Fools seldom anchor, but go cruising on. Aimless and rudderless, across life's sea, • Unheeding whence or whither. CCCLXIV. Keep the King's highway. The divergent path That tempts so wooingly untethered youth, May seem awhile to run quite parallel With the straight road, but presently 'twill lead To tangled mazes and dim labyrinths, And mock at thy return. CCCLXV. The meanest writes his name in God's life-book, And with unfading ink. CCCLXVI. Our possibilities in life are less As we grow older. Youth's the sowing time ; Age, the mere reaping. CCCLXVII. How often riches minify the man, And that which, while 'twas yet but half unveiled. Seemed something noble, proves, when pedestalled, Despite of all its glitter and its glare. But a poor shrivelled pigmy \ CCCLXVIII. Self knowledge is a humbling, saddening thing : Christ knowledge 'tis that hath such leverage For man's prone earth-bound soul. §xid ^honQhis on J^ait^ <SubJ£d0. 77 CCCLXIX. Great men are seldom bom in palaces, Or rocked in silver cradles. They grow great, As gold is purified, in fiirnace-fires, As statues grow beneath the sculptor's hand, Chiselled to greatness. CCCLXX. Live for the mighty future far beyond. More than life's little future. CCCLXXI. He who hath mastered Indolence and Pride Hath overleaped the mightiest barriers Between him and success. CCCLXXII. The sunlight never shines so lustrously As after the black storm has passed away. So, when thou art in trouble, look to God, And joy shall come anon. CCCLXXIII. He who loves gold, loves seldom aught beside ; For misers' hearts are always paralysed To pure unselfish impulses. 78 ^^abs toith^ttt a §tring: CCCLXXIV. The blossom of Success men covet so, Grows from the root of Effort Try, and trust ; The least may be the greatest. Many a man Works to the front, in life's brief fussy play, Or sits astride earth's highest pinnacles. Whose earliest chapters were least promiseful. CCCLXXV. What worthless rotten harvests do men reap, And at what pains, too, in this mocking world ! cccLxxvr. Old age is not the evening of our lives, Rather the mom, for then the dawn is nigh, (If we be Christians worthy of the name,) That will most surely rouze us from life's dream, Into the nightless world. CCCLXXVII.. What high unreached possibilities. What might have been's, like pale accusing ghosts, Swarm, in old age, around us ! CCCLXXVIII. Passion and Pride — those twin disquieters — 'Tis these that make men's lives one long unrest, And rob their souls of peace. §nzf ^hxrtt$ht0 on Jttans gtibjert^. 79 CCCLXXIX. Men are both worse and better than they seem In their objective life. The outer world, With its keen eyes, keeps good and bad in check. The hidden pendulum swings right and left, Far from the centre. CCCLXXX. Rogues, soon or late, will prove themselves but fools. There is most profit, still, in honesty. Fraud seldom pays ; crime, never. CCCLXXXI. Our manhood, if we're men, Should surely be no undiscovered thing : And shall our Christhood, if we're Christians tnie. Be not apparent also ? CCCLXXXII. What a strange madness is in human-kind ! Earth's worst contents men more than Heaven's best. CCCLXXXIII. How fast life's poor card-castles tumble down, Men build with so much pains ! How soon the scenes Hope, that great painter, with such skill portrays, Fade, and for ever ! 8o §znbs toithrjut a §tring: CCCLXXXIV. Sit in Christ's school, yet get in harness too : Thy leader, as thy Teacher, He should be. I would a servant also be to Him, Not a disciple merely. Learn — 'tis well ; But ah, to serve is better. CCCLXXXV. Could we but roll our many little cares Into one great care for our deathless souls. How well it would be for us ! CCCLXXXVI. How little are our hearts attuned to praise, Our tongues to thankful utterance ! CCCLXXXVII. Thank God for litde children, most of all. The young to-morrows of this wrinkling world, The blest To-be's of all earth's weary past. What would life be without the prattling child ? CCCLXXXVIII. Our manhood is not ripened in a day. Still less our Christhood. Not till the seed-coin Withers below, and hastens to its dust, Doth the brown lusty ear expand above, Fit for the sickle. §xxd %houQhisi on JEang <SubJKt0. 8i CCCLXXXIX, Our earthly hopes and fears Are strangely monstrous shadows, when compared With the poor shrivelled unsubstantial things That do so often cause them. cccxc. How" lying and how insincere men are In much that they call prayer ! cccxci. Our nature is abysmal, cavernous : There is in us a hollo wn ess of soul, That nought but Christ can fill, CCCXCII. The covetous plans out a pyramid That hath no apex. CCCXCIII. In Hfe How much the kow is greater than the where! Men may live kingly lives in pauper homes, And pauper lives in kingly palaces. cccxciv. What a disturber of our peace is Pride ! What a sweet hushing nurse, Humility ! 82 §z-abQ loxihoxd a <Stnng: cccxcv. Take, for thy chart, the Bible ; steer for heaven ; Let the Lord Jesus be thy man at th' wheel. And prayer caulk every seam ; lest thou shouldst be Like to so many an ill-conditioned barque, With unshipped rudder drifting aimless on. Across life's perilous sea. cccxcvi. Supremely happy, yet intensely sad — Such is the Christian life. CCCXCVII. The great and glorious^prophecy of life Is never perfectly fulfilled on earth. By ev'n the noblest of us. CCCXCVIII. We all go down to death in single file, Live as we may in crowds. cccxcix. How strangely age doth minify this world ; And belying things, that mocked our dreaming youth, Collapse and shrivel with our added years, To puny, dwarfed, lean realities ! §txti ^h:0«0ht3 on JEang gnbjerts. S^ cccc. 'Tis what men have, not are, that makes them great In the world's estimation. Its salaam Is less for merit than prosperity. Tis not the man, but the mere pedestal. Men so devoutly honour. cccci. Prayer — ^let it be the utterance of thy Hfe, As well as of thy lip. Thy daily act, Also thy hourly habit. CCCCII. How great the riches of our poorest days ! The poverty, too, of our richest ones ! CCCCIII. 'Tis wise and best, In all grave matters, to distrust thy heart : But take deliberate counsel of thy head, That feeling do not fool thee. cccciv. Although the oarsman looks horizon-ward, He pulls towards the shore. How many thus Who by their attitude seem bound for heaven, May but be rowing hell-ward, after all. In spite of all their seeming ! 84 ^tnbs toithout a §tring: ccccv. Nature abhors all angularities : Roundness is her perfection. So with man — His daily sufferings and endurances, The weary tedious wear-and-tear of life — All have a meaning and philosophy ; His rough and rugged manhood needeth them, To form his nature to a perfect shape, And mould him into godhood. ccccvi. Death, the deaf angel, is as deaf as Time, Who neither heeds nor hears the clamouring crowd That bids him stop or hasten. CCCCVII. It is prosperity that, after all. Takes the true measure of a man. The dwarfed, Aye, the deformed, pass muster in a crowd. But, when raised high upon a pedestal. How few can boast proportion, comeliness, To bear the stem ordeal ! CCCCVIII. Chafe not at winter weather. For our good The circHng seasons work harmonious. The tempest also, and the frost and hail, Are needful to the harvest. §xui ^hxrwjjht^ on Jtlang §tibjti:t0. 85 ccccix. Though psalmless man be dumb, God hath his dual choir that never sleeps. Alternate Summer, Winter ; Day and Night ; Spring,*Autumn ; Evening, Morning ; praise Him still, Antiphonal, unending. ccccx. Beware of levity in sacred things. In all thy thoughts be humbly reverent, Unbonneted, unsandaled. ccccxi. How sweet the human voice is ! I have heard Such gentle speech in woman, soft and kind, It was itself a song : so sweet and low. It seemed a whisper from the upper world. Rather than earthly utterance. CCCCXII. Repine not, if the steerage be thy lot In life's stern voyage : it was also His Who bled and died to save us. CCCCXII I. Earn money as thou canst, but do not live Merely to grow it, as the usurer doth. 86 §tw^si ioxihovit a ^String: ccccxiv. Age hath its special pleasures to the good, And its advantages. To have outlived The base emasculating tyranny Of youth's imperious passions, — to have won .A higher and serener vantage ground, — To have at last appraised at their true worth Earth's poor unkernelled pleasures, — ;to have found A breathing landing-place on life's steep stairs, — To have attained a heavenlier certainty, A surer faith in the invisible, A wisdom more concrete and practical, A riper and more Christian-like manliness, — This is no mean prerogative. ccccxv. • The Devil has for every sin a mask, Aye, and a cloak besides. ccccxvi. How much of this poor world's humanity, Aye, the correct, less vulgar part of it. Must be, to angel eyes, mere human sponge, Great, and great only, in absorbing gold ! ccccxvii. The worldling, when he carps at Christian lives, Means often. Christian life. §xxtf ^hoxiQhis on JEang gubj^tt^. 87 CCCCXVIII. Rules never made great men. True genius Works by no earthly pattern, but throws down Its heaven-inspired idea to the crowd, Leaving to lesser men to analyze. And guess how it was wrought. ccccxix. The roots of sin — They may be withered, but are never dead, Ev'n in the saintliest. ccccxx. The pride of day, the jewelry of night. The grand mysterious beauty of the sea, The startling magic greenery of spring — How wondrous fair God's world is ! ccccxxi. There's nothing doth so steriHze our souls, As the entangling care for this poor world, And hungering for its smile. CCCCXXII. There is a devilry in all of us. That is not to be exorcised by man. 'Tis Christ alone can save us from ourselves, And dispossess the Fiend. 88 §ztcbsi toithmit a gtrittg: CCCCXXIII, Who can tell What shape to-morrow's pattern may assume In life's kaleidoscope ? The evening ev'n Doth oft belie the morning's prophecy : Such strange mysterious uncertainty There is in all things here. ccccxxiv. There's a strange revelation in a smile. A fool laughs always, much, and everywhere : A wise man, little, rarely. ccccxxv. Dead opportunities, decaying hopes, The pallid blossoms of a thousand things That, in the bud, once seemed so promiseful — Such is the thoughtful man's experience Of this poor passing life. ccccxxvi. They little think, who envy wealthy men, What heart-aches hourly breed from this same gold. The fragile chest, the doubtful title-deed. The anxious rent-roll ; actions, trespasses, Untrusty stewards, lawyers, mortgages, — These are dark shadows that surround rich men, Despite the sunlight of appearances. CCCCXXVII. The complex lesser wheels of Providence Do often seem to move contrariwise : And yet 'tis but a seeming. Every one Doth work together with intelligence, And one almigTity purpose. CCCCXXVIII. In unessential things be tolerant. All things in nature surely are not made After the loveliest pattern. ccccxxix. Content is no mean coin To pay God's mercies with. A psalmful heart, Brimmed with thanksgiving, is a nobler thing Than all mere outward worship. ccccxxx. God does not give us strength before the day, But merely yi7r it. ccccxxxi. We should know more, in spiritual things. Were we but humbler and more teachable : But self-sufficient man still fondly gropes With his poor reason lamp. 90 IpeabsJ iDttkxrut a <Strtttjj: CCCCXXXII. Content ! 'Tis he that hath the magic wand ; All other magi are but fools to him. Who but himself can conjure a poor field Into a vast estate, change the mean coin Into a fortune by his alchemy ; Transform the morsel into a full feast, And make a tent a temple ? CCCCXXXIII. They shall not need who fear and trust the Lord, However worldlings may. ccccxxxiv. Don't hear and see with others' ears and eyes, But with thine own, as every true man should. Care less for what thy neighbour thinks of thee, Than what thy duty is. ccccxxxv. The eye may be as vocal as the lip, A look have utterance deeper ev'n than words. A glance is love's best tell-tale. ccccxxxvi. How can it be. But Speech must be an ill-conditioned child, If Thought be not its father ? §xxzi '^krrtiijht^ on JEang §ub jert^. 91 CCCCXXXVII. How very difficult it is to raise Poor prone humanity to higher aims I Even the lesser altitude of mind, Much more the higher altitude of soul, Is an achievement scarcely to be hoped For most of those around us. CCCCXXXVIII. How men's J>er/iapses, i/s, and by-and-byes^ Languid resolves and feeble purposes, Cheat them of peace and blessing ! ccccxxxix. He who contends most lovingly for truth. Is its best champion. CCCCXL. Learn to look underneath the rind of things. Lest the veneer deceive thee to thy cost. The fairest apple rarely is the best. The fine bird seldom sings. CCCCXLI. Time-wasting is, perhaps, The commonest form of prodigality. And the least censured too. 92 ^eabg toith;0ttt a (String: CCCCXLII. Life is to us Just what we are to it. We must ourselves, Each with his individual figure too, — (It is the integer that makes the sum,) — Prefix the worthless noughts of our poor lives, Or small will be the total. CCCCXLIII. If he who walks with wise men shall be wise. How much more certainly shall he be wise. Who walks with th' all-wise God ! CCCCXLIV. Many there are who die ungarlanded, Kept back from duty by humility. How many more earn but a wreath of shame. By sitting down complacent in a seat That they were never meant for ! CCCCXLV. Alas that life Should be to most a restless dreamful night, Of sad awaking presently. CCCCXLVI. Our moral nature — how it underlies Our boasted light and reason ! §xxd ^k0Uijht0 011 JEang gwbj^rts. 93 CCCCXLVII. We have strange tell-tale natures, all of us, Ready to blurt out our most hidden thoughts And photograph the passing dreams within. Our gestures, features, aye, our very tones. Are revelations of the inner man. Ev'n the nail upon the finger-end Shall be indicative of character. CCCCXLVII I. Hopes may be full as perilous as fears : And the loved thing we've prayed and waited for, May work more evil to us, in the end. Than all we so much dreaded. CCCCXLIX. Choose early some great purpose for thy life, And persevere in it ; some queenly love That shall eclipse all rivals ; some high guest That shall hive every petty wandering thought, And focus thy affections. CCCCL. Small natures are their own divinities ; They dream of nothing greater than themselves. So seek no other god. But, with the great. They ev'n disown the godhood that they have, And feel about the universe for One Whom they may know and worship. 94 ^znbs toithrrttt a §tnnij: CCCCLI. Like thoughtless boys, We build our little sand-hills on the beach, — Ambition, honour, wealth, whate'er they be,— And, while we think them everlasting ones, Th' unceremonious tide comes roaring in. And savagely the ruffian curling wave Doth level them for ever. CCCCLII. Hope not too much from earth : Life's very joy-bells ring a muffled peal, And what is fair, first fades. CCCCLIII. God sometimes leaves the wicked man alone. And lets the leaven of his wickedness Work in his life its natural results, That all may see and ponder. CCCCLIV. Great natures are their own society. The heavenly mind finds neither loneliness In solitude, nor company in crowds. CCCCLV. Look, when thou seest th' over-studied dress, For the unstudied heart §xid ^houQhU on JEang <Sttbjat0. 95 CCCCLVI. Wince not beneath thy Father's sculptor hand. The iron may not dream to be a sword Unless content to bear full many a blow. It must be crushed and smelted, sharpened, ground. Before it hath a temper and a shape Fit for the warrior's use. CCCCLVII. Poor man's "opinions," and his proud " I think," — My soul is weary of them. Let me know Rather what God thinks, what the Bible says. CCCCLVIII. It is not money, but the love of it, That works men so much harm. So, 'tis not dress, But the base abject passion for display, That makes such wide soul-ruin. CCCCLIX. Successful ends can scarcely be secured, Except by wise beginnings. CCCCLX. Life's morning should be spent in work, not dreams, Or sad indeed will be its afternoon. And sadder still its evening. 96 §ztib& ioitkotit a (Striuij: CCCCLXI, We sometimes weary at the tedious length Of life's rough path, and think we could devise A shorter, straighter road. And yet how oft The safest footway to the mountain-top Is some circuitous and zigzag path That winds around the base ! CCCCLXII. Our patience is the measure of our faith : He, only, prays, who trusts. CCCCLXIII. Have always some grave business on hand, Or some absorbing study. Busy men Are far less tempted than the unemployed ; And nothing speeds the hours so pleasantly As thorough occupatioru CCCCLXIV. Live not within the shadow of thy fears ; Rather, within the halo of thy hopes. CCCCLXV. Prayer uttered is not ended. It should wait In patient posture of expectancy, Still lingering for the answer. It should watch With a God-honouring persistency. And with a child-like confidence. ^xid ^h0tt9ltt0 on JEaug (Sttbj^rts. 97 CCCCLXVI. God bids thee be a man, a Christian man : Aim, then, at nothing less. A pigmy growth Is not what God would have for thy great soul. Babehood is good, but 'tis a monstrous thing, To be a child when childhood's years are past. Grow, therefore, heavenward. Christian life is good ; But Christian manhood, better. CCCCLXVII. What wondrous glory must there be in heaven - Heaven, the child-world, where child-life never wanes Into degenerate manhood ! CCCCLXVIII. Truth is not always spoken lovingly. Be tender of men's prejudices, wise In combating the false. The honied word Shall often have more sweet convincing power, Than all the logic of the sternest truth . Clothed in unlovely speech. CCCCLXIX. Tell not thy secret to a prating fool, For the tongued threshold-wearer presently Will travail with it, and will never rest Till he hath born it somewhere. H 98 g^a!b0 toithottt a (String: CCCCLXX. Man's nature, polish it howe'er we may, Is nought to boast of, and God oftentimes Reveals the common deal that underHes Its vaunted rosewood and mahogany, In a most startling fashion. CCCCLXXI. 'Tis not so much the evil we have done. As 'tis the good left undone. CCCCLXXII. The really great Rather avoid, than seek, the pedestal. It is the little that do hunger so For leverage and distinction. » CCCCLXXIII. Oh the sad harlotry of heart to Christ, The whoredom, the concubinage of soul, In ev'n the heavenliest of us ! CCCCLXXIV. The feminizing influence of ease — How it emasculates the miser's son. And robs him of the noble energies That poorer men possess ! §xui ^hnxi0ht;5 on JEaits <Stib3ed0. 99 CCCCLXXV. We cannot always choose our company At life's long festive board, but, numbered guests, We each of us have our appointed place In the prim row. Oh how we often long To sit beside yon pleasant sparkling friend The other side the table ! All in vain : We still must listen, with dissembled grace, To the flat dulness and the aimless jokes Of him who sits beside us. CCCCLXXVI. The rogue is always, soon or late, the fool ; And vice pays oft the double penalty — Remorse and punishment. CCCCLXXVII. Like sunlit cliffs beheld afar at sea, So does the good man glimpses catch of heaven. CCCCLXXVIII. All real lives are resurrection ones. And no man truly lives till he has lived To bury his first self. CCCCLXXIX. He is at best a doubtful worshipper Who has to seek a temple. loo §tnhs toithout a <String:: CCCCLXXX. God hath his plan and purjjose in the world, Aye, and will work them out. This long delay, This complex mass of seeming uselessness, This tangled skein of jarring contraries, These adverse cogs, antagonistic wheels. This dust and whirring din — none, none, is vain ; But progress, triumph, meaningful results. Great worthy ends, still underlie them all. And presently the pattern shall grow out. And ev'n the dull shall spell, in words of light, "Love, Wisdom, Mercy." CCCCLXXXI. Chafe not at God. The way He deals with thee Is wisest, kindest, best. Seek, thou, the grace — That rare, ripe grace of Christian quietness, And learn to make God's blessed will thy choice, Whate'er He doeth with thee. CCCCLXXXI I. The pleasure we derive from earthly things Is less in the possession than pursuit. It is the chase that so exhilarates : But, once o'ertook, th' enchantment is dissolved ; The brightest butterfly no more than dust, When once we've clutched it. §xxzf ^h0tig;ht0 on Jttmts gubjert^. loi CCCCLXXXIII. Men are like money. Some almost conceal, Like ill-writ cheques, the value they are of : Others are drafts, of value presently. Some cheat the eye, and hide their worthlesness Behind a gHttering seeming. Scarcer, some Are mere medallic, more for show than use, Too finished and refined for daily wear. The mass are baser metal, little worth ; The vulgar copper of humanity. CCCCLXXXIV. As the tree leans, it probably will fall : So with the human soul. Our sapling youth Once passed, we lean to either heaven or hell. CCCCLXXXV- NoT 7e/Mf I may^ but rather what I ought, Should be the Christian's motto. CCCCLXXXVI. Self is a pauper, that has nought to give ; But Self-denial always has a mite For his poor brother's need. CCCCLXXXVII. Oh that the tongue were truthful as the eye, And the false heart as guileless ! §fabB toitkout a gtring:: CCCCLXXXVIII. 'Tis weary work — the living in this world, Unless we live above it : weary work, If we have aims no higher than success, A mansion, grandeur, station, equipage. And all the trappings of " society." CCCCLXXXIX. This life is merely an unfinished song, A marvellous symphony, or overture, Stopped short at its beginning. ccccxc. God gives with greatest prodigality. But nothing wastes. Wherever, in His works, There is the most apparent wastefulness. There is most strict economy. ccccxci. We live in crowds. But the great battles — death and suffering — We must all fight alone. ccccxcii. Teach thy tongue The difficult rare art of reticence. Speech sometimes shames the very wisest men How rarely, silence ! §xxd ^houQhU on Jttang <Stibjert0. 103 ccccxcm. Ride buoyant o'er thy troubles, and thyself Shall be the stronger for them ; but beware Lest the rough sea of care around thy barque Once enter in, and sink thee. Ride it on. Aye, ride it out, with confidence and hope, For fear is weakness, ruin. Prayer is good, But trustfulness is better. ccccxciv. God will the Holy Spirit give, Christ says. To them that ask Him. What a challenge this ! And how it leaves us all without excuse. If, through our pride, indifference, or dislike, We miss the priceless blessing ! ccccxcv. Fools may be throned, and imbeciles may reign ; But Thoughtland's the true kingdom, after all. Thinkers alone are kings. ccccxcvi. True power Cares not to stretch to its circumference. But, well within its possibilities. Does rather what it ought than what it can. A giant's strength is best exhibited In what it leaves undone. I04 ^fccbs toithoxtt a (String CCCCXCVII. True piety, Devotion and devotedness, God-love, Are, notwithstanding our pretentiousness, As rare as ever in this world of ours. The oil-less lamp of mere religiousness Suffices with the most. CCCCXCVIII. A GOOD man's words Are the least portion of his influence : Himself is his chief utterance. ccccxcix. Alas, alas for these degenerate days ! We are so zealous in our love of truth , That we forget, or do not care to know, What truth there is in love. D. Desert is the best, truest dignity, And, after all, where sits the greatest man. There is the head o' th' table. DI. The truly great Do ev'n the little greatly : lesser men Do dwarf and minify the greatest things They put their puny hands to. ^rtef ^It0urjht0 on JEaitg §ub jertef. 105 DII. There's nothing half so humbling to a man As to look round upon the shrivelled buds Of immature resolves, that bellied out In the warm, generous spring-time of his youth, But fell around his footsteps presently, Abortive and unripened. Dili. We might as reasonably hasp the door When robbers are abroad, as strive, ourselves, To sentinel, unaided, our poor hearts. Unless God also guard us. DIV. Truth, in this cold and unpropitious world, Hath but an unobserved and sluggish growth ; But lies grow walliing. DV. Power is unfit for men. Let us thank God That He alone is ruler, and hath given So little power, and for so short a time. To tyrant man. DVI. There is no loss a man can have so great As an unmothered childhood. io6 ^ttibis toithottt a .String: DVII. How many a dress, to an observant eye, Betokens pride and vanity ! Alas, How many a silk and satin hath a tongue That doth accuse its wearer ! Dullest eyes Forget the finery while they loathe the pride ; And that which often costs such time and pains Becomes the badge of worldliness and shame ; No wonder the wife-seeker passes by The millinery sham, the heartless doll. That apes the name of woman. DVIII. One now is worth a hundred presently s ; One try^ a thousand canHs. 'Tis try and now That make your laurelled and world-famous men, Not canHs and by-and-byes. i DIX. Be humble, proud one, whosoe'er thou art, Nor, though thou cast thy shadow far, forget Thy native quarry. Thou mayst glare awhile, Eclipsing all around, but Death, ere long. Will snuff thee out; remorseless. DX. The chapters of our lives are few and brief, Yet are they long enough to show, in most, The heaven or hell within us. gxizi ^houQhU on JKan^ (Subjert^. 107 DXI. Call not him rich who boasts a large estate, And plenteous store of gold. But rather him, Who, when sharp sickness comes, can soothe himself With comfortable thoughts ; in lonely hours Can be his own companion ; who, in loss. Anxiety, bereavement, trouble, pain. Still finds within him that deep joy and peace The world can neither give nor take away. DXII. Oh what long roots hath avarice ! I have seen The drunkard loathe and leave his damning drink, The profligate become most chaste, the proud Humble as childhood, — but who ever saw The miser hate his avarice, and cease To worship his god. Gold ? DXIII. How healthful and medicinal is work, Compared with indolence ! The labourer. Ruddy and bronzed as a pomegranate is. After the kissing of a hundred suns. Hath manhood far superior to his Who, pallid and emasculate with ease. Would shirk the toil that all were meant to share, As in a common blessedness. io8 §fati& toith0tit a gtrittij: DXIV. Turn* not thy face from any poor man's prayer, However poor thyself. Hear out his tale, With sympathising look and patient ear. A loving word, ev'n, is a priceless thing. And wise advice may prove a leverage For all his after-life. This, though nought else, If heart and tongue be right, thou canst afford ; And give it, like a brother and a man. Kindly and lovingly. DXV. Lie not at anchor when the wind is fair. And the tide flowing. Life soon ebbs away. What is worth doing should be done at once, For opportunity may ne'er return. And presently mean never. DXVI. The blurs and bungles of this blotted life Are, most of them, our own. Yet, after all. Perhaps far more than we are apt to think, Its chapters are writ for us. DXVII. God mercifully puts in no man's hand The programme of his life ; in no man's liand The future chapters of his history. ^rief i:h0UQh;t0 on JRang <Stibj^rt0. 109 DXVIII. How very little, after all, we know. Of those we know the best ! Their voice and form, Their manner, bearing, features, character. Are known, and well remembered. But beyond — The lights and shadows of their inner life. Their aspirations, hopes, ambitions, fears, Their conflicts, perils, triumphs, scars, defeats, Who knows, or e'en can guess ? The outer man May be both measured and daguerreotyped. But who shall paint for us the inner man ? Heart history is unwritten. DXIX. Silence is often truest eloquence. Aye, ev'n in prayer. How many unworded prayers. Like Hannah's, rise to heaven ! The father marks Far more his child's beseeching earnest looks, Than its best-chosen words. DXX. Did we but face our blessings ere they turn Their hasty feet to leave us, did we count Rather what God hath given us than withheld, (Content to starve our wants down to our needs,) — Oh were we able to perform but this — What a long Easter might this poor life be ! no §tnhs ixiiihoni a (String;: DXXI. Oh what a hell this earth would soon become, But for Christ's people in it ! Laws would fail, But that there is a sin-subduing power Given to the good, before which bad men shrink ; A magistracy of religiousness, That awes the bad into a purer life, The lawless into peace. DXXI I. There are few things but are prophetical. The very egg in yonder mossy nest Doth indicate the habits of the bird That presently will tenant it. DXXIIL. It is not singing psalms, but being one, Is music in God's ear. Not only lips. But also lives, must swell the hymn of praise, Or vain the song. To be true worshippers. We must, ourselves, be temples. DXXIV. How very few would care to reckon up, Beside the yearly wealth God gives to them, The gold they give to God ; or chronicle Their gifts against their gains ! §xxd ^h0ugkt0 on JEang §tibj^d)3. m DXXV. How much of unreality there is In our reHgious things ! Our formal prayers, Our unknit resolutions, our sham hymns, Our make-believe contempt of worldly things — These are a few of the hypocrisies That shame, or rather ought to shame, ourselves, And so much stumble others. DXXVI. In many things How differently should we calculate, If 'twere God's abacus we reckoned with ! We ne'er so truly get as when we give ; Nor lose, as when we churlishly withhold. DXXVII. Life's pathway narrows as we travel on, Till we no longer walk in crowds abreast. But tread a lonelier path, until we reach The dim defile of death. DXXVIII. Early decide for God. Take a "through" ticket on the line of life ; Book for no station short of Christ and heaven. This will add safety, peace, and pleasantness, To all the journey. 112 §zi$ih& ^iihoni a string: DXXIX. Though saints be beggars, scoffers millionaires. Pause ere thou judgest. God hath further acts In His great play. The transformation scene Shall presently be played before thine eyes. Now is the Christian's worst, the worldling's best ; Then^ all things shall be righted. DXXX. 'Tis something to know well what we can do ; More, what we cannot ; and to place sometimes Our caiits against our cans. DXXXI. Satan is very rich in counterfeits, And his bad money passes with the crowd As God's own precious mintage. With the mass Error is truth. DXXXII. The Bible, how it lifts man's earth-bound soul From the mere human up to the divine, And sets him face to face with Deity ! Dxxxni. Bad as they are, yet swinish sins, in men, May not be worst and basest, after all : How many who would scorn to play the beast, Play, without shame, the devil ! §xizf ^h;0U0ht0 on JEang gnbjert^. 113 DXXXIV. Be not dismayed at present ill success : Failure is oft the very pediment Of huge successes ; and defeat itself, If not a sure, a hopeful augury Of victory by-and-bye. DXXXV. What a momentous lever gold may be, Used by a giver, open-handed, wise ! The giving is a covetable power, More even than the getting. DXXXVI. God works in silence, and the quietest May have a mission and a ministry Far, far beyond the noisiest. DXXXVII. Man, That knot of devilry and angelhood. Is in his complex nature understood. And only so, by God. DXXXVIII. Beg not, nor borrow : cheerfully content To earn whate'er thou needest. Borrowing Is but a beggar's trade. 1 114 ^eabs iuithout a §tring: DXXXIX. All things have their own orbit, outside which They are impertinent, ridiculous. The moon is peerless while she shines at night ; But what a faded shabbiness she has, When, in the southern sky, she lingers still Beyond the rosy dawn ! The queenly swan Is graceful, mirrored on the waveless lake ; But when she quits it for the grassy lawn, What an ungainly waddler ! DXL. There's no such way of lightening thine own load As helping thy poor brother. Neighbour-help Is truest self-help. DXLI. The greatest man Is always, in the world's false balance, he Who hath most wealth and power. In angel eyes He rather, howsoever mean and low, Whose every pulse is love, and every aim Kernelled with highest motive. DXLII. It is not always that your reader thinks : Not only without thinking do men read, But ah, how oft to save themselves from thouo^ht ! ^xxd ^houoihisi on JKang (Sttbj^diSf. 115 DXLIIT. " And this is life — Hewing with sweat our tedious daily path Through all perplexing and opposing things, And watching hourly our poor budding hopes, That, after all, watch, tend them as we may, Will never, never blossom !" Patience, friend ; This little span is not the all of life, 'Tis but life's trial month ; and these short pains, These vexing ills and contrarieties, The wholesome air and needful exercise For our degenerate natures. DXLIV. Hope hath no autumn in this blighting world : Joy buds, but scarcely blossoms. DXLV. Precocious things are often shortest-lived : The leaves that earliest greet us in the spring, Are first to fade in autumn. DXLVI. The Christian's life should not be negative, But full of all benign activities. As was the Master's : full of loving deeds. As well as holy thoughts. ii6 §zvibs toithout n (Sttittg: DXLVII. There are unbranded fashionable sins, Too rife and rank among us. Drunkenness, The oath, the theft, the blasphemy, the lie, Are hated and denounced. But who will rise Against the fatal passion for display, The getting, spending madness of the age. The mean prostration of both mind and soul To worldliness and mammon ? DXLVIII. The purity of childhood is but this — The innocence of mere necessity : But old age may be still more beautiful. Pure with the better innocence of choice. I DXLIX. Seek to add patience, brother, to thy faith. Trusting is more than praying, after all ; And waiting, more than either. DL. Be firm in act, but gentle in thy speech. The kind command ensures obedience. Such wondrous power there is in quiet words. Such strange persuasiveness in loving looks. §xxd ^hoitght0 on Jftang §ubjed0. 117 DLL Ah, if we were unable to rebel, How worthless were obedience ! / musf Is always valueless beside / wi//. A prisoner's honesty is little worth, Nor a slave's service either. DLIL Reason not, In order to believe : rather believe, That thou mayst rightly reason. DLIIL 'Tis better far to educate the tongue To kindness, wisdom, and wise reticence. Than idly waste its capabilities In senseless volubility. DLIV. Beware of angry words. How oft a word is father of a blow. Or herald of a murder ! DLV. Real power Is always tranquil, placid, silent, calm. 'Tis feebleness that makes such fussy noise. The great are always quiet. ii8 §znl:i& luith^tit a §trhtg: DLVI. Flowers are not only fair and beauteous things, But cheering and ennobhng. Art thou dull ? They will rebuke thy sadness with their smile. Vain, art thou ? See how meekly, modestly, They wear their beauty. I would put a flower In every poor man's window, that should be A sunshine and a lever to his soul. Whispering of God and heaven. DLVI I. A LITTLE thing may shut out from the eye The great bright world around. So, smallest sins, Nursed and unchecked, may darken all the soul To truth, and Christ, and heaven. DLVIII. There's always something in this present life Diagonal and sinister. DLIX. Believe, believe. How dar'st thou pray, and pray. That God would save thy soul ? How dar'st thou pray, When He so long hath ofl"ered thee the gift, And offered it in vain ? Accept at once ; No longer mock thyself, thy soul, thy God. Believe, receive, be happy. §xizi ^k^xtgltts on J^ang §ttbjertsj. 119 DLX. How fair is life when, first beheld afar, It lies in calm blue beauty at the feet Of inexperienced youth ! How different, When Time has pushed us, on the beach below, Among the boulders and the jagged rocks, The weary shingle and the hoarse rough surf. And we are called to breast, and buffet too, The threatening waves around us ! DLXI. How rarely is gold-hunger satisfied ! Much craves for more, and more again for most. Contentment's the true rent-roll to a man. Far above gold or acres. DLXII. The lava stream that down the mountain glides, Doth not more surely indicate the fire. The fierce volcanic fire, that burns below, Than doth the daily life of sinful men The wicked heart within. DLXIII. In spiritual things We are mere human windfalls, most of us. There's such a sour unripeness in our souls. §Zitbi5 toith0tit a cString; DLXIV. The gloom that gathers round some haunted house On autumn eves ; the silence almost heard, That fills the chamber where the dead man lies — Are not more awe-inspiring to my mind, Than Nature, in her grand and quiet moods. Far from the haunts of men. DLXV. With the mass of men, 'Tis not the fear of God that shapes their lives, Much less the love of Christ. DLXVI. The hour of trouble oft strikes suddenly, Without a note of warning. Unlike things That fling their shadows forward ere they come, It oftentimes unheralded appears ; Like showers that fall from out a summer sky, We scarce conjecture whence. DLXVII. Continuous years of grovelling worldliness, Unsanctified by either prayer or psalm, — This is the damning sin of many a -man Who fancies himself better than the most, Because less grossly wicked. §xxd "^hoxxQhU on JB^ang <SubJ£ctsf. 121 DLXVIII. God works preventively ; and oftentimes, When we are searching, in our ignorance, To find, perchance, the wherefore and the why Of some mysterious trouble, we might seek More wisely, in some future threatening sin. Than in some past transgression. DLXIX. There is no money, after all, so sweet As that a man hath earned for himself ; Nor any half so perilous, as that Which others have earned for him. DLXX. Beware of little sins. How very small a cloud may hide the sun, And darken all the welkin ! DLXXI. The sour and bitter tilth of our to-days Is but the sowing of our yesterdays. DLXXII. Let me have Enough of Christ in me to make a heaven. And I shall scarcely miss of happiness, Whatever my surroundings. §z:iibs toithmtt a (String: DLXXIII. 'Tis something, certainly, when men can learn To live a life of duty : how much more, To live a life of love ! Love, after all, Lives at divinest altitude : all else. Even the peaks of duty, are but low. Duty is calculating, negative ; But love hath highest, truest impulses : This is the motive power of noblest acts. The motto, ev'n of duty, is but Ought ; Must is love's watchword. DLXXIV. It is a blatant fussy age in which we live. Seldom alone, strangers to our own selves, There is no wholesome quiet in our lives. DLXXV. The meanest Christians are pontifical, Though mitreless, uncroziered. They are priests. As certainly as Aaron was of old, Howe'er the unbelieving World may doubt Their office and credentials. DLXXVI. Their dress, their diet, and their domicile, Are the three sides of the poor triangle Within which most men live. §xid ^houQhisf on J^aug (SubjedsJ. 123 DLXXVII. 'Tis no light tyranny, That of a young and pleasure-loving wife, Over a senile husband. Even worse, That of a petted and rebelHous son, Over a doting mother. Worst of all. That of a servant whom long servitude Hath made a sheer necessity. DLXXVIII. Of all man's worldly habits, money-love Is hardest to be rooted up. Alas, How very seldom does the miser break Through his cocoon of gold ! DLXXIX. No feeling more delicious, probably, Have we in life, than that experienced When, worn and weary, lying down at eve. We glide across the bridge of consciousness Into the dim weird border-land of sleep. DLXXX. Instinct, too, should speak. Sometimes, as well as reason. What we feel May sometimes be as true as what we think. And lead to truer issues. 124 ^ttibsi tMJthxrnt a gtrinij: DLXXXI. Peace is no babe of characterless sires, But, born of stern and iron parentage. The child of mental struggle and heart-wear. Like th' impetuous torrent of the hills, It hath its source among the dizzy crags, And fights its way around a hundred rocks, Before it settles down to the still lake. Men envy and admire. DLXXXII. 'Tis most anomalous That Christians should be joyless, dull, and sour ; And yet some make their lives a gloomy Lent, Instead of a glad Easter. DLXXXIII. Youth, full of struggles, hath the power t' enjoy. But ah, it lacks the means. Age, prosperous. At length hath got the means, but ah, so late, The power is now departed. Such is life, So mocking and deceitful. DLXXXIV. If half the wrangling about Christian truth. Were aspirations after Christian life. Or ev'n endeavours after Christian love, How different both the world and church would be ! §xuf ^houQhis on JKan^ §ttbj^d0. 125 DLXXXV. This present life Is but the dressing-up behind the scenes For the great drama to be played anon Before the footlights. The grand mustering, In earth's dim crypt, to try the surplice on, Before the choral gathering above. DLXXXVI. Our gifts should^be symmetric with our means, — Neither beyond, nor less. DLXXXVII. God only strikes to shape and perfect us : Suffering itself is but His sculptor hand, Impatient of our mean amorphous shape, And chiselling us to beauty. DLXXXVIII. Man is too noble and too vast a barque To ride on this poor shallow pool — the world, Howe'er he tries to do so. • DLXXXIX. What is worth doing begin now, to-day ; What is not worthy, never. Life is short, Too short, alas, to trifle with the good, Or entertain the bad. 126 §fah0 \3)xi\iont a §trtng: DXC. Oh sanctify the chapters of thy life With no unworthy purpose. Meaningless As is the babble of the silver brook In the dark lonely forest — such, alas, Is the poor Hfe of most. DXCI. How oft bad lives begin With the one sin of sabbath disrespect ! DXCII. True gentility, Though beautiful exceedingly, is rare, Because refinement must be in the man, Not merely in the manner. DXCIII. How strangely credulous is unbelief ! Rejecting the improbable, forsooth. It swallows the impossible. DXCIV. Our wants soon make us poor. A man is never truly rich but once — When, as a lad, he for the first time has A silver shilling all his own, his own, And, scarce knows how to spend it. gxxzi '^honQhts on JEang <Subjcct)5. 127 DXCV. The steely moon shines out upon the sky, Thqugh the red sun goes down. The sentry stars Peer, one by one, to watch the rosy clouds Dissolve away in the young night's green west. So, whatsoe'er is gone, whate'er we mourn. There's always present beauty, present good. To comfort and to cheer us. DXCVI. God is, — is the best faith of this poor world : God is my Father — is the Christian's faith. DXCVI I. If age hath not youth's power and energy, It hath at least the gain of rest and peace. To have outlived the passions of one's youth. Its sexual disquiet and unrest, Is no mean blessing. DXCVIII. The burying their opportunities Seems all the work that some men care to do. DXCIX. Christ is the light, the sun, of this poor world ; And he who turns his back upon this light, Must needs grope on in darkness. 128 ^znlbs toithxrut a firing: DC. If thou art searching to find real men, Seek them among the busy and the poor, Rather than 'mong the rich and indolent. The likeliest man to help thee in thy need, Is he who hath but little for himself; The likeliest man to help thee in thy toil He who already hath too much to do. DCI. There's nothing in this world, However harsh and dissonant in name, (Loss, poverty, bereavement, sickness, pain,) But hath some blessed ministry to us, If we are but God's children. DCII. Look up, poor drooping Christian, hopefully : The sorry bud of this poor life of thine Shall flower in glory yet. DCIII. What little good there is in most of us We mainly owe to trouble and to loss ; How little to our comforts and success ! The mighty me within, then heavenliest grows, In biting wintry weather. §xui ^houQhU on JEang gubj^xts. 129 DCIV. The best and noblest things may harmful be, The worst may be of use. Is the sun bad Because what it doth ripen not, it rots ? Is fire a curse because it burns the house ? 'Tis rather in ourselves, perchance, than them, Their good or ill consists, DCV. The power of reading men Is but a saddening capability. Poor human nature is so blurred a book. DCVI. God's judgments are, sometimes, Not so much penalties for bygone sins, As danger-signals on the line of life. Warning of threatening peril. DCVII. It is most easy, mere religiousness ; But oh, how hard is godliness ! DCVIII. Nothing enlightens us like duty done. 'Tis wilfulness that keeps us ignorant ; Duty neglected makes us so unwise. At least in all soul-wisdom. K 130 §ttib^ \3ixihoni a (String: DCIX. What a mysterious heart this is of ours, (Unless ennobled and renewed by grace !) A strange dark nest of many-coloured birds ; A tangled knot of creeping crawling things, All wriggling there together. DCX. Life, in its essence, is beyond, within; Not the poor puny unsubstantial thing That cheats us with its seeming. DCXI. A LITTLE thing May cast its shadow over half a life ; An act, itself unnoticeably small, Mar all our future days. DCXII. Beware of habit — Habit, that mighty cable, that is wov'n From the mere gossamer of tendency. DCXIII. We all live dual lives, In the to-be and past : Hfe's pendulum Still oscillates 'tween hope and memory, Never at rest. §xizi ^h0itght0 on JEang gubjert^. 131 DCXIV. Parent, teach thy child By thine own actions, rather than thy words, (Thy winsome life his daily lesson-book ;) And thou shalt teach to profit. Spare thy tongue ; Think not to talk him into heavenly ways : But rather lead him Godward after thee, Nursing him into goodness. DCXV. How wonderful is mind, Compared with matter ! That which fills the house Is not the petty furniture, so much, As the immortal inmate. DCXVI. Exceptionally, good men shame the church ; Exceptionally, bad men grace the world. Yet, sceptic, softly. True, the world may boast Some better men than most the church contains ; Biit the church boasts of some, aye, many men, Far, sceptic, far, immeasurably far, Above your paltry pattern. DCXVII. Great is the ministry of holy books : Even a line may haunt us half a life. And prove most lever-like to our prone souls, Raising, and heaven-impelling. 132 ^eabsJ toith^tit a (String: DCXVIII. Men travel daily up and down the line, But oh, how different on the rail of Hfe ! No return ticket to the starting place, We pass the several stations only once, And at each one, as we pass hurrying by, " Never again" seems written. DCXIX. Happiness Is but the selvedge of a duteous life, Wherever men may seek it. DCXX. Beware of fragmentary holiness, And fractional obedience. DCXXI. Adversity Is not without its special use to us. The medlar needs the frost to ripen it, As well as showers and sunlight. DCXXII. Be self-possessed and prudent in thy zeal. Enthusiasm is a noble steed. But needs a noble rider. ^xhi ^h0xtght0 on JEanj) (Subjei:t0. 133 DCXXIII. Oh to put off This wanting needing nature ; to exchange This creaking, jarring, frail humanity, Hungering for ever after food and sleep, For that unfading lusty angelhood God wills us to possess ! DCXXIV. Unaided, we've no spiritual strength ; We need the go-cart, all of us. Alone, We're but the Devil's shuttlecocks : apart. We fight a losing battle. Hold God's hand ; Rather, let Him hold thine. DCXXV. Our prayers are, doubtless, often so unwise That, had we angels' knowledge, we might be Not only thankful that God answers prayer. But that He sometimes does not answer it. DCXXVI. Woman should learn, aye, even more than man. The duty of self-government, beware Of self-indulgent habits, lest, alas, Passion, instead of Reason, seize the helm, And all be wrecked. 134 ^£3^0 toithotit a; §trmij: DCXXVII. We chafe at trouble, yet 'tis but God's hand That, with a loving wisdom, fain would change Our good to better, and our less to more. If He doth intermeddle with our joy, 'Tis but to give us happiness instead : Or takes He this away, 'tis all in love — To substitute some more enduring thing, Unending blessedness and perfect peace. DCXXVIII. How grandly simple is the Christian life — Hope calmly circled by "Thy kingdom come," And need, by "daily bread" ! DCXXIX. Some men are always busy ; sowing still, But reaping, ripening, nothing. Like a buoy. Eddying for ever on the sea of life ; Always afloat, yet never moving on To harbour or to port. DCXXX. The quietest, in passing through the world. Wakes far-ofif echoes. Audible afar. Like distant voices on a lake at eve. More hear us than we dream of. ^ricf ^ftcrttghtsf on JKanp ^nbjcrts. 135 DCXXXI. How prone is Satan to suggest a lie ! " Sow," says the Tempter, " but thou need'st not reap : Thou mayst avert the harvest. Ev'n the wind Need not beget the whirlwind, after all. Why should the habit follow on the act ? The punishment, the crime ? Thou mayst descend. Aye, and far down, the slippery slopes of sin, Yet, after all, escape the black abyss That, hungry, yawns below." DCXXXII. Great-natured men and women little care For gaudy gay adornments ; their concern Is, rather, what they are than what they seem ; Their glory too sublime that they should need The fool's distinction — dress. DCXXXIII. 'Tis not in gold to fill the hungering soul. With nothing, oh how rich a man may be ! With everything, how poor ! DCXXXIV. Seek less to have, than be. Leave fools to rear Ambition's topless pyramid ; the wise Build rather the unseen foundation wall Of solid firm content. 136 ^eab0 toith^tit a <StrinQ:: DCXXXV. True life consists not in mere length of days, But in intensity. No shallow stream, Meandering aimless on for many a league, But a deep tidal river, rushing out To the wide shoreless sea, Eternity. DCXXXVI. Death is the cradle, not the grave, of life ; 'Tis its beginning, rather than its end : Its alpha, not omega. DCXXXVII. If thou wouldst fully know the blessedness That true religion can confer on man, Its precepts take as well as promises, Its duties with its doctrines. DCXXXVIII. All sins are foUies, some especially : Not the least fooHsh, though "respectable," That senile vice, cupidity. DCXXXIX. The head is the chief beauty of a man ; Wisdom, his best adornment. He who thinks, Hath an estate that wealth could never buy, A realm that kings might covet. Iprief ^hxrughts on JEang (Subject^f. 137 DCXL. 'Tis well sometimes to muse upon the cross, And mourn a suffering and a buried Christ, But the true Christian hath a nobler theme ; A deeper source of joy, and life, and peace. He finds in Jesus risen. DCXLI. Men do not always climb to higher things. They sometimes crawl to greatness. DCXLII. I LOVE to hear an old man's ringing laugh. 'Tis like a sun-burst on a winter day ; A pleasant evidence youth is not dead. 'Tis bad t' outlive one's laughter. DCXLIII. Be special in thy studies, not diffuse : 'Tis better to know all of some one thing. Than some one thing of all. DCXLIV. There is no trade So gainless as dishonesty. The rogue. Wait but awhile, will prove himself a fool. Fraud, in the end, is folly. 138 ^z-^hs \xixihoxxi tt <Strittg:: DCXLV. Despise not little things. The noblest heights are climbed to, by a man ; Not flown at. Fame is but the praise Of aggregated circles ; Genius, Only the lusty energetic child Of Aptitude and Effort. DCXLVI. Men fear to die, but how few fear to live ! Yet solemn is fhe sacrament of life, And none but fools despise it. DCXLVI I. All things are in unrest. The year is one long strife of Day with Night : Summer with Winter, Autumn with the Spring : Life wrestles with grim Death; with Sorrow, Joy; And Fear, although he hath a thousand Hves, Is buried still by Hope. DCXLVIII. How beautiful is meekness, and how rare ! 'Tis ripened love, 'tis Christhood blossoming : The pinnacle of Christian excellence, The proof of Christian manhood. §xui thoughts? xrn JEanu <Subjcd0. 139 DCXLIX. We sometimes see a blasted spectral oak, Blackened and bare, stand shivering in the wood, Among its clothed and cheerful mates around ; Yet not supine, but still erect and tall. In all the ghastly mockery of life. Alas, how like the man who hath grown old. But, bare of every Christian grace, is found A godless worldling still ! DCL. Fold not thy arms, but bare them : play the man ; And half the ills from which the coward shrinks, Will fade, or fly, before thee. DCLI. How prideful are our hearts ! God, every day. Is doing His own work, all silently, Whether we help or hinder. But proud man Still reckons as though nought were being done. Unless he be the doer. DCLII. The grooved sand-stone that we tread upon — What a strange story it unfolds to us Of God's unchanging fashion ! Wind and tide Still leave their ripply furrows on the sand, ' Of the same pattern, as in ages past, Ere Adam walked in Eden. I40 ^ea!b5f totthowt a (String:: DCLIII. God gives to most sufficient capital For the stern business of active life. What is our nerve and muscle, bone and brains, Out talent, time, and opportunity, But truest capital, that real men Will use to profit presently ? The wise, With this seed-basket, will not fail to reap A harvest by-and-bye. The fool alone Will crave an ampler outfit. DCLIV. Our sabbaths should be levers of the week. And are so, to good men. DCLV. Our friends sometimes prove false. And fickle as the many-mooded sea ; But he who learns to play an instrument. Hath found a true and an abiding friend. That will not fail him in his sorest need. Or change with changing fortune. DCLVI. The life and words of Jesus — ponder them. Keep them before thee always, everywhere ; And they shall be a leverage to thy life, Ennobling thy nature. §nd ^honQhU on JEang (Sttbjei:t)5. 141 DCLVII. We are too anxious for this present life, Forgetful that, like a dissolving view, It even now is fading fast away. The dislocated memory of a dream Is scarcely less substantial. DCLVIII. Christ is the proof of Christianity, And Christian men should be its argument. DCLIX. There is no life-power in our piety. Because 'tis so objective. Our chief care Is for the garish blossom, but the root We scarcely think of. DCLX. Even resolves are often ruinous, Because not built upon the arch. To-day, But the mirage. To-morrow. DCLXI. How vice can uglify the countenance. And mar the finest facial symmetry ! 'Tis intellect and goodness, after all. Alone can make us beautiful. 142 ^^abgj toitkxrut a string: DCLXII. Sin is soul-ruinous. The entertainment of a single sin Will dull the sense of spiritual things, Till all the vision of a higher world, Shall fade away and vanish. DCLXIII. How oft a thing Doth cast a shadow greater than itself! The eastern panes glow with a ruddier hue Than ev'n the western sunset. DCLXIV. How tall the ladder of Ambition is ! Its base is anywhere, its summit where ? DCLXV. There is no law Like that a man should be unto himself. If ought be not thy regal principle, I've little faith in must. DCLXVI. Ev'n youth is no security 'gainst death : Nay, death, who is so busy with us all, Is busiest with the young. ^rief ^It0ti9h:t0 on Jftan^ gubjeds. 143 DCLXVII. Of all the false things in this lying world, Gold is the falsest. Nothing upon earth Is half so blatant and so promiseful ; Nothing so disappointing and untrue. Alike in the possession and pursuit It mocks and cheats us. DCLXVIII. 'Tis the affections, not the intellect, That gives to us our real altitude. The heart is the true syphon j we can know No higher than we are. DCLXIX. The aim to shine may not be criminal ; Not so, to outshine others. DCLXX. Oh how dishonest are we to ourselves, And to the blessed light God sends to us ! How indisposed to live the truths we learn, And practise as we pray ! DCLXXI. God's blessed heaven is never far from us ; And always, wheresoever we may be, We're under, if not in, it. 144 ^^ai)0 taitk0ttt a <Strinij: DCLXXII. I HAVE seen many of the garish booths In this poor Vanity Fair. And, having seen, I would denounce the most of them as cheats, That no true man, of noble tastes and aims, Would care to see again. DCLXXIII. Of worry many die, but few of work. Work is so wholesome and medicinal. 'Tis indolence that kills. DCLXXIV. The truly great, among creative minds. Look down, when once completed, on their work, And aim at something higher. Lesser men Look up to their achievements. DCLXXV. Talent and character will find their place. Say what the man is, I will tell you where He either is, or will be. DCLXXVI. Men minify in crowds : 'tis solitude Makes real men. Ne'er was true greatness yet. In character or work, but loneliness Lay at the base o* th' apex. ^rief ^Itoiight^ 011 JEan^ (Subjfd0. 145 DCLXXVII. Oh could the churl sometimes return again, And witness how his cherished heap of gold Was squandering by his heirs, he would repent He had not helped, himself, to use for God The wealth so freely lent him ; and thus reaped, As steward of the great Proprietor, Th' applause of men, and Christ's approving smile, Instead of blame and shame. DCLXXVIII. Play not thy part in life Merely to please earth's petty audience. Learn to see all in God, and God in all : Serve Him, and care for no man's praise or blame, His hiss, or " Bravo." DCLXXIX. The glory of a fruit-tree is its fruit, Not its mere leaves or blossoms* Love is shown Best in its service and its sacrifice, 'Tis not what men possess, but what they do ; Not what they say, but are. DGLXXX. Dangers are worse unknown. Better to face a lion on the plain, Than meet a skulking tiger in the wood. L 146 ^znbs toith^ut a <Striiig: DCLXXXI. How startling and how solemn is the thought — Of all the myriads of the human race Not one e'er yet re-crossed the Bridge of Death, To give a single hint of the great world That lies on th' other side ! DCLXXXII. It is our fancied wants, not real needs. That works us so much discontent and woe, And so disturbs and frets us. DCLXXXIII. In higher things How oft this weak and wicked will of ours Throws all the blame upon ability ! How often can^^ means a/<?;zV / DCLXXXIV. As a man thinks, so is he. True indeed ; But 'tis no less a grave and pregnant truth, As a man is, so thinks he. DCLXXXV. God understands When, in our prayers, we tell to Him our sins ; But ah, how Httle do we understand When, in His providence, Ife tells us them ! §xui ^houQhis on JEang gubj^rte. 147 DCLXXXVI. We see not God because He is so great ; But everywhere we may at least behold The shadow of th' Almighty. Hill and dale, Earth, ocean, forest, sky, and prairie,— His mighty monogram is everywhere. DCLXXXVII. Our s/ia// he has its roots in what we are 3 And that to-morrow the fool reckons on, Will work but little change, excepting this — T' intensify to-day. DCLXXXVIII. Let me not grow old-hearted — human slag, That, having lost all life and fire within, Only in form retains the shape divine. DCLXXX:X. Men play with truth sometimes Till even error becomes truth to them. And they who love a lie are left, at last, Both to believe and live it. DCXC. Sin hath emasculated all the race. How little manliness there is in men. Yea, ev'n in Christian men ! 148 §ttLbQ toith0ut a <String: DCXCI. " It is too early," and '' Tis now too late," Are lies the Devil whispers in our ears Both in our youth and age. But " Now," still "Now"— Thus runs Heaven's invitation. Let us hear ; 'Then 'twill not be too early in our youth. Nor can it be too late in our old age. DCXCII. There's no such pauper as your rich-poor man. He has not ev'n the wealth he sentinels ; Yea, nothing of it but the sweat and care Of the poor slave, condemned by night and day To watch a treasure he can ne'er enjoy. DCXCIII. It is the sad unwisdom of men's lives That overbrims them so with suffering. DCXCIV. An old friend's face Portrays the deepening wrinkles in our own, Far more than all our mirrors. DCXCV. Patience is often better far than haste : We sometimes speed by waiting. §xxzf l^hotigkts on JHan^ (Subjert©. 149 DCXCVI. How strangely we mistake, in boyhood's years, The meaning of this ravelled life of ours ! How little guess that tapestry so bright Hath, too, another side, confused and pale ! That there are other than its broad smooth walks. Rough, devious, and unsunned ! That manhood's noon Will dwarf to their true size those giant things That hold our childhood in such wonderment ! DCXCVIL Childhood should be life-long. The greatest men Are always little children. DCxcvni. Calm tranquil Night, — God's purple-vestured nurse of weary earth, — How lovingly she wraps her starry robe Above our welcome pillow ! DCXCIX. Our life is the most acceptable prayer ; Nay, 'tis the only real one : we pray, Just so far only as we live, to God. DCC. The scatterer, Time, is always at his work. Crowds meet but once. 150 ^f$j[i& toith^ut a cString: DCCI. What is poor man, at best, but sin and shame ? The first man proved apostate, renegade ; And the first brother was a firatricide. The wisest was the father of a fool ; The strongest, but a slave of shameless lust. One, only one, man's credit hath redeemed — Jesus, the Son of Man. DCCII. There is, in life, strange inequality; Yet God cuts up the loaf of happiness In no unequal slices. DCCIII. Some sins are quiet, undemonstrative. And therefore scarcely recognized as such. Slippered, they patter not, like vulgar ones. But shuffle past unheeded. DCCIV. The age of regal individualities Is long since past. There are no longer men Of the heroic pattern. DCCV. It is the appetite that makes the feast ; Contentment, real riches. §xx&i ^hxxughts on JRanp gubjert^, 151 DCCVI. We are the slaves of others' tongues and eyes, Far more than men should be. What, shall I have No higher, nobler motive for my acts Than what my neighbour thinks, forsooth, of them? His smile of yesterday was, after all, Merely, perchance, approving indolence : That frown of his — but the mere outward sign Of a low envious nature. DCCVII. Despise not Duty's slightest, gentlest tap. Lest Suffering presently — that Nemesis — Beat at the door with harsh and ruthless knock That may not be unheeded. DCCVIII. Falsehood is often less in utterance Than in concealment Lies may lurk in words, But oftener still in reticence. DCCIX. The symmetry of feature and of form Is not to be despised. But, after all, There is a higher beauty — that which springs From cheerfulness of nature, peace of heart. Self-abnegation, a repose of soul, — A beauty born of goodness. 152 ^z^hs \33xihoui n §tring: DCCX. Be not discouraged, in thy Christian course, If thy poor progress scarce can be perceived. There may be real growth and ripening. Where least it seem so. The poor plant is grown Since yesterday, though no eye saw it grow : The tide is rising, though the water-line Appears to be receding on the beach. DCCXI. This game of life, we play it on and on. But 'tis a humbling and a saddening thought — We must, perforce, ere long throw up the game, Whatever cards we hold. DCCXII, The worldling's prospect is, from life to death ; The Christian's, death to life. DCCXIII. In the opinions of their neighbours, more Than in their own convictions, most men live. So little moral courage is in man^ Such abject self-abasement. ix:cxiv. Great men accept the dignities of earth ; Little men seek them. §xxzi ^k0ugkt0 on JEattg cSubjed^. 153 DCCXV. There is in man a strange nobility That pales all circumstantials. Now and then God raises up some unit from the mass, To show how noble human-nature is, And, ev'n beyond all kings, how great is man. DCCXVI. The indolent can scarce be said to die. Because they never lived. 'Tis better far, One little lustrum of good earnest work. Than a decade of rustful uselessness. DCCXVII. Life is a game scarce worth the playing at. Still less the playing out, unless, as men, We learn to pray and wrestle. DCCXVIII. Try is a word of worth and potency, Yea almost limitless in its results ; But, in soul-care and spiritual things, Trusf is the regal word. DCCXIX. Unless our Sundays become lever days. How prone is all the week I 154 §z^lbs mihoni a <Striitg: DCCXX. The little seek to magnify themselves By minifying others. Greater men, Full-orbed among these gibbous manikins, Need no such mean unworthy pedestal, But can afford to stand erect, alone, Great with unborrowed greatness. DCCXXI. I' th' natural world, God, the supreme, all-wise Artificer, Wide as it is, creates no duplicates, But fills it with dissimilarities. DCCXXII. Put solemnly these questions to thyself, Each morn and eve, — Do I believe in Christ ? Does Christ believe in me ? DCCXXIII. Proud men are fools. There's nothing unrelated in this world. The beggar to the baron is akin, The pauper to the peer. DCCXXIV. God's slow to-morrows, tedious as they seem, Are always better than man's rash to-days. §xid thoughts on Jftang <Sttbject0. 155 DCCXXV. The dimness and the deafness of old age, Its workless and home-bounded privacy, Are mercifully ordered, after all. 'Tis but the Master of the house of life Lowering the blinds t' exclude the garish day ; Closing the door, with loving thoughtfulness, To th' distracting clamour of the world. That thus th' immortal spirit should be still. After the long and anxious fret of life, And readier for departing. DCCXXVI. Oh that men's gains were gifts, that life were love, Benevolence, beneficence ; self-help. Neighbourly help ; and Christians, Christianly ! When shall men slough this selfhood, and put on A nobler, heavenlier nature ? DCCXXVII. Oh what a palace might ev'n this world be. If man were but a king ! DCCXXVI 1 1. We speak of youth as morning, age as night. Yet, in the highest sense, it is not so ; For youth is night, age morning, to the good, And death itself, bright daylight. 156 §tnb8 toithout a ^String: DCCXXIX. Thought-men and deed-men one another need, In the world's varied work. Were Thought alone, His palsied, paralytic purposes Would work out poor results. And Action too, Unbitted and unbridled, would but sow A bitter crop of sour unripened deeds. That would but curse and shame him. DCCXXX. This iron world — It makes sad havoc of youth's opal dreams. Manhood scarce reached, finds men too oft, alas. Crawling among the ruins of their hopes, Foiled, baffled, and discouraged. DCCXXXI. Sympathies Wide as creation, broad as humankind — Such should the Christian's be. DCCXXXI I. I ALSO am a nobleman. I hold My patent of nobility from God, And boast of " a hand dexter " for my crest. My ancestry is old as any man's ; This many-acred earth is mine — all mine. If not to own, t' enjoy it. §xizi thoughts on JRang gubjerte. 157 DCCXXXIII. Prayers without prayer, and anthems without praise, Grave genuflexion without reverence, Pious demeanour, yet no sanctity, — Thus man would substitute th' objective form For the subjective true reahty ; Content with any service, any form. Except heart-service. DCCXXXIV. There's no entire concealment of ill deeds, Howe'er they may be hidden from the world. Each evil act is known to two at least — God and the doer. DCCXXXV. We are strange beings, and so discontent With our possessions, that we only see What we have not ; stone blind to what we have. Thus, while we for our neighbour's pebble pant, We trample on the pearl already ours. This is life's chiefest curse. DCCXXXVI. We are heaven-bom, and heavenly things alone Can fill us with the happiness we crave. We are King's sons, and only regal things Can satisfy our natures. 158 gtnbs toithottt a ^triitij: DCCXXXVII. The scene-shifter, Time — How he doth hurry over Hfe's poor play, And, rudely clutching its kaleidoscope, Mar the successive patterns as they rise. Leaving us sighing o'er our shattered hopes, And dislocated friendships. DCCXXXVIII. In the mysterious masquerade of life. How often Vice wears Virtue's domino ; And Virtue's self so vizored and disguised, That each seems either ! DCCXXXIX. The grass Is fragrant when no longer beautiful ; Sweet, even in decay. The odorous rose Can boast a double life ; of beauty first. And afterwards of sweetness. Let us live, Aiming to make this dual beauty ours. Sweet both in presence and remembrance. DCCXL. The true nobility of any man Is far less in his title than himself. 'Tis scarcely fitting that the pedestal Be nobler than its statue. ^rtef "^hmtghts on JB:aus gttbj^rt^. 159 DCCXLI. That was a glorious dream the Patriarch dreamed — A ladder reaching from the earth to heaven, Angels ascending and descending it, And the great holy God above it all. A dream far truer this than half the things That mock us with their unreahty, In our most wakeful hours. DCCXLII. ■ . In this objective age especially, Cherish subjective life. I have known men Who rather worked than lived. DCCXLIII. There is no sonship in our Christian life. No joyous feehng of God's fatherhood ; Hence we can offer Him but half a heart, And give Him but grudged service. DCCXLIV. Love is the livery of the Master's house ; Self, of the Devil's. DCCXLV. Onward and upward. If to-morrow's life Be nothing higher, nobler than to-day's, We live to little purpose. i6o ^zrtbs toitk0tit a cStritt^;: DCCXLVI. What a distorting glass self-interest is ! It makes the wrong seem right, the crooked straight, Th' expedient the true, the small the great, The shadowy the real. No true man Should ever dare consult it. dccxlvii. Religionists Are plenteous as dewdrops everywhere, But men of thorough regal piety And noticeable Christhood — oh how rare ! DCCXLVIII. Unfinished pictures only fools condemn, And yet the very wisest often judge Unfinished providences. DCCXLIX. In habits be as simple as a child ; But let thy life be grave and purposeful. As every true man's should be. Many a Hfe Is but a tedious book of blanks and blots, A dreary scroll of vice and indolence. DCCL. Self is the centre and circumference Of much men call religion. §xxzi %honQhi!S on JEang <Sttbjett0. i6i DCCLI. I OFTEN find, in life's companionships, The good are almost profitless : the best Ofi: leave me little better. But a child's ' A purifying presence, a deep joy I have no words t' explain. The influence, The hallowing influence, of a little child Is the most potent blessed leverage That we can have about us. DCCLII. Unlike the wise, The fool is single-eared and double-tongued. DCCLIII. Sculpture is man's idea ; growth is God's. Men fain would carve out base humanity To a diviner shape. Contrariwise, God would re-model his degenerate child, By a renev/al of his sinful heart, Till th' expansive leaven should work within, And angelize his every faculty. DCCLIV. Men heed but little the eternal stars When rushing rockets fright the midnight sky : So hardly they discriminate between Real and seeming greatness. 1 62 §z-abs ioitkout a cStrmg : DCCLV. Fear for the worst when thou dost trust thyself ; Hope for the best when thou dost trust thy God. 'Tis well kept, what He keeps. The man who seeks No better guard than his own feeble self, T' ensure his safety in this perilous world, Has but a sorry sentinel. DCCLVI. Men's sorrows strangely underlie their joys ; Their fears, their hopes. Full many a life is spent In the black shadow of some dark Perhaps^ Or some eclipsing If. DCCLVII. Life's gay procession sweeps across the stage ; Kings, nobles, senators — a proud array : But Death, the stern unrober, waiting stands To snatch the tinsel honours from their brow, And straight uncloak them. DCCLVIII. Think of the world as a mere pleasure-field ; Of life, as one long joyous holiday; Of work, as a mere sad necessity ; Of duty, as a tedious misery : — And thou wilt not have very long to wait To understand what hell is. §xxzf ^hwu^kts on JEang cgttbj^ds. 163 DCCLIX. He's a stern measurer, Prosperity, And often holds up to the world's contempt The puny thing that, in a humbler sphere, Might have perchance passed muster as a man. 'Tis fortune tries our stature, after all, And often minifies the would-be great. Art thou a dwarf? Take care, then, how thou stand Conspicuous on the dais. Hide thyself. Pigmies are not for pedestals. DCCLX. Religion even hath its selfish side. How many pray for grace to save their souls. Who sadly need it also, though unfelt, To renovate and beautify their lives, And sanctify their natures ! DCCLXI. Think not to read thy Father's smile or frown ' In the poor chequers of this fleeting life. What loving meanings trouble often hath ! How punitive prosperity may be ! DCCLXII. Our Father, God, Not only listens to, but for, our prayers ; So loving is He to us. 164 §z-iibs \i3xihoni n §ixxnQ: dcclxiii. Meekness — That noblest virtue, and least coveted, — How few, how very few, attain to it ! It is a fossil grace. 'Twas seen sometimes In lives of heavenliest pattern long ago. But in this blatant age 'tis known no more. The saintliest age seems past. DCCLXIV. Mean is he, say'st thou? Nay, it cannot be ; We are all regal, brother. None so bad, But, spite all adverse seeming, really hath A kingship in his nature. DCCLXV. Mistake, disaster — brood not over them, But straight forget them, and set forth again, • With wiser aim. The most complete success Is often based on failure. Stumbled once, We grow sure-footed presently. DCCLXVI. A Christian man can do All things worth doing ; ev'n a worldling most, If so he wills. Th' impossible itself Means often only the more difficult. §xxzi ^hi)ugkt0 on J^aug c§tti>i^^t)5. 165 DCCLXVII. We hell-ward lean, or heavenward. Every man Stands like some goodly tree amid the wood, Bending to right or left. As we lean now, So we shall probably y^r ever lie : Our posture is prophetic of our fall. DCCLXVIII. Money unearned is seldom wisely spent ; Ill-gotten money, never. Gold is winged, But doubly winged the gold of Fraud and Wrong. Rogues always spend like fools. DCCLXIX. Religion is a beautifying thing On all who practise it. The Christian man. Though grave, with musing on eternal things, Yet hath a special beauty of his own, A sweeter countenance than common men. DCCLXX. We may, in life, be often far from heaven ; But heaven is never, never, far from us. DCCLXXI. Oh this ambitious and unresting age ! • The psalmody of a contented life Is scarcely heard among us. 1 66 |peaii0 toitkotit a §tring: DCCLXXII. There's many a bauble shineth in the dark, Bright as a diamond. Many a nugget, too. Hath as unHkely and as dull a look As the base slag upon the furnace heap. Be not deceived, then, by the look of things, Nor, by mere seeming, value or despise. Not all is worthless that appeareth so. Nor all that gUtters, golden. DCCLXXIII. Many there are who call the Saviour, Lord, Who scarce can call Him, Master. They believe, But love the comfortable side of truth, Far rather than its duties. They enlist, And like, forsooth. His livery well enough, But not so well His service. DCCLXXIV. In spiritual things we doubt so much. Therefore we know so little. Humble faith Is still the fastest learner, after all. Faith is the plinth of knowledge. DCCLXXV. Like Hannah's prayer of old, unsyllabled. Our holiest, best petitions, oftentimes. Are rather sighed to Heaven, than vocalized. §xizi ^h^ught^ on JEang <Sttbjert5f. 167 DCCLXXVI. There is a string That runs through all the chapters of our lives, However different ; a sure prophecy, That meets us on the threshold of the first. And shadows forth the rest. DCCLXXVI I. It is not so much what we may possess, As how it came to us. A penny earned Is of more value than a borrowed pound, Aye, or a thousand, stolen. DCCLXXVI 1 1. Sickness and old age Are sorer trials and annoyances To woman than to maiL DCCLXXIX. Haste is a vulgar virtue, after all ; It is an attribute of brainlessness. Slowness is regal, magisterial : True greatness seldom hurries. DCCLXXX. Men pray to God, 'tis true ; But 'tis that city devil, Gold, that hath Their love and best obedience. 1 68 ^^Jistoithottt a (String: DCCLXXXI. Unlike poor man's, God's works are never old. No greybeard is the sea, for all bis years. The glorious sun, what has he lost, as yet, Of his first Eden lustre ? The pale moon Is still unshadowed ; and the very stars Need no re-setting, ancient as they are. DCCLXXXII. To see their puny work. Only the little crave an audience. Great men are well content, like God Himself, To work without observers. DCCLXXXIII. How worthless is the wealth In misers' chests ! How precious is the gold Coined into poor men's blessings ! DCCLXXXI v. He who desires to learn, Must learn to unlearn. Not unfrequently Our fancied knowledge keeps us ignorant Of what we else might know. DCCLXXXV. Just as we turn our back or face to Christ, So is our mental vision false or true. §xxd ^h^ugkt^ on Jttmtg Subjects. 169 DCCLXXXVI. We idolize success, as 'twere the test, The only test, of merit. Yet great men Have often lived the most resultless lives, Barren at least of fortune and of fame. Aye, ev'n the greatest. DCCLXXXVII. Let giving grow with getting. Undue hoards Are often rudely scattered presently. None gallop hellward at so fast a pace As misers' spendthrift children. DCCLXXXVIII. All should be humble, ev'n the saintliest. We are not worthy of the earth we tread ; Still less the heaven we hope for. DCCLXXXIX. Have faith and patience, brother : wrestle on, Till each antagonism in thy path be thrown, And life's dull tedious game be all played out, — That game of " noughts and crosses." DCCXC. See that thy light be life ; that what thou learn'st Be promptly lived. Nothing so sears the heart As a neglected duty. lyo |jBali0 totth0ut a <8tring: DCCXCI. Thy work, if thou'rt a Christian, should please God, But more thy life, thyself; for, lacking this, All else is formal, lifeless, meaningless. God would have sons to serve Him. DGCXCII. Nothing provokes so much a curious eye. As pictures half concealed : nor curious ear. As whispered utterances. DCCXCIII. You would do something, friend ? Be something, then : 'Tis the life, rather than the lip, that speaks ; And a man's greatest utterance is — himself. Life-work needs heart-work first. DCCXCIV. Be not too forward. Better be twice asked. Than speak unbidden. The obtruded song Is seldom worth the hearing. DCCXCV. Gold, easy got, is seldom wisely spent. If thou wouldst learn the art of spending well. Earn it, both honestly and honourably, And neither beg nor borrow. §xxzi ^hon^hU on Jftartg §ubj^ct0. 171 DCCXCVI. Our daily life is one long parable, Each line of which hath meaning. Everything That happens to us in its tedious length, Hath a stern index-finger, showing us What we have done, are doing, or may do ; What we have been, are, may be. Merciful Is this mysterious law, still bringing up Hourly some tell-tale bubble that reveals The hidden depths of our subjective life, And teaching, by the future, present, past, Most serviceable lessons. DCCXCVII. Oh, there are human reptiles in this world. That crawl, and slink, that wriggle, wink, and hide, Like slugs i' th' twilight ; the sole noble thing About their nature, the God-fashioned form That hides their pauper souls. DCCXCVIII. Marriage is duteous obedience To heaven, society. The celibate. Unless so from some special hindrance, Some prior duty, (if there can be one,) Offends against the primal law of God, Defrauds some loving nature of its right. Perils his own well-being. 172 §ttihs iDith0Xtt a gtriitg: DCCXCIX. If thou repinest, brother, sit thee down, And think upon the migM bis of thy lot. Better be poor than have a miser's heart ; Sick, than diseased as yon poor neighbour is ; Single, than married, and be still unloved ; Or married, with affections all unhived. Better be childless than have wicked sons. Or shameless daughters. What or where thou art, Contentment will be thine if thou art wise. DCCC. An empty lion's skin should scarcely dare To call itself a lion. Yet the fool Is fain to think himself a Solomon, Whatever others deem him. DCCCI. Scorn to be unemployed. In God's great workshop find thy special work. And do it like a man. DCCCII. We all despise the here and now of life. And scorn the present and the actual. The child lives in the future ; the old man Lives in the past. Who values his to-day? §xxti ^h^itgkts 0it JEaitg ^ubjerts. 173 DCCCIII. How life's broad highway narrows t'wards the end ! In youth there's width to walk with crowds abreast. The path in manhood straitens more and more. In age it narrows to a very pass, Through which we can but walk in single file, Alone, companionless. DCCCIV. True natures scarcely need the magistrate, ' For they can rule themselves. The musf of law Is not so regal, by one half, to them. As God's great ot^g/i^ within them. DCCCV. Men would like gold without the wings it grows, Pleasure without its quick abrupt good-byes, And power without its diadem of thorns. And ease without its yawning listlessness. But this can never be. DCCCVI. " Remember " is the motto of old age. As "^Hope " is that of youth. Thus, no man feeds Content on life's unsatisfying now. Or slakes his spirit's thirst with present things : Forward or backward still he turns his eye. The future or the past — 'tis there men live. 174 ^znbs toitk0ut a (String: DCCCVII. The bad, however great they seem at first, Show less and less the more we ponder them ; But the good man, like yonder setting sun, Hath changed his silvern youth to golden age, And broadens in departing. DCCCVIII. The greatening man — how fondly lesser men Group their poor little natures round his path, Like circling clouds at moonrise ! DCCCIX. 'Tis our subjective soul-wealth makes us rich. Not our objective gold. DCCCX. How seldom does Because Give a full answer to th' inquirer, Why ! So small the little island Knowledge is, In the wide shoreless ocean. Ignorance. DCCCXI. He that would travel southerly should scarce Start by a northern train. Yet foolish man Will journey hell ward for full half a life, And hope, in spite of all his wilfulness, T' arrive in heaven at last. §xxzf ^hoxtQhis on JKang gub jei:t0. 175 DCCCXII. To Christian men All things God sends or suffers are for good : Sickness is medicine ; pain, the nudge of love ; Loss, an addition to their true estate ; (God hath His own arithmetic ;) ev'n death Is but His crowning providence. DCCCXIII. Speech is not the sole utterance of man. A look may be more eloquent than words ; A glance may be a curse ; a prayer, a psalm ; A malediction or a benison. DCCCXIV. Christ chose, sometimes, to curtain his cartoons, And veil the truths He taught. But wilful man, Uncircumcised of eye, would draw aside. Like a rude child, with rash irreverent hand, The covering tapestry, and try to see What wisdom has concealed. DCCCXV. * Teach truth, but live it too. That so thy life may second well thy lip. 'Tis far less what our children hear at church, Than what they see at home. 176 §fab& loiiihoni a cString: DCCCXVI. 'Tis less in the enjoyment than the hope, That earth's poor joys consist. The good we have Has lost the bloomy freshness it possessed While yet unfingered, and the unwon goal Dazzles with a strange sunlight, that will last Only while seen afar. DCCCXVII. Do God's work, brother, and then leave with Him Thy few poor needs. Who works for God to-day May trust Him for to-morrow. DCCCXVI II. We have not lost what we have given away, Unless our gifts were grudging and unwise. DCCCXIX. Worst troubles, when we once have distanced them. Have often loving meanings ; meanings, too. That even our poor sin-dimmed eyes might read. If we would but consider. DCCCXX. Seek, first, God's honour ; afterwards, thine own : Not thine own first, then His. " Thy kingdom come," Thou pray'st before " Give us our daily bread." ^xid ^koughts on JEang <Sttbjei:t0. 177 DCCCXXI. Alas, that with such capability, Such high capacities and godUke powers, We grow so earthward, and let all our youth, (Like a grey cinder on a furnace heap,) Bright, promiseful, degenerate into this — This cold residuum — manhood. DCCCXXII. How many fight life's battle unequipped, Unmailed and weaponless ! Hence the defeat, The shame, so often met with. DCCCXXIII. God has in mercy made The melody of life to be most sweet ; But what a strange accompaniment man plays To the Divine conception ! DCCCXXIV. Death, resurrection, are ours every day : Daily, we're born and buried. DCCCXXV. A SUDDEN fortune is a certain curse : Nothing so surely minifies the soul, And robs it of its manhood and its peace, As unaccustomed wealth. T78 ^zi^'bs tDtthottt a <Strittg: DCCCXXVI. God pilots men between their hopes and fears, With kind paternal wisdom. If, in love, He keeps them tenderly from what they wish, He keeps them also from the things they dread. DCCCXXVII. The wise man's calendar has but " to-day ; " The fool's has but " to-morrow." DCCCXXVI 1 1. One and one. In love's arithmetic, make more than two ; And if the wife knows only how to spend, Woe to the earning husband. DCCCXXIX. 'Tis less men's titles than their qualities We should respect. The peerage m the man — This is the best nobility. How few Are great with their own greatness, — diamonds That need no setting ! DCCCXXX. Our disappointed, disappointing self, 'tis this That makes us so much out of love with life. Men murmur at their station, but themselves — This is their chiefest quarrel. §xid ^hoxightsf 011 JEaitg <Stibjedj5. 179 DCCCXXXI. This night of life is but one threefold dream. First, is the dream of Childhood. Oh, how calm, How fresh, its rosy May ! Joy, sunlight, flowers, A world of buds, fragrant and promiseful. Its perfume lingers on through all the rest. Next is the dream of Love. Delicious dream, Vivid, intense, possessing all the soul ! This fades at length, and the hot feverish one. Ambition, takes its place. Now comes the strife For pomp and power, position, precedence. And big with great achievement Higher, higher, More gold, more acres — when remorseless Death, Shaking us rudely from our tossing dream. Wakes us, to sleep no more. DCCCXXXI I. Beware of Self Street : it leads not to heaven. Though many walk along it. DCCCXXXIII. Waiting should go with working. He who sows Should scarcely take the sickle in his hand, But the seed-basket only. DCCCXXXIV. We learn no sadder truth in life than this — The worthlessness and weakness of ourselves. i8o ^t-aj^iQ toithottt tt §txinQ: DCCCXXXV. It is not solitude that makes the saint : A man may be an angel in a town, A devil in a desert. Ne'er forget, It is the heart that makes our heaven or hell ; Our state, not our surroundings. Dcccxxxvr. The selfish are, of all men, first forgot : They need, indeed, a monument, for who Would care to shrine them in his memory ? Dcccxxxvn. How worthless often is the praise or blame Of this misjudging world ! The best of men Have ridden on a hurdle to their death ; The very worst, been canonized. DCCCXXXVIII. Aim, young man, At something loftier than mere success : The worst live oft for this. DCCCXXXIX. The dial, truth, Needs Heaven's own regal light to read it by ; Yet purblind man would needs attempt the task With reason's feeble lantern. §xxti thoughts on JEang ^ubjedsf. i8i DCCCXL. The cornice of accomplishments is good : But covet most columnar manliness, The plinth of character. Equip thysell ' With every needed capability To navigate this dangerous sea of life With safety and with honour. Robe thyself With the great kingship of the right and true. And covet, more than acreage or gold, Head honour, heart nobility. DCCCXLI. Man, in his spiritual pride, believes Less in his ruin and his utter fall Than in his mere declension. But, alas, It is rebuilding, human nature needs, Not mere repair. DCCCXLII. They who wait on God Must learn to trust and wait, as well as pray. God oftener pays by promissory notes Than by immediate cash. DCCCXLIII. Keep not the endless fast of discontent, As many seem to do. Unthankfulness Is one step only above godlessness. i82 §tnti0 \s3xihoui a ^String: DCCCXLIV. Live while you live. The great scene-shifter, Time, Whose ropes and gear are always on the stretch To speed life's shortening play, impatient stands, Begrudging us the petty hour we have. Before our final exit. DCCCXLV. The lone rugged path That few would choose to walk in, leads to heaven : How many that look fair and wooingly. Slope gently down to hell ! DCCCXLVI. How easy 'tis, To think we're first-form scholars in Christ's school, And dream that we are full half-way to heaven. When all the while we really have scarce passed The starting-post of self ! DCCCXLVII. How often the veneer of ladyhood Hides a coarse vulgar nature ! Oh how oft Doth the worst selfishness conceal itself Behind a manner studiously refined ! The world could do with less gentility, Had it more real womanhood. §xuf ^houQhU on Jttang <Subj^d0. 183 DCCCXLVIII. True Christian sanctity consisteth not In celibate seclusion from the world. Th' Apostles nothing knew of cowls and hoods, And such vain pagan fancies. Jesus taught Life is a battle, man a warrior, And in the world we each must find our work, To be, and do, and suffer. Victory Is not in turning from the battle-field, But in successful conflict. Not to him Who fleeth, is the promise ; but to him Who overcometh. DCCCXLIX. There's a connexion, close and natural, Between a virtuous life and length of days. Enoch, the holiest of the Patriarchs, Begets the longest lived, Methuselah. But Vice dies young, unheired too. DCCCL. Ifow, bounds God's teaching of the animal ; W^y^ scarcely of the man. DCCCLI. JVow, JVow, is all we have : The past is gone, irrevocably gone ; The future — who may dare to call it his ? 184 §tnb& toitkottt a <String: DCCCLII. How men do shy at truths they stomach not, Duties unloved, and precepts undesired ! The text must needs be difficult to him Who hates the sermon. DCCCLIII. It is because the eye is in the heart Men cannot see the truth ; because, alas. Their moral vision is obscured by sin, They are not more enlightened, but are left To sit in the gross darkness they prefer, And live and die in ignorance. DCCCLIV. . Truth is learned best by him who lives in love. Nothing gives such an outlook to the soul As active, duteous, self-denying work For God and for one's neighbour. DCCCLV. One birth suffices for ignoble men : The heavenly are twice born. DCCCLVI. If thou wouldst learn high truths, be reverent : The adytum of truth is but for him Who enters meekly at the vestibule. §xui %honQhU on JEans §tibjert0. 185 DCCCLVII. Few men have wisdom for their own affairs. The picture is too near for perfect sight : And thus the forms and colours, all are seen Through a distorted medium. A wise friend Scans with a better focus from afar, And reads the whole more truly. DCCCLVIII. 'Tis the religious rest of sabbath hours, Not pleasuring — exhaustive more than work — That reinstates man's used-up energies, And nerves him for the labours of the week. DCCCLIX. To travel is with some men duteous, With others merely pleasure : to the fool 'Tis often a most stern necessity. Travel, with him, is not so much to learn, As to escape from his poor vapid self. Knowledge is well content to stay at home : Tis ignorance needs must travel. DCCCLX. Ah, could we see Our own best actions with a neighbour's eye, We should have less of Pharisaic pride Than most of us possess. 1 86 ^znbs toitk^ttt a §ttiitg: DCCCLXI. Earth is brimful of possibilities For those who see and seize them. Work seeks men. The earth hath raw material enough, And waits man's plastic hand. The quarry still Is travailing with the statue. The rough quartz Longs to yield up his veins of ruddy gold To the skilled smelter. The bright diamond Sighs for the digger's spade. The canvas yearns For artist fingers. Stars unregistered Wait some sky-searching keen astronomer. Go, be a workman somewhere. DCCCLXII. Oh live within the halo of thy faith, My Christian brother, if thou would'st have peace, Or serve thy Master truly. DCCCLXIII. Our gracious loving God Not only answers when His people pray, But also, while they sleep, and do not pray, He pours his blessings on them. DCCCLXIV. Learn to make Christ thy constant cynosure. If thou wouldst hope to live above the world, Or vanquish evil. §xxzi ^hong^hi^ on JEang Subjects. 187 DCCCLXV. Remember, brother, that the place thou fill'st Is that which God appoints thee. Be content. And fill it like a man. Despise it not, But, if it be not noble, make it so By thy behaviour in it. Presently God may promote thee to a wider sphere. But meanwhile He would graduate thee thus. He who would rule should first learn how to serve Humility is greatness ; service, use : 'Tis good to serve, and wait. 'Tis better wear Christ's meanest roughest livery all thy days Than don the Devil's ermine. DCCCLXVI. All things in nature teach us modesty. The very tulip, garish as she is, Doth hide the bright side of her tapestry. And wear the pattern inwards. DCCCLXVn. Give a proportion of thy gains to God, And sanctify thy income. Set apart A well-considered portion cheerfully. As thy thank-offering for His bounteous love, He is the great Proprietor of all ; Thou but His steward, that must give account For all His love hath lent thee. 1 88 Jea!b0 tDith;0tit a §trtnjj: DCCCLXVIII. Till his last chapter has run fully out, Write no man's eulogy. Our epilogues Sometimes beHe our prologues shamefully ; So much that's sinister may lie between The starting-post and goal. DCCCLXIX. " I" is, to some men, all the alphabet, And Number One their whole arithmetic, — So vain and selfish are they. DCCCLXX. How slowly and how tediously we learn By the dull ministry of prosy books ! How surely, and how often quickly too, By the stern teaching of experience ! DCCCLXXI. The highest motive is not duteousness. Love's must is better far than duty's ought, And tends to nobler issues. DCCCLXXIL Rheumatic tempers, paralytic wills, Dizzy perceptions, imbecile resolves, Hot pulses, palsied hearts, unstable feet : — What soul-disease hath sin endowed us with ! §xxd ^k0itglit« on JEanp <SttbJ£rt0. 189 DCCCLXXIII. Great-natured men With a brave heart look calm and trustfully Into the coming future of their lives. But lesser natures, weak and timorous, See looming poverty 'twixt them and death ; And, though they trust the God of their to-day, Can't trust Him for to-morrow. dccclxxiv. Wealth — That sleepless care, that winged uncertainty, That debit in God's ledger, "money lent — " He should be better than his brother men. Whom God entrusts with riches. DCCCLXXV. This life is but the stringing of the harp, The tedious tuning of the viohn. 'Tis harsh, and dissonant, and tedious work, For melody and music presently. DCCCLXXVI. Hew thine own path to greatness, like a man. Seek, first, God's help ; little from any else. 'Tis energy that wins, but indolence— That moss of human nature — holds us back, And bids us spare our strength. 190 ^eab0 toitkottt a cStrxng: DCCCLXXVII. For kingdoms there are few things that work worse Than cloistral and ascetic piety. It robs the nation and society Of all domestic solder, multiplies A mass of unsexed unit celibates, Devoid of every sexual sympathy, Childless and homeless, sour of life and lip, Full of unsocial instincts. DCCCLXXVIII. The world's an Anathoth. Deeds, even words, Sooner or later, all come echoing back, To curse us or to bless us ; all return By an inexorable law, so sure. That often in the coin we get, we see What we have paid to others. DCCCLXXIX. Motive thoughts Lie often deep concealed. If thou wouldst know Who lives within, note less who opes the door. Than who looks out o' th' window. DCCCLXXX. Herald of Ruin, Pride comes stalking by ; But be not dazzled by his livery, His master follows fast. §xxzi "EhouQhU on JEang cStibj^rts^. 191 DCCCLXXXI. We have strange answers, often, to our prayers. Though always loving ones. Kind Heaven, too wise To heed our vulgar meaning, answers them In its own high intelligence, replies In mercy to our prone and foolish hearts : Giving, sometimes, by taking all away ; And granting, by denial. DCCCLXXXII. Ah, 'tis a solemn thing. These pendulous hearts of ours, that oscillate (And with so sinister a leaning too) Between the wide extremes of hell and heaven. DCCCLXXXIII. Most ripe men die well satisfied with days : The disenchantment of experience Has long since wakened them from youth's fond dream. And, wiser, sadder, they have ceased to seek For pearls upon this beach of pebbly things. DCCCLXXXIV. Learn to do good. If not for others' sakes, at least thine own. Nothing so cheers the heart as usefulness. Or banishes so wondrously our cares. 192 §tw^Q toitltattt a <§tring: DCCCLXXXV. 'Tis what we give, not get, enriches us : Giving is getting also. Oh how oft The generous man, in God's good providence, Is taught that what is scarce too much for one May be enough for two ! DCCCLXXXVI. Better, far better, be yon purseless bird, Than, with a sordid heart, a miUionaire. How many never coin their gains to gifts. Nor melt their gold down into kindnesses ! DCCCLXXXVII. Giving (if first we give ourselves to God) May be true worship also. DCCCLXXXVI 1 1. How soon the boy Throws forth the shadow of the coming man ! Much more the girl, the woman. DCCCLXXXIX. Cloud-watching men will seldom venture far. Nor the shore-hugging sailor make his port. A prudent enterprise is always good. Faith is as needful to success as sight ; Trust, quite as good as try. §xut ^houQhis on JEan^ <Sttbje£t0. 193 DCCCXC. Our ripeness and maturity are shown Best in our wisdom and beneficence. Compute thy age, then, by thy deeds, not days ; For, though as hoary as a shrub be-snowed, Wrinkled as any elm-leaf in the wood, And warty as a melon, — thou art yet But a mere child in all that makes a man, Unless thy mental and thy moral growth Be worthy of thy years. DCCCXCI. How many Christians dwell in " Murmur Street," Shaming their creed and their Creator too. Much more their meek and uncomplaining Lord ! DCCCXCII. 'Tis the heart, rather than the head, that's falFn ; Th' affections, rather than the intellect ; Therefore man's thought is higher than his life. And thus / am is lower than / know. DCCCXCIII. Leave it to God, with cheerfulness and trust, How much or little of this pauper world He choose to give thee. Leave it all to Him. 'Tis better to be dieted by God, Than feasted by the Devil, o 194 §znb0 toitkotit a cString: DCCCXCIV. The angelhood and devilhood of man Strive in him mightily for mastery, And nought can save him from defeat and shame But Christ and His salvation. DCCCXCV. Our thoughts are often truer than our words, Especially to God. DCCCXCVI. Vice is in some so patent, all can read Its brand i' their foreheads. But how many sin With devilry so subtle and refined That it is scarce suspected ! DCCCXCVI I. Many would fain possess true Christian joy, But 'tis a fiefdom God bestows alone On usefulness and service. DCCCXCVIII. The minor ministries of daily life, Its nameless secondary services. How sadly we neglect them, most of us ! Thus half its music, sunlight, poetry, Is missed, too often, by us. Iprief ^h0ttght0 on JEang cSubjei:t0. 195 DCCCXCIX. Forget them, though men may — Their many youthful folHes and misdeeds — Yet often, both in solitude and crowds, Will Memory cry "Remember !" DCCCC. Some things are better felt than understood : What we explain, we rarely comprehend. DCCCCI. The lowering cloud that wanders o'er the sky May never, traveller, burst upon f/iy path. Have not too many fears. DCCCCIL The real Christian, though he walks below, Is in the world, not (^/'it All of him. Except his body, is already ris'n Into the heavenly world. DCCCCIII. The energy that manifests itself In noisy action and loud vehemence, Oh how unlike it is to that of God, As evidenced in nature, how unHke That quieter intenser energy That works throughout creation i 196 §znhs \33xihoui a ^String: DCCCCIV. The Bible is God's telescope, by which He nearer brings eternal heavenly things To our dim earth-bound eyes : His microscope, By which He shows, to our inflated selves, Our base and wriggling motives. DCCCCV. Reckon not life by hours, but by good deeds : Love is grey hairs, and usefulness is age. He who lives best lives longest. DCCCCVI. I VALUE little earth's poor creeds and isms, Its party names and petty shibboleths. God helping, I will be a Christian man, And I will not be less. DCCCCVI I. Rest is the popular idea of heaven ; And yet men really need no perfect rest, Except a rest from their poor restless selves. DCCCCVIII. The realms of thought and ideality Are no mere Dreamland : none of us but lives More in the past and future of his life, Than in the actual present. §xxd thoughts mx #tan2 (Subjert^. 197 DCCCCIX. Our great surroundings cannot make us great : Aim, rather, then, at greatness in thyself, Than in thy circumstantials. The true man Can well dispense with fortune's drapery. A real Titan needs no pedestal, However pigmies may. DCCCCX. Heart eddies, passion gusts, and mental tides, Ripples of anger, foamy streaks of wrath — What a vexed ocean are we, without God To save us from ourselves ! DCCCCXI. The wise architect Plans not for genial summer-time alone. But for the winter too. The shipwright builds Not only for the smooth and quiet lake. But for the roaring ocean. Strange, that man Should plan so shrewdly for this lesser world, And so neglect the greater ! Earthly wise, Yet in soul-commerce such a witless fool ! DCCCCXIL It is but a mere hostelry, this world, Where we just lodge a night, and straight pass on, At day-dawn, to our home. §zt{bs toith0ut a (String: DCCCCXIII. What human hedgehogs cross one's daily path ! Spined, gnarled, contentious and irascible, Their yeasty natures never are at rest. Full of all discords and discourtesies, Their looks are daggers, and their words are swords ; They only speak to wound. DCCCCXIV. PuRSELESS we're born and die. The leveller. Death, Will soon the poorest, richest, equalize, And place the neediest pauper side by side With the most wealthy king. DCCCCXV. Thy path is difficult ; thou art perplexed : Thou sigh'st, and pray'st perhaps, for added light. To understand thy duty. And pray on. But try to find what thy nexf duty is. And, that discovered, do it. The next step Will then be plain to thee, another then, — So on, till all thy path shall be made plain. DCCCCXVI. True earnest work, high aims, and heavenly thoughts, Simplicity and purity of life. Unselfish aims and loving purposes — This, and no less than this, is really life. §xui '^houQhis on JEang gtibjed^. 199 DCCCCXVII. Be truthful, not alone in word, but act, For some there are who, though their tongue perchance Utter no falsehoods, yet their gait, their air, Their tone, their seeming — all so much mislead, They are themselves a lie. DCCCCXVIII. How much more surely would a man grow wise, Were he content to be esteemed a fool ! It is not always so much what we learn. As what we unlearn. DCCCCXIX. Have the rare grace of Christian manliness. The Christian — he should be a man, and more : Not a religious something, less than man. DCCCCXX. Man — The highest lodger in God's storied world. The echo of all greatness — how he shames His godlike possibilities ! DCCCCXXI. Be quiet, low, and gentle, in thy speech. A mouthy utterance is sure evidence Of a base vulgar nature. §0 200 ^zw^iQ toitkottt a <StrinQ: DCGCCXXII. The perfume scents the vase. Should not religion sweeten all the life, If we be true disciples of the Lord, Till every act be fragrant ? DCCCCXXIII. Use is true life, un-use is real death. It is the very spending of our strength That doth so much increase it. DCCCCXXIV. How oft the combatant for Christian truth Forgets the equal claims of Christian love, And thus the sour, dead fly, asperity, Mars the sweet precious nard ! DCCCCXXV. Death is life's morning, not its evening. 'Tis but the colon in life's paragraph ; Its preface, not its finis. DCCCCXXVI, The man who would emerge from poverty. And win a hatchment worthy of the name. Must be composed of better, nobler, stuff Than indolence and pride. DCCCCXXVII. The age floats up the individual man At its high water-mark, and there he hes, Its revelation and embodiment. But Christ emerged not thus from His own age, Or any age preceding. Though a man, He was not a man merely : unlike all, Because immeasurably beyond all men. He was no other, and no less, than God. DCCCCXXVIII. There is no summit for ambitious men. He who once starts upon the Wishing Hne Will find it hath no terminus. DCCCCXXIX. He who would understand God's holy Word Must study it with heart, as well as head ; With sympathy, as well as intellect ; With faith, as well as reason. DCCCCXXX. The infidel, Proud, boastful, independent, scofls at Heaven, And in his folly would un-God the world. But sudden terror comes, and he will pale. And in his agony will seek to God, Like a hurt child t' its mother. 202 ^mtis toitk^ttt a §trinij: DCCCCXXXI. I LOVE to walk the City streets by night, And Hnger where great men, in days gone by, So nobly proved their manhood. The mean court, The ancient close, the tottering tenement, Where'er the shadows of the great have fall'n, All have a charm and sacredness for me, That awes my spirit. DCCCCXXXII. In Christian life. We never can too little trust ourselves. Nor too much trust our God. DCCCCXXXIII. I BELIEVE In Christian love as well as Christian truth ; Walking with God, loving and serving Christ, And all the graces and the charities The Master taught and lived. DCCCCXXXIV. 'Tis not the great calamities of life, Its losses, failures, disappointments, trips, That fret and wear us. 'Tis the little things — The crookedness and contrariety. The hourly crosses, that do vex us so. And work us such disquiet. §xui WxouQhU on JEang cSttlii^^ts^. 203 DCCCCXXXV. What contraries there are in human things ! Here is a beggar with a dozen sons ; And yonder, at his side, a millionaire, With none to heir him ! DCCCCXXXVI. Work is, of course, an evidence of life, But 'tis not life itself. Life should be throned, Apart, upon the dais, ruminant, Above the working of the fussy hand. Life should ride buoyant on the sea of work. Not be engulfed by it : like the tall spire, Above the noisy street ; or the calm stars. Above the yeasty ocean. DCCCCXXXVII. It needs not a great sphere To show us a great man. The rounded moon May be as truly mirrored in a pool, As in a lake. DCCCCXXXVIII. Have a brave buoyant heart. When evils threaten. They will pass anon. The heavy drops betoken a short shower. The shadow never is so black and long As when 'tis just departing. 204 ^znbs tDxthxrnt n §ixxnQ: DCCCCXXXIX. Faith is a higher thing than reason isy 'Tis its own evidence and q. e. d. 'Tis better to believe than understand. Better to trust than know. DCCCCXL. There's no cement like fellow-sufferings There's no soul-solder strong as trouble is. To weld us to each other. So, of old, Jacob and Esau, though such different men. And who so oft and long had been estranged. Yet once did memorably meet as friends — To bury their old father. DCCCCXLI, This wide grass-carpeted and sky-roofed earth — How lovely is it for unlovely man ! Oh that the lodger, so divinely housed. Were worthier of the lodging ! DCCCCXLII. Angelic men have grown so rare on earth. The world hath lost its faith in angelhood. DCCCCXLIII. Sin is a blood-hound, that with surest scent Tracks down his victim. Well he knows the slot. Although all trace seems hidden. §xxd W^ouQhts on JEang cSubjeds. 205 DCCCCXLIV. Most men are conscious, whatsoe'er they say, Of a mysterious Presence, though unseen. The wicked dreads it as a Nemesis, The shadow of an executioner. The worldHng shrinks from an offended God. The Christian — he alone of all the three. Sees a benignant vision, smiling, fair, A helper, benefactor, guardian, friend, — A reconciled Father. DCCCCXLV. The brain is dual. As all our nature is. Hence spring, perhaps, Those unsequential, dislocated thoughts. That move us in our dreams. DCCCCXLVI. In everything Be sober, self-denying, temperate. There are intoxicants in human life Far more than all our temperance advocates Have ever catalogued. DCCCCXLVI I. True prayer is none the worse for brevity. God hears our thoughts, and answers our desires. More than our words, however eloquent. 2o6 §tn^s iDith;0ttt a ^String. DCCCCXLVIII. How heathenish are all our thoughts of death ! The broken column, the extinguished torch, The sable trappings, the funereal plume, — Strange emblems these t' express our Christian creed, And resurrection hopes. DCCCCXLIX. The judgment day ! All days are judgment days. There's scarce an evil action can be done. For which the branded doer does not pay A present penalty. DCCCCL. Like the Baptizer in the Gospels there. The real Christian's both aglow himself, And luminous to others. He has learned. Warm and effulgent, how to burn and shine, In the dark world around him. ^^ INDEX. Acerbity, 92 Acquiescence, 235, 345, 481 Adversity, 621 Affinity, 114 Aims, 100 Alchemy, 351 Ambition, 634, 664, 928 Angelhood, 942 Anger, 51, 554 Anxiety, 657 Appearances, 246, 440, 738, 761, 772 Approbation, 706 Asceticism, 877 Aspirations, 116 ' Assimilation, 152 Avarice, 20, 352, 512, 677 Beauty, 33, 420, 709, 739, 769 Beginnings, 90 Belief, 552, 559, 722, 933 Bible, the, 198, 258, 395, 532, 904, 929 Books, 320, 617 Brotherhood, 165 Burden of the Lord, 238 Capital, 653 Care, 385, 421 Character, 140, 173, 239 Cheerfulness, 180 Childhood, 156, 260, 279, 358, 506, 697 Children, 387, 751 Christ, 115, 346, 599, 640, 656, 658, 701, 785, 864, 894, 927 Christian, the, 191, 272, 902, 950 Christian Life, 48, 119, 185,381, 396, 417, 546, 582, 584, 628, 743 Christian Manhood, 117, 466, 906, 919 Church, the, 275, 521, 616 Companionship, 21, 87, 475 Conscience, 302 Consolation, 595 Contention, 439, 913, 924 Contentment, 142, 297, 429, 432, 561, 705, 771, 799, 865, 891, 893 Conversation, 14 Covetousness, 392, 638 Creed, 308 Curiosity, 792, 814 Danger, 680 Death, 10, 13, 24, 93, 130, 136, 186, 250, 326, 398, 406, 636, 666, 681, 712, 728, 757, 824, 914, 925, 948 Decision, 528 Defeat, 182, 534, 765, 822 Devil, the, 32, 82, 209, 415, 531, 631 Devotion, 18 Difficulty, 107, 766 Dignity, 500, 714 Disappointment, 349, 361, 730, 830 Discontent, 735, 843, 891 Diseases, 355 Dishonesty, 476, 644, 670 Doing, 47, 50, 57 Dress, 149, 455, 507, 632 Duty, 52, 84, 88, 125, 196, 211, 325, 485, 608, 707, 790, 871, 915 Earnestness, 56 Earning, 155, 413, 538, 569, 777 Ease, 299, 474 Economy, 193, 490 Effort, 175 Ittii^x. Enemies, 303 Energy, 903 Enterprise, 889 Enthusiasm, 622 Epitaphs, 148 Evil, 35. 151. 422, 734 Exceptions, 181 Extremes, 62 Faith, 596, 774, 862, 939 Fashion, 652 Fear, 901 Fear of God, 565 Fear of Man, 434 Feeling, 77 Flowers, 556 Folly, 752, 800, 911 Footprints, 103, 197 Forbearance, 70 Forwardness, 794 Friendships, 102, 131, 655 Fruitfulness, 127 Future, the, 34, 49, 266, 517, 529 Genius, 95, 418 Gentility, 139, 592, 847 Gentleness, 550 Getting, 283 Giving, 66, 129, 143, 219, 524, 526, 535, 586, 787, 818, 867, 885, 886, 887 God, II, 42, 66, 112, 216, 237, 430, 686, 944 God's Promises, 334 Godliness, 305, 607 Gold, 4, 39, 288, 416, 633, 667, 780 Good and Evil, 121 Great, the, 3, 76, 207, 247, 307, 450, 472, 501, 720 Greatness, 118, 167, 200, 206, 213, 253, 332, 343, 356, 362, 369, 454, 541, 641, 727, 732, 740, 754, 764, 829, 873, 876, 909, 931, 937 Grief, 243 Habit, 2i9,"6i2 Happiness, 572, 619, 702, 736 Hearing, 179 Heart, the, 17, 177, 188, 189,354, 403, 446, 503, 562, 609, 668, 688, 835, 882, 892 Heaven, 97, 195, 255, 306, 404, 467,477, 671, 770, 811, 892 Hell, 758 Heroism, 176 History, 241 Holiness, 357, 620 Holy Spirit, the, 494 Honesty, 380 Honour, 400 Hopes and Fears, 389, 448, 452, 464, 826 Human Nature, 379, 391, 470, 537, 605, 623, 715, 797, 841, 872, 910 Human Voice, the, 411 Humility, 304, 321, 444, 788 Hypocrisy, 525 Hope, 105, 201, 383, 442, 452, 544, 602 Ignorance, 342, 853 Imitation, 172 Immortality, 108 Indifference, 328 Indolence, 716, 926 Infidelity, 309, 930 Influence, 262, 498 Innocence, 548 Insanity, 210, 382 Instinct, 580 Intellect, 154 Intrusions, 281 Joy, 220, 245, 520, 897 Judgments, 606, 949 Knowledge, 133, 163, 518, 643, 784, 810, 900 Laughter, 424, 642 Laziness, 230 Liberality, 126, 129, 143 Liberty, 222 Little, the, 157, 203, 285, 298, 557, 570, 611, 645, 934 ln!bex. 209 Life, 25, 26, 73, 74, 80, 96, 113, 120, 128, 160, 164, 184, 190, 228, 277, 287, 313, 314, 316, 365, 370, 393, 442, 445» 475, 478, 489, 510, 516, 520, 527, 543, 558, 560, 610, 613, 618, 635, 646, 696, 711, 717, 732, 745, 796, 803, 823, 831, 875, 916, 936 Love, 78, 223, 573, 744 Love of Money, 109, 373, 458, 561, 578 Luxury, 166 Lying, 68, 208, 218, 708 Man, 212, 483, 583 Manhood, 263, 330, 388, 890 Manliness, 86, 117, 137, 600, 650, 690, 704, 840 Marriage, 798 Meekness, 648, 763 Memory, 170, 261, 899 Mind, the, 141, 615 Misers, 352 Modesty, 866 Money, 413 Motives, 134, 344, 879 Mysteries, 54, 267, 312 Nature, 564 Neighbour-Help, 540 Night, 698 Now, 6, 233, 236, 508, 589, 691, 806, 851 Obedience, 551 Occupation, 463 Old Age, 31, 153, 229, 347, 376, 399, 414, 597, 694, 725, 781, 807, 849, 883, 905 Omissions, 471 Omniscience, 294 Opinions, 457, 713 Opportunity, 340, 425, 515, 598 Oweing, 46 Patience, 337, 462, 529, 549, 695 Peace, 231, 336, 581 Perseverance, 360 Piety, 497, 659, 747 Pleasure, 91, 214, 234, 482 Poet, the, 274 Poor, the, 282, 514 Possibility, 132, 144, 225, 226, 268, 366, 377, 920 Postponement, 145, 293, 438 Poverty, i, 315 Power, 496, 505, 555 Praise, 409, 837 Prayer, 29, 123, 248, 249, 292, 390, 401, 465, 625, 699, 772, 775, 863, 881, 947 Precocity, 270, 545 Pride, 69, 378, 394, 509, 651, 723, 880 Priesthood, 147, 244, 575 Profligacy, 168 Progress, 710 Prophecy, 397, 522, 776 Prosperity, 407, 759 Providence, 98, 427, 741, 748, 811 Purpose, 363, 449, 480, 590, 749 Quietness, 481, 536, 574, 630 Readiness, 159 Reading, 542 Regeneration, 753 Religion, 44, 65, 171, 183, 335, 354, 637, 733, 750, 922 Remembrance, 836 Repentance, 317 Resolutions, 22, no, 138, 329, 502, 660 Rest, 174, 907 Revelations, 447 Reverence, 410, 450, 856 Riches, 333, 367, 402, 426, 511, 594, 692, 809 Sabbath, the, 591, 654, 719, 858 Satisfaction, 276 Self, 79, 726, 746, 760, 832, 846, 869 Self-Deception, 83, 895 Self-Dedication, 217, 273, 820 Self-Denial, 295, 486, 854 Self-Government, 626, 665, 804 Inb^x. Self-Knowledge, 75, 368, 530, 834, 860 Senses, the, 19 Serenity, 99 Serving, 40, 48, 89, 232, 254, 310, 311, 384, 678, 679, 773, 791, 817, 898 Sickness, 64, 778 Silence, in, 492, 519 Sin, 122, 269, 419, 533, 662, 685, 703, 896, 941, 943 Sincerity, 104 Sleep, 579 Slothfulness, 85 Slowness, 247, 779 Solitude, 240, 676, 848 Sorrow, 204, 252, 319, 350, 756 Soul, the, 190, 194, 224, 290, 318, 355, 563 Sowing, 53, 59, 571, 631, 833 Spending, 27, 768, 795, 828 Spiritual Life, 158 Study, 643 Success, 2, 81, 264, 278, 300, 371, 374, 459, 534, 786, 808, 838 Suffering, 405, 408, 412, 456, 461, 587, 693 Sympathy, 731 Talent, 675 Talkativeness, 469 Teachableness, 63, 431 Teaching, 322, 614, 850, 870 Temperance, 946 Temptation, 265 Tendency, 767 Thankfulness, 386 Thoroughness, 280 Thought, 72, 215, 327, 436, 495, 639, 684, 729, 895, 908, 945 Time, 135, 7cx), 737 Time "Wasting, 441 To-day, 802 Tolerance, 428 To-morrow, 687, 724, 827 Travel, 859 Tongue, the, 94, 179, 187, 553 Trouble, 45, 169, 291, 296, 372, 566, 568, 591, 603, 627, 819, 940 Trustfulness, 433, 493, 718, 755, 842, 932 Truth, 9, 55, 58, 242, 284, 353, 468, 499, 504, 689, 815, 839, 852 Truthfulness, 487, 917 Tyranny, 577 Ugliness, 661 Unbelief, 276, 308, 309, 593 Uncertainty, 423 Uniformity, 37, 721 Unity, 28, 323 Unrest, 647 Unselfishness, 100 Use, 5, 106, 923 Usefulness, 7, 884 Utterance, 813, 921 Vanity of Life, 12, 60, 218, 451, 558, 583, 585, 672, 789, 805, 816, 912, 935 Virtue, 161 Wages, 311 Wants, 682 War, 71, 221 Wealth, 43, 227, 256, 259, 783, 825, 874 Wicked, the, 453 Will, 257, 341, 683 Willinghood, 30, 257 Wisdom, 202, 443, 857, 918 Wishing, 192, 205 Work, II, 15, 41, 150, 175, 513, 673, 674, 782, 793, 801, 861 World, the, 12, 38, 54, 61, 67, 124, 286, 289, 301, 348, 375, 488, 878 Worldliness, 178, 338, 547, 567, 576, 649, 821 Worthlessness, 24 Youth, 16, 36, 364, 460 Youth and Age, 162, 260 LONDON : KNIGHT, PRINTER, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE. WOEKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR Crown %vo. , cloth^ ds. Gilt, Js. 6d. Morocco, \os. 6d. OUR ENGLISH MONTHS: ^ l^Qtm 0n the <Sea00n0 in ©nglanb. " ' Our English Months ' describes the various aspects of the year from January to December. An extract will show that Mr. Partridge is a minute and correct observer, and, not unfrequently, an effective painter. . . . The book is rich in facts of natural history ; and the author's descriptive power is happily not of that generalizing kind which tells everything about a scene except what is special to it. On the contrary, many of his touches at once identify the objects to which they refer. Pleasure and instruction go hand in hand in this really meritorious book. " — A thenceiim. " We know of no volume of descriptive poetry surpassing ' Our English Months ' in truthfulness of picturing, felicity of expression, and healthiness of moral tone." — Watchmen of Ephraim. 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' " We have read these poems with inexpressible delight. We never read a poetical work, of the ' same size, richer in sentiment, mor6 fraught with solid thinking, or better adapted to convey sound instruction to the heart." ^Methodist New Con- nexion Magazine. Third Thousand. Demy Svo., cloth, is. . AN IDEA OF A CHRISTIAN, "A book full of gems of thought and expression. Mr. Partridge has caught the true idea of a Christian, and very beautifully has he wrought it out." — Christian Spectator. "This book is not a formal treatise on the Christian, but a string of aphorisms and brief sententious sayings, like so many radiant pearls and gems of richest hue, sparkling with truth, love, and every moral excellence which adorns the Christian character. There is thought and wisdom in every sentence : and from their uncon- strained freedom, their quaintness, their freqijent antithesis, and from their pregnant fulness of important meaning, they will be sure to fix themselves in the memory and the heart." — Methodist New Connexion Magazine. " Pages of elaborate thought, clearly and nobly expressed. . . . The book is singularly fitted to promote profitable meditation." — British Banner. LONDON : S, W. PARTRIDGE & CO., 9, PATERNOSTER ROW. ^c\^^^ ^A ^'^^^'€i ^'/;-': ■;. >:-i .^'\:.-)M SivM t^^^M \ X^W^ m ■■. . ■■■ ■> ".. i^<f\ ■^ym '] .;•;>' 's^-:' ^;} 's:w^^'^:i, ' :/( \ .A 't Xxt m ) .i: \\.\' •) ■ • ^^M ' ^ '^ '" ' i H ' ! '-^' ■-'}^ H V : 'v, ■ V .'s'V f f*^ ■ >v , , • ;; ,i V .s * V -'L^ •i'-'rV^ /;;X« IB <, va;.^ tvi 1 'r *> i :-'-N A ^^1 : :x ? r( ■ ■ ( 4 \i-^:\ m ■ / , -■' < 't 5 * *^ '• ^ ^ V Si- \-f -'X\-y.- 4