What! art thou not content thy sin hath dragged down suffering and death
On the poor dumb servants of thy comfort, and yet must thou rack them
The prodigal heir of creation hath gambled away his all, [with thy spite?
Shall he add torment to the bondage that is galling his forfeit serfs?
The leader in Nature's pæan himself hath marred her psaltery—
Shall he multiply the din of discord by overstraining all the strings?
The rebel hath fortified his stronghold, shutting in his vassals with him-
Shall he aggravate the woes of the besieged by oppression from within?
Thou twice-deformed image of thy Maker, thou hateful representative
of Love,
For very
shame be merciful, be kind unto the creatures thou hast ruined;
Earth and her million tribes are cursed for thy sake;
Earth and her million tribes still writhe beneath thy cruelty: Liveth there but one among the million that shall not bear witness against A pensioner of land, or air, or sea, that hath not whereof it will accuse thee? [field,
From the elephant toiling at a launch, to the shrewmouse in the harvestFrom the whale which the harpooner hath stricken, to the minnow caught upon a pin,
From the albatross wearied in its flight, to the wren in her covered nest, From the death-moth and lace-winged dragon-fly, to the lady-bird and
The verdict of all things is unanimous, finding their master cruel:
The dog, thy humble friend, thy trusting, honest friend;
The ass, thine uncomplaining slave, drudging from morn to even;
The lamb, and the timorous hare, and the labouring ox at plough;
The speckled trout, basking in the shallow, and the partridge, gleaning
in the stubble,
[in captivity,
And the stag at bay, and the worm in thy path, and the wild bird pining
And all things that minister alike to thy life, and thy comfort, and thy
Testify with one sad voice that man is a cruel master.
VERILY, they are all thine: freely mayst thou serve thee of them all: They are thine by gift for thy needs, to be used in all gratitude and kindGratitude to their God and thine-their Father and thy Father- [nessKindness to them who toil for thee, and help thee with their all; For meat, but not by wantonness of slaying; for burden, but with limits of humanity; [strength;
For luxury, but not through torture; for draught, but according to the
For a dog cannot plead his own right, nor render a reason for exemption,
Nor give a soft answer unto wrath, to turn aside the undeserved lash;
The galled ox cannot complain, nor supplicate a moment's respite;
The spent horse hideth his distress, till he panteth out his spirit at the
Also, in the winter of life, when worn by constant toil,
[goal;
If ingratitude forget his services, he cannot bring them to remembrance:
Behold, he is faint with hunger; the big tear standeth in his eye;
His skin is sore with stripes, and he tottereth beneath his burden;
His limbs are stiff with age, his sinews have lost their vigour, [toil:
And pain is stamped upon his face, while he wrestleth unequally with
Yet once more mutely and meekly endureth he the crushing blow;
That struggle hath cracked his heart-strings-the generous brute is dead!
Liveth there no advocate for him? no judge to avenge his wrongs?
No voice that shall be heard in his defence? no sentence to be passed on
his oppressor?
Yea, the sad eye of the tortured pleadeth pathetically for him:
Yea, all the justice in heaven is roused in indignation at his woes:
Yea, all the pity upon earth shall call down a curse upon the cruel:
Yea, the burning malice of the wicked is their own exceeding punishment.
The Angel of Mercy stoppeth not to comfort, but passeth by on the other
And hath no tear to shed when a cruel man is damned.
As frost to the bud, and blight to the blossom, even such is self-interest to friendship:
For Confidence cannot dwell where Selfishness is porter at the gate.
If thou see thy friend to be selfish, thou canst not be sure of his honesty;
And in seeking thine own weal, thou hast wronged the reliance of thy
Flattery hideth her varnished face when Friendship sitteth at his board; And the door is shut upon Suspicion, but Candour is bid glad welcome; For Friendship abhorreth doubt, its life is in its mutual trust,
And perisheth, when artful praise proveth it is sought for a purpose. A man may be good to thee at times, and render thee mighty service, Whom yet thy secret soul could not desire as a friend:
For the sum of life is in trifles, and though, in the weightier masses,
A man refuse thee not his purse, nay, his all in thine utmost need,
Yet, if thou canst not feel that his character agreeth with thine own,
Thou never wilt call him friend, tho' thou render him a heart full of grati-
A coarse man grindeth harshly the finer feelings of his brother; [tude.
A common mind will soon depart from the dull companionship of wisdom;
A weak soul dareth not to follow in the track of vigour and decision;
And the worldly regardeth with scorn the seeming foolishness of faith.
A mountain is made up of atoms, and friendship of little matters,
And if the atoms hold not together, the mountain is crumbled into dust.
COME, I will show thee a friend; I will paint one worthy of thy trust: Thine heart shall not weary of him; thou shalt not secretly despise him. Thou art long in learning him, in unravelling all his worth; [ward, And he dazzleth not thine eyes at first, to be darkened in thy sight afterBut riseth from small beginnings, and reacheth the height of thy esteem. He remembereth that thou art only man; he expecteth not great things
[unto him. And his forbearance toward thee silently teacheth thee to be considerate He despiseth not courtesy of manner, nor neglecteth not the decencies
Nor mocketh the failings of others, nor is harsh in his censures before thee;
For so, how couldst thou tell, if he talketh not of thee in ridicule ?
He withholdeth no secret from thee, and rejecteth not thine in turn;
He shareth his joys with thee, and is glad to bear part in thy sorrows.
Yet one thing, he loveth thee too well to show thee the corruptions of his
For as an ill example strengtheneth the hands of the wicked,
So to put forward thy guilt is a secret poison to thy friend:
For the evil of his nature is comforted, and he warreth more weakly
If he find that the friend whom he honoureth is a man more sinful than
I hear the communing of friends; ye speak out the fullness of your souls,
And being but men, as men, ye own to all the sympathies of manhood:*
Confidence openeth the lips, indulgence beameth from the eye,
The tongue loveth not boasting, the heart is made glad with kindness;
And one standeth not as on a hill beckoning to the other to follow,
* "And being but men, as men, ye own to all the sympathies of manhood."] The noble and masculine sentiment of Terence, which of old electrified the whole theatre: “Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto."
But ye toil up hand in hand, and carry each other's burdens.
Ye commune of hopes and aspirations, the fervent breathings of the heart, Ye speak with pleasant interchange the treasured secrets of affection, Ye listen to the voice of complaint, and whisper the language of comfort, And as in a double solitude, ye think in each other's hearing.
CHOOSE thy friend discreetly, and see thou consider his station,
For the graduated scale of ranks accordeth with the ordinance of Heaven: If a low companion ripen to a friend, in the full sunshine of thy confidence, Know, that for old age thou hast heaped up sorrow:
For thou sinkest to that level, and thy kin shall scorn thee,
Yea, and the menial thou hast pampered, haply shall neglect thee in
And if thou reachest up to high estates, thinking to herd with princes, What art thou but a footstool, though so near a throne?
O, rush among the lilies! be taught thou art a weed,
O, brier among the cedars! hot contempt shall burn thee.
But thou, friend and scholar, select from thine own caste,
And make not an intimate of one, thy servant or thy master;
For only friendship among men is the true republic,
Where all have equality of service, and all have freedom of command.
And yet, if thou wilt take my judgment, be shy of too much openness with
Lest thou repent hereafter, should he turn and rend thee:
For many an apostate friend hath abused unguarded confidence,
And bent to selfish ends the secret of the soul.
ABSENCE strength'neth friendship, where the last recollections were kindly;
But it must be good wine at the last, or absence shall weaken it daily.
A rare thing is faith, and friendship is a marvel among men,
Yet strange faces call they friends, and say they believe when they doubt.
Those hours are not lost that are spent in cementing affection,
For a friend is above gold, precious are the stores of the mind.
Be sparing of advice by words, but teach thy lesson by example;
For the vanity of man may be wounded, and retort unkindly upon thee.
There be some that never had a friend, because they were gross and selfish:
Worldliness, and apathy, and pride, leave not many that are worthy;
But one who meriteth esteem need never lack a friend;
For as thistle-down flieth abroad, and casteth its anchor in the soil,
So philanthropy yearneth for a heart where it may take root, and blossom.
YET I hear the child of sensibility moaning at the wintry cold,
Wherein the mists of selfishness have wrapped the society of men ;
He grieveth and hath deep reasons; for falsehood hath wronged his trust,
And the breaches in his bleeding heart have been filled with the briers
For, alas! how few be friends, of whom charity hath hoped well!
How few there be among men who forget themselves for other!
Each one seeketh his own, and looketh on his brethren as rivals,
Masking envy with friendship, to serve his secret ends.
And the world, that corrupteth all good, hath wronged that sacred name,
For it calleth any man friend, who is not known for an enemy;
And such be as the flies of summer, while plenty sitteth at thy board;
But who can wonder at their flight from the cold denials of want?
Such be as vultures round a carcass, assembled together for the feast:
But a sudden noise scareth them, and forthwith are they specks among
the clouds.
There be few, O child of sensibility! who deserve to have thy confidence;
Yet weep not, for there are some, and such some live for thee:
To them is the chilling world a drear and barren scene,
And gladly seek they such as thou art, for seldom find they the occasion.
For though no man excludeth himself from the high capability of friend-
Yet verily is the man a marvel whom truth can write a friend.
THERE is a fragrant blossom, that maketh glad the garden of the heart:
Its root lieth deep: it is delicate, yet lasting, as the lilac crocus of autumn:
Loneliness and thought are the dews that water it morn and even;
Memory and Absence cherish it, as the balmy breathings of the south:
Its sun is the brightness of affection, and it bloometh in the borders of Hope;
Its companions are gentle flowers, and the brier withereth by its side.
I saw it budding in beauty; I felt the magic of its smile;
The violet rejoiced beneath it, the rose stooped down, and kissed it;
And I thought some cherub had planted there a truant flower of Eden,
As a bird bringeth foreign seeds that they may flourish in a kindly soil.
I saw,
and asked not its name; I knew no language was so wealthy,
Though every heart of every clime findeth its echo within.
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