Brood not on insults or injuries old,

For thou art injurious too

Count not their sum till the total is told,

For thou art unkind and untrue;

And if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven,
Now mercy with justice is met,

Oh, who would not gladly take lessons of heaven,
Nor learn to forgive and forget!

Yes, yes; let a man when his enemy weeps,
Be quick to receive him a friend;

For thus on his head in kindness he heaps

Hot coals to refine and amend;

And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yearn,

As a nurse on her innocent pet,

Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn,

And whisper, Forgive and forget.

"MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS."

EUREKA! this is truth sublime,

Defying change, outwrestling time-
Eureka! well that truth is told,
Wisely spake the bard of old-
Eureka! there is peace and praise
In this short and simple phrase,
A sea of comforts, wide and deep,
Wherein my conscious soul to steep,
A hoard of happy-making wealth
To doat on, miserly, by stealth,
Through Time my reason's ripest fruit,
For all eternity its root,

Earth's harvest, and the seed of heaven,

To me, to me, by mercy given!

Yes, eureka-I have found it,

And before the world will sound it;
This remains, and still shall stay
When life's gauds have passed away,

This, of old my treasure-truth,
The bosom joy that warm'd my youth,
My happiness in manhood's prime,
My triumph down the stream of time,
Till death shall lull this heart in age,
And deathless glory crown my page,
My grace-born truth and treasure this-
"My mind to me a kingdom is."

Noble solace, true and strong, Great reward for human wrong, With an inward blessing still To compensate all earthly ill, To recompense for adverse fates, Woes, or wants, or scorns, or hates, To cherish, after man's neglect, When foes deride, and friends suspect, To soothe and bless the spirit bow'd Down by the selfish and the proud, To lift the soul above this scene Of petty troubles, trite and mean, O, there is moral might in this"My mind to me a kingdom is."

Carve it deep with letters bold,
In the imperishable gold,
Grave it on some primal rock
That hath stood the earthquake shock,

Make that word a citizen

Dwelling in the hearts of men,

Sound it in the ears of age,

Stamp it on the printed page,
Gladden sympathizing youth
With the soft music of this truth,
This echoed note of heavenly bliss,
"My mind to me a kingdom is."

Ay, chide or scorn-I will be proud—
I am not of a slavish crowd;

No serf is here to outward things

He rules with chiefs! he reigns with kings!
Tell out thy secret joys, my mind,

Free and fearless as the wind,
And pour the triumphs of the soul

In words that like a river roll,
Foaming on with vital force

From their ever-gushing source,
Fountains of truth, that overwhelm
With swollen streams this royal realm,
And in Nilotic richness steep

My heart's Thebaid, rank and deep!

Or bolder, as my thoughts inspire,
Change that water into fire!
From the vex'd bowels of my soul
Lava currents roar and roll,
Bursting out in torrent wide
Through my crater's ragged side,
Rushing on from field to field,
Till all with boiling stone is sealed,
And my hot thoughts, in language pent,
Stand their own granite monument!

Yes! all the elements are mine,
To crush, create, dissolve, combine-
All mine the confidence is just,
On God I ground my high-born trust
To stand, when pole is rent from pole,
Calm in my majesty of soul,

Watching the throes of this wreck'd world,
When from their thrones the Alps are hurl'd,

When fire consumes earth, sea, and air,

To stand unharm'd, undaunted there,

And grateful still to boast in this, "My mind to me a kingdom is."

Brother poet, dead so long,
Heed these echoes to thy song,

And love me now, where'er thou art,
Yearning with magnetic heart

From thy throne in some bright sphere
On this poor brother, grovelling here:
For I, too, I can stoutly sing

I am every inch a king!

A king of Thought, a potentate
Of glorious spiritual state,

A king of Thought, a king of Mind,
Realms unmapp'd and undefined—
A king! beneath no man's control,
Invested with a royal soul,
Crown'd by God's imperial hand
Before Him as a king to stand,
And by His wisdom train'd and taught
To rule my realms as king of Thought.

O thoughts! how ill my fellow-men;
O thoughts! how scantily my poor pen
Can guess or tell the myriad host
Wherewith you crowd my kingdom's coast!
For I am hemm'd and throng'd about
With your triumphant rabble-rout;
Huried along by that mad flood,
The joy-excited multitude;
A conqueror, borne upon the foam
Of his great people's gladness home;
A monarch in his grandest state,
On whom a thousand thousand wait!
Lo! they come-my tribes of Thought,
Fierce and flush'd and fever-fraught!
From the horizon all around

I hear with pride their coming sound;
See! their banners circling near-
Glittering groves of shield and spear,
Flying clouds of troopers gay,
Seried lines in dark array,

Veterans calm with temper'd sword,
And a dishevell'd frantic horde-

On they come with furious force,
Trampling foot and thundering horse;
On they come! converging loud,
With clanging arms, a glorious crowd,
Shouting impatient, fierce and free,
For me, their monarch-yea, for me!
Then, in my majesty and power,
I quell the madness of the hour,
Bid that tumultuous turmoil cease,
And frown my multitudes to peace.
Each to his peril and his post!

All hush'd throughout my mighty host:
Courage clear, and duty stern—

Heads that freeze and hearts that burn;

Marshalled straight in order due,

Legions! pass in swift review!

Bending to my blazoned will;
Loyal to that standard still;

And hailing me with homage then

King of Thoughts-and thus, of Men!

What? am I powerless to control

Nations, by my single soul?

What? have I not made thousands thrill

By the mere impulse of my will?

When the strong thought goes forth, and binds

Captive a wondering herd of minds?

And is not this to reign alone

More than the ermine and the throne,
The jewel'd state, the gilded rooms,
The mindless man in borrowed plumes?
Yes if the inmate soul outweighs
Its dull clay in power and praise:

Yes-if Eternity be true,

And Time both false and fleeting too;

Then, humbler kings, my boast be this,

"My mind to me a kingdom is."

And what, though weak and slow of speech, Ill to comfort, dull to teach?