Speak gently to the Erring.
SPEAK gently to the erring-
Ye know not all the power
With which the dark temptation came
In some unguarded hour:
Ye may not know how earnestly
They struggled, or how well,
Until the hour of weakness came,
And sadly thus they fell!
Speak gently of the erring-
Oh! do not thou forget,
However darkly stain❜d by sin,
He is thy brother yet.
Heir of the self-same heritage,
Child of the self-same God,
He hath but stumbled in the path
Thou hast in weakness trod.
Speak kindly to the erring-
For is it not enough
That innocence and peace are gone,
Without thy censure rough?
It surely is a weary lot
That sin-crush'd heart to bear;
And they who share a happier fate
Their chidings well may spare.
Speak kindly to the erring
Thou yet may'st lead him back,
With holy words, and tones of love,
From Misery's thorny track:
Forget not thou hast often sinn'd,
And sinful yet must be ;
Deal kindly with the erring one,
As God has dealt with thee.
A Good Conscience the Best Defence.
WHAT stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
Nobleness of a Fowly Mind.
O! I WOULD walk
A WEARY journey, to the farthest verge
Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand,
Who, in the blaze of wisdom and of art,
Preserves a lowly mind; and to his God,
Feeling the sense of his own littleness,
Is as a child in meek simplicity!
What is the pomp of learning? the parade
Of letters and of tongues? even as the mists
Of the gray morn before the rising sun,
That pass away and perish. Earthly things
Are but the transient pageants of an hour;
And earthly pride is like the passing flower
That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.
LEARN from yon orient shell to love thy foe,
And store with pearls the hand that brings thee woe:
Free, like yon rock, from base vindictive pride,
Emblaze with gems the wrist that rends thy side:
Mark, where yon tree rewards the stony shower
With fruit nectareous, or the balmy flower:
All nature calls aloud, shall man do less
Than heal the smiter, and the railer bless?
Transl. from Hafiz.
We habe all of us one Human Heart.
MAN is dear to man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life
When they can know and feel that they have been,
Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out
Of some small blessings; have been kind to such
As needed kindness, for this single cause,
That we have all of us one human heart.
SPEAK you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.
I thought that all things had been savage here;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are,
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time;
If ever you have look'd on better days;
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;
If ever sat at any good man's feast;
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.
SHAKESPEARE.
THE blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. "Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which by daily use
Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourn'd, 'twill fall
Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again;
And shed on the departing soul a sense
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honour'd death-bed of the rich,
To him who else were lonely, that another
Of the great family is near, and feels.
Compassion.
THE Sweetest voice
That warbles in the grove, is not so sweet
As thine, Compassion- -nor the boldest deed
Of hero's arm so worthy of the lyre
As act of Mercy; nor, in all the round
Of being, is there aught in God's pure eye,
So bless'd, so sanctified as those kind thoughts
That stir the bosom of Benevolence.
What are the joys of Heaven but those of Love? What God's own bliss ?-The bliss of doing good Unlimited and perfect! DRUMMOND.
TIME hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitude's:
Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail,
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way,
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path;
For emulation hath a thousand sons,
That one by one pursue; if you give way,
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost.
Or, like a gallant horse, fallen in first rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present,
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
For time is like a fashionable host,
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. Oh! let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was; for beauty, wit,
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time. SHAKESPEARE.
Neber say Fail.
KEEP working—'tis wiser
Than sitting aside,
And dreaming and sighing
And waiting the tide.
In life's earnest battle
They only prevail
Who daily march onward,
And never say fail!
In life's rosy morning,
In manhood's firm pride,
Let this be the motto
Your footsteps to guide:
In storm and in sunshine,
Whatever assail,
We'll onward and conquer,
And never say fail!
TO-MORROW, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
Creeps in this petty space from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusky death.
BE wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer:
Next day the fatal precedent will plead :
Thus on till wisdom is push'd out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time;
Year after year it steals, till all are fled.
Oн, seize the instant time; you never will
With waters once pass'd by impel the mill!
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