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What the World Loves and Hates
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Why should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone, so Heaven has will’d, we die ; Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh?
Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe
Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart, Our eyes see all around in gloom or glowHues of their own, fresh borrow'd from the
And well it is for us our God should feel
Alone our secret throbbings; so our prayer May readier spring to Heaven, nor spend its zeal
On cloud-born idols of this lower air.
For if one heart in perfect sympathy
Beat with another, answering love for love, Weak mortals, all entranced, on earth would lie,
Nor listen for those purer strains above.
Or what if Heaven, for once its scorching light
Lent to some partial eye, disclosing all The rude bad thoughts, that in our bosom's night
Wander at large, nor heed Love's gentle thrall ? Who would not shun the dreary uncouth place?
Or if, fond leaning where her infant slept, A mother's arm a serpent should embrace ;
So might we friendless live, and die unwept. Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn, Thou who canst love us, tho' Thou read'st us
true ; As on the bosom of the aerial lawn,
Melts in dim haze each coarse, ungentle hue. So too may soothing Hope Thy leave enjoy
Sweet visions of long severed hearts to frame; Though absence may impair, or cares annoy, Some constant mind may
draw us still the same. We in dark dreams are tossing to and fro,
Pine with regret, or sicken with despair; The while she bathes us in her own chaste glow, And with our memory wings her own fond
O bliss of child-like innocence, and love
power to win And raise new worlds, where happy fancies rove,
Forgetting quite this grosser world of sin.
Bright are their dreams, because their thoughts
are clear, Their memory cheering ; but the earth-stain'd
spright, Whose wakeful musings are of guilt and fear,
Must hover nearer earth, and less in light.
Farewell, for her th' ideal scenes so fair-
deign’d, Creator of all hearts ! to own and share The woe of what Thou mad'st, and we have
Thou know'st our bitterness-our joys are thine,
No stranger Thou to all our wanderings wild ; Nor could we bear to think, how every line
Of us, Thy darken'd likeness and defild,
Stands in full sunshine of Thy piercing eye,
But that Thou call'st us brethren : sweet repose Is in that word—the LORD who dwells on high Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows.
APPOINTING TO PLACE.
O, that estates, degrees, and offices,
then should cover that stand bare !
honour, Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times To be new varnished !
A man who, by a partial, prejudiced, or corrupt vote, disappoints a worthy candidate of a station in life, upon which his hopes-possibly a livelihood-depended, and who thereby grievously discourages merit and emulation in others, commits, I am persuaded, a much greater crime than if he filched a book out of a library, or picked a pocket of a handkerchief; though in the one case he violates only an imperfect right, in the other a perfect one.