He destroyeth, but cannot build; for he is not antagonist

deity:

Mighty is his stolen power, yet is he a creature and a sub

ject;

Not a maker of abstract wrong, but a spoiler of concrete

right:

The fiend hath not a royal crown; he is but a prowling rob

ber,

Suffered, for some mysterious end, to haunt the King's high

way;

And the keen sword he beareth, once was simple plough

share;

Yea, and his panoply of error is but a distortion of the truth: The sickle that once reaped righteousness, beaten from its useful curve,

With axe, and spike, and bar, headeth the marauder's halbert,

Seek not further, O man, to solve the dark riddle of sin; Suffice it, that thine own bad heart is to thee thine origin of evil.

OF ANTICIPATION.

THOU hast seen many sorrows, travel-stained pilgrim of the world,

But that which hath vexed thee most, hath been the looking for evil;

And though calamities have crossed thee, and misery been heaped on thy head,

Yet ills that never happened, have chiefly made thee wretched. 1

The sting of pain and the edge of pleasure are blunted by long expectation,

For the gall and the balm alike are diluted in the waters of patience :

And often thou sippest sweetness, ere the cup is dashed from

thy lip;

Or drainest the gall of fear, while evil is passing by thy

But a cheerful expecter of the best hath a fountain of joy

within him:

Yea, though the breath of disappointment should chill the sanguine heart,

Speedily gloweth it again, warmed by the live embers of hope;

Though the black and heavy surge close above the head for a monient,

Yet the happy buoyancy of Confidence riseth superior to

Despair.

Verily, evils may be courted, may be wooed and won by dis

trust;

For the wise Physician of our weal loveth not an unbeliev

ing spirit;

And to those giveth he good, who rely on his hand for good; And those leaveth he to evil, who fear, but trust him not. Ask for good, and hope it; for the ocean of good is fathomless; Ask for good, and have it; for thy Friend would see thee happy.

But to the timid heart, to the child of unbelief and dread, That leaneth on his own weak staff, and trusteth the sight

of his eyes,

The evil he feared shall come, for the soil is ready for the

seed,

And suspicion hath coldly put aside the hand that was ready to help him,

Therefore look up, sad spirit; be strong, thou coward heart, Or fear will make thee wretched, though evil follow not be

hind:

Cease to anticipate misfortune,--there are still many chances

of escape;

But if it come, be courageous: face it, and conquer thy cala

mity.

There is not an enemy so stout as to storm and take the for

tress of the mind,

Unless its infirmity turn traitor, and Fear unbar the gates. The valiant standeth as a rock, and the hillows break upon

him;

The timorous is a skiff unmoored, tossed and mocked at by a

ripple;

The valiant holdeth fast to good, till evil wrench it from him; The timorous casteth it aside, to meet the worst half way: Yet oftentimes is evil but a braggart, that provoketh and will not fight;

Or the feint of a subtle fencer, who measureth his thrust elsewhere:

Or perchance a blessing in a masque, sent to try thy trust, The precious smiting of a friend, whose frowns are all in love: Often the storm threateneth, but is driven to other climes, And the weak hath quailed in fear, while the firm hath been glad in his confidence.

OF HIDDEN USES.

THE sea-wort (3) floating on the waves, or rolled up high along the shore,

Ye counted useless and vile, heaping on it names of contempt: Yet hath it gloriously triumphed, and man been humbled in his ignorance,

For health is in the freshness of its savor, and it cumbereth the beach with wealth;

Comforting the tossings of pain with its violet-tinctured

essence

And by its humbler ashes enriching many proud.

Be this, then. a lesson to thy soul, that thou reckon nothing worthless,

Because thou heedest not its use, nor knowest the virtues

thereof.

And herein, as thou walkest by the sea, shall weeds be a type and an earnest

Of the stored and uncounted riches lying hid in all creatures

of God:

There be flowers making glad the desert, and roots fattening the soil,

And jewels in the secret deep, scattered among groves of coral, And comforts to crown all wishes, and aids unto every need, Influences yet unthought, and virtues, and many inventions, And uses above and around, which man hath not yet regarded. Not long to charm away disease, hath the crocus (4) yielded up its bulb,

Nor the willow lent its bark, nor the nightshade its vanquished poison;

Not long hath the twisted leaf, the fragrant gift of China,

Nor that nutritious root, the boon of far Peru,

Nor the many-colored dahlia, nor the gorgeous flaunting cactus. Nor the multitude of fruits and flowers ministered to life and

luxury;

Even so, there be virtues yet unknown in the wasted foliage of the elm,

In the sun-dried harebell of the downs, and the hyacinth drinking in the meadow,

In the sycamore's winged fruit, ard the facet-cut cones of the

cedar;

And the pansy and bright geraníam live not alone for beauty Nor the waxen flower of the arbute, though it dieth in a day, Nor the sculptured crest of the fir, unseen but by the stars; And the meanest weed of the garden serveth unto many uses, The salt tamarisk, and juicy flag, the freckled orchis, and the daisy.

The world may laugh at famine when forest-trees yield bread, When acorns give out fragrant drink, (5) and the sap of the linden is as fatness:

For every green herb, from the lotus to the darnel,
Is rich with delicate aids to help incurious man.

STILL, Mind is up and stirring, and pryeth in the corners of contrivance,

Often from the dark recesses picking out bright seeds of truth: Knowledge hath clipped the lightning's wings, and mewed it

up for a purpose,

Training to some domestic task the fiery bird of heaven; Tamed is the spirit of the storm, to slave in all peaceful arts, To walk with husbandry and science; to stand in the vanguard against death:

And the chemist balanceth his elements with more than magic skill,

Commanding stones that they be bread, and draining sweetness out of wormwood.

Yet man, heedless of a God, counteth ap vain reckonings, Fearing to be jostled and starved out, by the too prolific increase of his kind;

And asketh, in unbelieving dread, for how few years to come Will the black cellars of the world yield unto him fuel for his winter.

Might not the wide waste sea be pent within narrower bounds?

Might not the arm of diligence make the tangled wilderness a garden?

And for aught thou canst tell, there may be a thousand

methods

Of comforting thy limbs in warmth, though thou kindle not a

spark.

Fear not, son of man, for thyself nor thy seed-with a multitude is plenty;

God's blessing giveth increase, and with it larger than enough.

SEARCH out the wisdom of nature, there is depth in all her doings;