Page images
PDF
EPUB

KNOW thyself, thy evil as thy good, and flattery shall not harm thee:

Yea, her speech shall be a warning, an humbling, and a guide. For wherein thou lackest most, there chiefly will the syco

phant commend thee,

And then most warmly will congratulate, when a man hath least deserved.

Behold, she is doubly a traitor; and will underrate her victim's best,

That, to the comforting of conscience, she may plead his worse for better.

THEREFORE is she dangerous,-as every lie is dangerous: Believe her tales and perish; if thou act upon such counsel. Her aims are thine, not thee, thy wealth and not thy welfare, Thy suffrage not thy safety, thine aid and not thine honor. Moreover, with those aims insured, ceaseth all her glozing; She hath used thee as a handle,-but her hand was wise to turn it.

Thus will she glorify her skill, that it deftly caught thy kind

ness,

Thus will she scorn thy kindness, so pliable and easy to her

skill.

And then, the flatterer will turn to be thy fee, the bitterest and hottest

Because he oweth thee much hate to pay off many humblings.

Thinkest thou now he is high, he loveth the remembrance of his lowliness,

The servile manner, the dependent smile, the conscience self-abased?

No, this hour is his own, and the flatterer will be found a busy

mocker;

He that hath salved thee with his tongue shall now gnash upon thee with his teeth,

Yea, he will be leader in the laugh,-silly one, to listen to

thy loss,

We scarce had hoped to lime and take another of the fools of flattery.

AT the last; have charity, young scholar,-yea to the syco phant convicted;

Be not a Brutus to thyself, nor stern in thine own cause.
Pardon exaggerated praise; for there is a natural impulse
Spurring on the nobler mind, to color facts by feelings:
Take an indulgent view of each man's interest in self,
Be large and liberal in excuses; is not that infirmity thine
own?

Search thy soul and be humble; and mercy abideth with

humility;

So that, yea, the insincere, may find thee pitiful, and love

thee.

Mildly put aside, without rudeness of repulse, the pampering hand of flattery,

For courtesy and kindness have gone beneath its guise, and ill shouldst thou rebuke them.

THOU art incapable of theft: but flowers in the garden of a friend

Are thine to pluck with confidence, and it were unfriendliness to hesitate:

Thou abhorrest flattery: but a generous excess in praise Is thine to yield with honest heart, and false were the charity to doubt it:

The difference lieth in thine aim; kindliness and good are of charity,

But selfish harmful, vile and bad is flattery's evil end.

OF NEGLECT.

GENEROUS and righteous is thy grief, slighted child of sensibility;

For kindliness enkindleth love, but the waters of indifference quench it;

Thy soul is athirst for sympathy, and hungereth to find affec

tion,

The tender scions of thy heart yearn for the sunshine of good

feeling,

And it is an evil thing and bitter, when the cheerful face of

Charity,

Going forth gaily in the morning to woo the world with

smiles,

Is met by those wayfaring men with coldness, suspicion, and repulse,

And turneth into hard dead stone at the Gorgon visage of

Neglect.

O brother, warm and young, covetous of others' favor,

I see thee checked and chilled sorrowing for censure or for

getfulness.

Let coarse and common minds despise-that wounding of thy vanity,

Alas, I note a sorer cause, the blighting of thy love;

Let the callous sensual deride thee, disappointed of thy

praise,

Alas, thou hast a juster grief, defrauded of their kindness:
It is a theme for tears to feel the soft heart hardening,
The frozen breath of apathy sealing up the fountain of af-
fection;

It is a pang keen only to the best, to be injured well-deserv

ing,

And slumbering Neglect is injury,-could ye not watch one hour?

When God himself complained, it was that none regarded, And indifference bowed to rebuke, Thou gavest Me no kiss when I came in.

MOREOVER, praise is good, honor is a treasure to be hoarded;

A good man's praise foreshadoweth God's and his smile is heaven:

But men walk on in hardihood, steeling their sinfulness to

censure,

And where rebuke is ridiculed, the love of praise were an

infirmity;

The judge thou heedest not in fear, cannot have deep homage of thy hope,

And who then is the wise of this world, that will own he trembleth at his fellows?

Calm, careless, and insensible, he mocketh blame or calumny, Neither should his dignity be humbled to some pittance of their praise:

The rather, let false pride affect to trample on the treasure Which evermore in secret strength unconquered Nature priz

eth;

Rather, shall he stifle now the rising bliss of triumph,

Lest after, in the world's Neglect, he must acknowledge bit

terness.

FOR lo, that world is wide, a huge and crowded continent,
Its brazen sun is mammon, and its iron soil is care,

A world full of men where each man clingeth to his idol;
A world full of men, where each man cherisheth his sor-

row;

A world full of men, multitude shoaling upon multitude,
A surging sea, where every wave is burdened with an argosy

of self,

A boundless beach, where every stone is a separate microscopic world,

A forest of innumerable trees, where every root is independent.

WHAT then is the marvel or the shame, if units be lost among the million,

Canst thou reasonably murmur, if a leaf drop off unnoticed? Wondrous in architecture, intricate and beautiful, delicately tinged and scented,

Exquisite of feeling and mysterious in life, none cared for its growth, or its decay:

None? yea,-no one of its fellows,-nor cedar, palm, nor bramble,

None? its twinborn brother scarcely missed it from the

spray:

None?-if none indeed, then man's neglect were bitterness;
And life a land without a sun, a globe without a God!
Yea, flowers in the desert, there be that love your beauty,
Yea, jewels in the sea, there be that prize your brightness:
Children of unmerited oblivion, there be that watch and woo

you,

And many tend your sweets, with gentle ministering care: Thronging spirits of the happy, and the everpresent Good

One,

Yearning seek those precious things man hath not heart to love,

Gems of the humblest or the highest, pure and patient in their kind,

The souls unhardened by ill-usage, and uncorrupt by luxury.

AND ye, poor desolates unsunced, toilers in the dark damp mine,

Wearied daughters of oppression, crushed beneath the car of avarice,

There be that count your tears,-He hath numbered the hairs of thy head,

There be that can forgive you ill with kind considerate pity:

« PreviousContinue »