Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting wind, and doth belie
All corners of the world; kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,
The viperous _slander_ enters.
_Shakspere._
_Slander_ lives upon succession,
For ever housed when once it gets possession.
_Shakspere._
Imperfect mischief!
Thou, like an adder, venomous and deaf,
Hast stung the traveller, yet hear’st
Not his pursuing voice. E’en when thou think’st
To hide, the rustling leaves and bended grass
Confess and point the path where thou hast crept.
_Congreve._
Forgot by those who in the grave abide,
And as a broken vessel past repair,
_Slandered_ by many, fear on every side,
Who counsel take and would my life ensnare.
But Lord, my hopes on Thee are fixed: I said
Thou art my God, my days are in Thy hand;
Against my furious foes oppose thy aid,
And those, who prosecute my soul, withstand.
_Sandys._
One who molests a harmless neighbour’s peace,
Insults fall’n worth or beauty in distress;
Who loves a lie, lame _slander_ heaps about,
Who writes a libel, or who copies out.
_Pope._
SLAVERY.
Is Israel a servant? is he a home-born _slave_? why is he
spoiled?--Jeremiah, ii. 14.
There is no flesh in man’s obdurate heart,
It does not feel for man; the natural bond
Of brotherhood is severed, as the flax
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not coloured like his own; and having power
T’ enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause,
Dooms and devotes him as a lawful prey.
* * * * *
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And worse than all, and most to be deplored,
As human nature’s broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart,
Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast.
Then what is man? and what man seeing this,
And having human feelings, does not blush,
And hang his head, to think himself a man.
_Cowper._
Though cold as winter, gloomy as the grave,
Stone walls a Prisoner make, but not a _Slave_.
Shall man assume a property in man?
Lay on the moral will a withering ban?
Shame that our laws at distance should protect
Enormities, which they at home reject!
“_Slaves_ cannot breathe in England”--a proud boast!
And yet a mockery! if from coast to coast,
Though fettered _slave_ be none, her floors and soil
Groan underneath a weight of _slavish_ toil,
For the poor many, measured out by rules
Fetched with cupidity from heartless schools,
That to an Idol, falsely called “the wealth
Of Nations,” sacrifice a People’s health,
Body, and mind, and soul, a thirst so keen
Is ever urging on the vast machine
Of sleepless Labour, ’mid whose dizzy wheels
The power least prized is that which thinks and feels.
_Wordsworth._
Man seeks for gold in mines, that he may weave
A lasting chain for his own _slavery_;
In fear and restless care that he may live,
He toils for others, who must ever be
The joyless thralls of his captivity;
He murders, for his chief delight’s in ruin;
He builds the altar, that its idol’s fee
May be his very blood; he is pursuing,
O, blind and willing wretch! his own obscure undoing.
_Shelley._
Lives there a savage ruder than the _slave_?
Cruel as death, insatiate as the grave,
False as the winds that round his vessel blow,
Remorseless as the gulf that yawns below,
Is he who toils upon the wafting flood
A Christian broker in the trade of blood;
Boist’rous in speech, in action prompt and bold,
He buys, he sells--he steals, he kills for gold.
_J. Montgomery._
Hast thou ever asked thyself
What it is to be a _slave_?
Bought and sold for sordid pelf,
From the cradle to the grave.
’Tis to know thy transient powers
E’en of muscle, flesh, and bone,
Cannot, in thy happiest hours,
Be considered as thine own.
But thy master’s goods and chattels,
Lent to thee for little more
Than to fight his selfish battles
For some bits of shining ore.
’Tis to learn thou hast a heart
Beating in that bartered frame
Of whose ownership--no part
Thou canst challenge but in name;
For the curse of _slavery_ crushes
Out the life-blood from its core,
And expends its throbbing gushes
But to swell another’s store.
God’s best gift from heaven above,
Meant to make a heaven on earth,
Hallowing, humanizing love!
With the ties which thence have birth,
These can never be his lot,
Who, like brutes, is bought and sold,
Holding such--as having not
On his own the spider’s hold.
’Tis to feel e’en worse than this,
If aught worse than this can be,
Thou hast shrined, for bale or bliss,
An immortal soul in thee!
But that this undying guest
Shares thy body’s degradation,
Until _slavery’s_ bonds unblest,
Check each kindling aspiration.
And what should have been thy light,
Shining e’en beyond the grave,
Turns to darkness worse than night,
Leaving thee a hopeless _slave_!
Such is _Slavery_! Couldst thou bear
Its vile bondage? Oh! my brother,
How, then, canst thou, wilt thou dare
To inflict it on another?
_Bernard Barton._
_Slave_-mart!--
Oh, mart of blood!--but God for vengeance cries,
And man shall shrink when _slaves_ in judgment rise;
The Power that moulds the lily’s snowy form,
Ordains the sunbeam, and propels the storm,
Whose boundless presence all creation fills,
Adorns the valleys, and surmounts the hills,
Designs for all, and yet creates alone,
Shall rise at last to vindicate His own!
_J. Burbidge._
They are _slaves_ who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are _slaves_ who dare not be
In the right with two or three.
_Anon._
SLEEP.
I will both lay me down in peace, and _sleep_: for Thou, Lord, only
makest me dwell in safety.--Psalm iv. 8.
He giveth His beloved _sleep_.--Psalm cxxvii. 2.
Come _sleep_, O _sleep_, the certain knot peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,
Th’ indifferent judge between the high and low.
_Sir Philip Sidney._
_Sleep_ that knits up the revelled sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.
_Shakspere._
Why rather _sleep_ liest thou in smoky cribs
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?
* * * * *
Canst thou, O partial _sleep_! give thy repose
To the wet seaboy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night
With all appliances and means to boot
Deny it to a king?
_Shakspere._
_Sleep_ on, my love! in thy cold bed
Never to be disquieted!
My last ‘Good night!’--thou wilt not wake
Till I thy fate shall overtake--
Till age, or grief, or sickness, must
Marry my body to the dust
It so much loves--and fill the room
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb.
Stay for me there! I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale:
And think not much of my delay,
I am already on the way,
And follow thee with all the speed
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
Each minute is a short degree,
And every hour a step towards thee.
At night when I betake to rest,
Next morn I rise nearer my West
Of life, almost by eight hours’ sail,
Than when _sleep_ breath’d his drowsy gale.
_Bishop King._
How blessed was that _sleep_
The sinless Saviour knew!
In vain the storm-winds blew,
Till He awoke to others’ woes,
And hushed the billows to repose.
How beautiful is _sleep_!
The _sleep_ that christians know:
Ye mourners! cease your woe.
While soft upon his Saviour’s breast,
The righteous sinks to endless rest.
_Mrs. M’Cartee._
Good night!
Slumber till the morning light!
Slumber till the dawn of day
Brings its troubles with its ray!
_Sleep_ without or fear or fright!
Our Father wakes! Good night!
_Korner._
_Sleep_ sweetly, tender heart, in peace!
_Sleep_, holy spirit, blessed soul,
While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.
_Sleep_ till the end, true soul and sweet,
Nothing comes to thee new or strange.
_Sleep_, full of rest from head to feet;
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
_Tennyson._
O Thou, who in the garden’s shade
Didst wake Thy weary ones again,
Who slumbered at that fearful hour;
Forgetful of Thy pain;
Bend o’er us now, as over them,
And set our _sleep_-bound spirits free;
Nor leave us slumbering in the watch
Our souls should keep with Thee!
_J. G. Whittier._
SLOTH.
The hand of the diligent shall bear rule: but the _slothful_ shall be
under tribute.--Proverbs, xii. 24.
_Slothfulness_ casteth into a deep sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer
hunger.--Proverbs, xix. 15.
Be not _slothful_, but followers of them who through faith and patience
inherit the promises.--Hebrews, vi. 12.
He that outlives Nestor, and appears
To have passed the date of grey Methusalem’s years,
If he his life to _sloth_ and sin doth give,
I say he only was, he did not live.
_Thomas Randolph._
Two principles from the beginning strove
In human nature, still dividing man,--
_Sloth_ and activity; the lust of praise,
And indolence that rather wished to sleep.
* * * * *
_Sloth_ lay till mid-day, turning on his couch
Like ponderous door upon its weary hinge,
And having rolled him out with much ado,
And many a dismal sigh, and vain attempt,
He sauntered out, accoutred carelessly,--
With half-oped, misty, unobservant eye,
Somniferous, that weighed the object down
On which its burden hung,--an hour or two,
Then with a groan retired to rest again.
The one, whatever deed had been achieved,
Thought it too little, and too small the praise:
The other tried to think, for thinking so
Answered his purpose best, that what of great
Mankind could do had been already done;
And therefore laid him calmly down to sleep.
_Pollok._
Why in _sloth_ thy days consume?
Why anticipate the tomb?
Wasting thus thy youthful prime,
Slumbering before the time?
Sluggard up! there’s work to do,
Let not _sloth_ thy soul ensnare;
Only the reward is due
Unto those the toil who share.
_Egone._
SNARE.
The proud have hid a _snare_ for me, and cords; they have spread a net
by the wayside; they have set gins for me.--Psalm cxl. 5.
The law of the wise is a fountain of life, to depart from the _snares_
of death.--Proverbs, xiii. 14.
Make no friendship with an angry man; and with a furious man thou shalt
not go:
Lest thou learn his ways, and get a _snare_ to thy soul.--Proverbs,
xxii. 24, 25.
Warn all creatures from thee
Henceforth, lest that too heavenly form pretended
To hellish falsehood _snare_ them.
_Milton._
In the embattled plain
Though Death exults and claps his raven wings,
Yet reigns he not, even there, so absolute,
So merciless, as in yon frantic scenes
Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth,
Where, in the intoxicating draught concealed,
Or couched beneath the glance of lawless love,
He _snares_ the simple youth, who, nought suspecting,
Meant to be blest--but finds himself undone.
_Bishop Porteus._
Beset with _snares_ on every hand,
In life’s uncertain path I stand;
Saviour divine! diffuse Thy light
To guide my doubtful footsteps right.
_Doddridge._
He that hath made his refuge God,
Shall find a most secure abode;
Shall walk all day beneath His shade,
And there at night shall rest his head.
Then will I say, “My God, Thy pow’r
Shall be my fortress and my tow’r:
I, that am form’d of feeble dust,
Make Thine almighty arm my trust.”
Thrice happy man! thy Maker’s care
Shall keep thee from the fowler’s _snare_;
Satan, the fowler, who betrays
Unguarded souls a thousand ways.
_Watts._
SOLDIERS.
Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good _soldier_ of Jesus Christ.
No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life;
that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a _soldier_.--II.
Timothy, ii. 3, 4.
Thy life’s a warfare, thou a _soldier_ art,
Satan’s thy foeman, and a faithful heart
Thy two-edged weapon, patience is thy shield,
Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.
To be afraid to die, or wish for death,
Are words and passions of despairing breath:
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yield;
And who the second, basely flies the field.
_Francis Quarles._
_Soldiers_ of Christ, arise,
And put your armour on,
Strong in the strength which God supplies,
Through His eternal Son;
Strong in the Lord of Hosts,
And in His mighty power,
Who in the strength of Jesus trusts,
Is more than conqueror.
Stand then in His great might,
With all His strength endued;
But take, to arm you for the fight,
The Panoply of God:
That having all things done,
And all your conflicts pass’d,
Ye may o’ercome though Christ alone,
And stand entire at last.
_Wesley._
_Soldier_ rise! the war is done;
Lo! the hosts of hell are flying:
’Twas the Lord thy battle won;
Jesus vanquished them by dying.
Pass the stream--before thee lies
All the conquered land of glory.
Hark!--what songs of rapture rise!
These proclaim the victor’s story.
_Soldier_, lay thy weapons down,
Quit the sword, and take the crown.
Triumph! all thy foes are banished,
Death is slain, and earth has vanished.
_Phelan._
SOLOMON.
In Gibeon the Lord appeared to _Solomon_ in a dream by night: and God
said, Ask what I shall give thee.
And _Solomon_ said, Give Thy servant an understanding heart to judge
Thy people, that I may discern between good and bad.
And the speech pleased the Lord, that _Solomon_ had asked this
thing.--I. Kings, iii. 5, 6, 9, 10.
And God said to _Solomon_, Because this was in thine heart, and thou
hast not asked riches, wealth, or honour, nor the life of thine
enemies, neither yet hast asked long life; but hast asked wisdom and
knowledge for thyself, that thou mayest judge my people, over whom I
have made thee king:
Wisdom and knowledge is granted unto thee; and I will give thee riches
and wealth, and honour, such as none of the kings have had that
have been before thee, neither shall there any after thee have the
like.--II. Chronicles, i. 11, 12.
A righteous sceptre in Jerusalem
Reigned over Israel; and the arts of peace
In higher honour placed King David’s son,
Than all the father’s fierce and weary wars.
Plenty and comfort blessed the labouring poor,
And splendour graced the noble and the wise:
Silver was nothing counted; massive gold
Adorned the temple and the royal board,
And richly-laden ships, from distant shores,
Swelled the king’s tribute and the people’s wealth.
Worthier than gold, than jewels far more rare,
Was the king’s wisdom; all the people bowed
Before the mighty mind of _Solomon_,
For God was with him.
_H. H. Weld._
In wealth, in power, tranquillity, and fame,
His mightier son, high-favoured _Solomon_,
Serene in strength, and dreadful without war,
Reigns jubilant: in knowledge peerless he,
With proverb, meditation, holy song,
Exalts the soul; while o’er his laws preside
Truth unncorrupt, integrity severe,
By keen discernment led. With lustrous train
See Sheba’s queen, to prove his wisdom come,
And kings from every realm, admiring, hear
His varied eloquence; admiring, view
Magnificence and regal state profuse
Beyond compare.
_Charles Hoyle._
SON.
In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent
his only begotten _Son_ into the world, that we might live through him.
Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent
his _Son_ to be the propitiation for our sins.
And we have seen and do testify that the Father sent the _Son_ to be
the Saviour of the world.--I. John, iv. 9, 10, 14.
Of all creation, first
Begotten _Son_, divine Similitude,
In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud
Made visible, the Almighty Father shines,
Whom else no creature can behold: on Thee
Impressed, the effulgence of His glory bides;
Transfused in Thee His ample spirit rests.
The Heaven of heavens, and all the powers therein
By Thee created.
_Milton._
The Lord of Hosts hath walked
This world of man; the one Almighty sent
His everlasting _Son_ to wear the flesh,
And glorify this mortal human shape;
And the blind eyes unclosed to see the Lord,
And the dumb tongues broke out in songs of praise,
And the grave cast forth its wondering dead,
And trembling devils murmured sullen homage.
_H. H. Milman._
I am ere the beginning. Manifold
Creation of the Father’s will, by me
Expressed, in its begotten order rolled;
Image express of Him whom none may see,
My glory veils and shadows for behoof
Of all His creatures, His great Deity;
Whereof ye are partakers, though aloof
It dwells from you, ye in its light doth dwell,
Sun of the soul--a pattern and a proof.
The Father sitteth inaccessible
To eye or ear. In me His plenitude
Abides--His only _Son_ for whom ye will,
Rays of that Radiance wherein may be viewed
His glory only. I His brightness am,
His word in whom He sole is understood.
_J. A. Heraud._
SORROW.
Many _sorrows_ shall be to the wicked: but he that trusteth in the
Lord, mercy shall compass him about.--Psalm xxxii. 10.
_Sorrow_ is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance
the heart is made better.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 3.
For godly _sorrow_ worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented
of: but the _sorrow_ of the world worketh death.--II. Corinthians, vii.
10.
Oh, sacred _sorrow_, by whom hearts are tried
Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide,
If thou art mine (and who shall proudly dare
To tell his Maker he has had his share?)
Still let me feel for what Thy pangs are sent,
And be my guide, and not my punishment.
_From the Russian._
I suffer now for what hath former been,
_Sorrow_ is held the eldest son of sin.
_John Webster._
Peace was theirs, and harmony within,
They know no _sorrow_, for they know no sin.
_Whyte._
Whate’er thy lot, whoe’er thou be,
Confess thy folly,--kiss the rod;
And in thy chastening _sorrow_, see
The hand of God.
A bruised reed He will not break--
Afflictions all His children feel:
He wounds them for His mercy’s sake--
He wounds to heal.
_James Montgomery._
With boldness, therefore, at the throne
Let us make all our _sorrows_ known;
And ask the aid of heavenly power
To help us in the evil hour.
_Logan._
If affliction grasps thee rudely
And presents the rack and cup,
Drink the draught and brave the torture--
Even in despair,--look up!
Still look up! For One there liveth
With the will and power to save--
One who knows each human _sorrow_,
From the cradle to the grave.
_J. L. Chester._
SOUL.
And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed
into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living
_soul_.--Genesis, ii. 7.
Bless the Lord, O my _soul_: and all that is within me, bless his holy
name.--Psalm ciii. 1.
I wait for the Lord, my _soul_ doth wait, and in his word do I hope.
My _soul_ waiteth for the Lord more than they than watch for the
morning.--Psalm cxxx. 5, 6.
For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and
lose his own _soul_? or what shall a man give in exchange for his
_soul_?--Matthew, xvi. 26.
Though life, since finite, has so ill excuse
For being but in finite objects learned,
Yet sure the _soul_ was made for little use,
Unless it be in infinites concerned.
_Sir William Davenant._
But Thou which didst man’s _soul_ of nothing make,
And when to nothing it was fallen again,
To make it new, the form of man didst take,
And, God with God, becam’st a man with men:
Thou that hast fashioned twice this _soul_ of ours,
So that she is by double title thine;
Thou only know’st her nature and her powers,
Her subtile form Thou only canst define.
We that acquaint ourselves with every zone,
And pass the tropics and behold each pole;
When we come home are to ourselves unknown,
And unacquainted still with our own _soul_.
_Davies._
Poor _soul_, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fooled by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a leese,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body’s end?
Then, _soul_, live thou upon thy servant’s loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more;
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men;
And, death once dead, there’s no more dying then.
_Shakspere._
The _soul_ which doth with God unite,
Those gaieties how doth she slight,
Which o’er opinion sway!
Like sacred virgin wax, which shines
On altars or on Martyrs’ shrines,
How doth she burn away!
How violent are her throes till she
From envious earth deliver’d be,
Which doth her flight restrain!
How doth she doat on whips and racks,
On fires, and the so dreaded axe,
And every murdering pain!
How soon she leaves the pride of wealth,
The flatteries of youth and health,
And fame’s more precious breath;
And every gaudy circumstance
That doth the pomp of life advance
At the approach of death.
_W. Habington._
Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright!
The bridal of the earth and sky:
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
For Thou must die.
Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye:
Thy root is ever in the grave,
And thou must die.
Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie:
My music shows you have your closes,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous _soul_,
Like season’d timber never gives,
But, though the whole world turns to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
_Herbert._
The _soul_ of man (let man in homage bow
Who names his _soul_) a native of the skies!
High-born and free, her freedom should maintain,
Unsold, unmortgaged for earth’s little bribes.
_Young._
Dearly pays the _soul_
For lodging ill; too dearly rents her day.
_Young._
The _soul_, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point:
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years:
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds!
_Addison._
For from the birth
Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble, nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Power’s purple robe, nor pleasure’s flowery lap,
The _Soul_ should find enjoyment: but from these
Turning, disdainful, to an equal good,
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.
_Akenside._
The _soul_ on earth is an immortal guest,
Condemned to starve at an unreal feast:
A spark, which upwards tends by nature’s force;
A stream, diverted from its parent source;
A drop dissevered from the boundless sea;
A moment, parted from eternity;
A pilgrim panting for the rest to come;
An exile, anxious for his native home.
_Hannah More._
Since _soul_ decays not; freed from earth,
And earthly coils, it bursts away;
Receiving a celestial birth,
And spurning off its bonds of clay,
It soars and seeks another sphere,
And blooms through heaven’s eternal year.
_Moir._
O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the _soul_ itself must issue forth,
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the earth,
And from the _soul_ itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element.
_Coleridge._
The spirit leaves the body’s wondrous frame,
That frame itself a world of strength and skill;
The nobler inmate new abodes will claim,
In every change to Thee aspiring still.
Although from darkness born, to darkness fled,
We know that light beyond surrounds the whole;
The man survives, though the weird corpse be dead,
And He who dooms the flesh, redeems the _soul_.
_John Sterling._
Lord! we sit and cry to Thee,
Like the blind beside the way:
Make our darkened _souls_ to see
The glory of Thy perfect day!
Lord! rebuke our sullen night,
And give Thyself unto our sight!
_H. H. Milman._