’Tis proud, the world replied. _Wisdom_, said God,
Forgives, forbears, and suffers, not for fear
Of man, but God. _Wisdom_ revenges, said
The world; is quick and deadly of resentment,
Thrusts at the very shadow of affront,
And hastes, by death, to wipe its honour clean.
_Wisdom_, said God, loves enemies, entreats,
Solicits, begs for peace. _Wisdom_, replied,
The world, hates enemies, will not ask peace,
Conditions spurns, and triumphs in their fall.
_Wisdom_ mistrusts itself, and leans on Heaven,
Said God. It trusts and leans upon itself,
The world replied. _Wisdom_ retires, said God,
And counts it bravery to bear reproach,
And shame, and lowly poverty, upright;
And weeps with all who have just cause to weep.
_Wisdom_, replied the world, struts forth to gaze,
Treads the broad stage with clamorous foot,
Attracts all praises, counts it bravery
Alone to wield the sword, and rush on death;
And never weeps, but for its own disgrace.
_Wisdom_, said God, is highest, when it stoops
Lowest before the Holy Throne; throws down
Its crown, abased; forgets itself, admires,
And breathes adoring praise. There _wisdom_ stoops
Indeed, the world replied; there stoops, because
It must, but stoops with dignity; and thinks
And meditates, the while, of inward worth.
_Pollok._
Come to my aid, celestial _Wisdom_, come;
From my dark soul dispel the doubtful gloom;
My passions still, my purer breast inflame,
To sing that God from whom existence came.
_Boyse._
See! full of hope, thou trustest to the earth
The golden seed, and waitest till the Spring
Summons the buried to a happier birth;
But, in Time’s furrow duly scattering,
Think’st thou how deeds, by _wisdom_ sown, may be
Silently ripen’d for eternity?
_Schiller._
Up! ’tis no dreaming time! Awake! Awake!
For He who sits on the high Judge’s seat,
Doth in His record mark each wasted hour,
Each idle word. Take heed thy shrinking soul
Find not their weight too heavy, when it stands
At that dread bar from whence is no appeal.
Lo, while ye trifle, the light sand steals on,
Leaving the hour-glass empty, and thy life
Glideth away;--stamp _wisdom_ on its hours.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
Few and precious are the words which the lips of _wisdom_ utter;
To what shall their rarity be likened? what price shall count
their worth?
Perfect and much to be desired, and giving joy with riches,
No lovely thing on earth can picture all their beauty.
They be chance pearls, flung among the rocks by the sullen waters
of oblivion,
Which diligence loveth to gather, and hang round the neck of
memory;
They be white-winged seeds of happiness, wafted from the islands of
the blessed,
Which thought carefully tendeth, in the kindly garden of the heart;
They be sproutings of an harvest for eternity, bursting through the
tilth of time,
Green promise of the golden wheat, that yieldeth angel’s food;
They be drops of the crystal dew, which the wings of seraphs
scatter,
When on some brighter sabbath, their plumes quiver most with
delight:
Such, and so precious, are the words which the lips of _wisdom_
utter.
_Martin F. Tupper._
Faith and hope
Will teach me how to bear my lot!
To think Almighty _Wisdom_ best,
To bow my head, and murmur not.
The chast’ning hand of One above
Falls heavy, but I kiss the rod,
He gives the wound, and I must trust
Its healing to the self-same God.
_Eliza Cook._
WITNESS.
A faithful _witness_ will not lie: but a false _witness_ will utter
lies.--Proverbs, xiv. 5.
If we receive the _witness_ of men, the _witness_ of God is greater:
for this is the _witness_ of God which he hath testified of his Son.
He that believeth on the Son of God hath the _witness_ in himself.--I.
John, v. 9, 10.
In ocean’s wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,
Like skeletons in chains
With shackled feet and hands.
Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
No more to sink or rise.
There the black slave-ship swims
Freighted with human forms,
Those fettered, fleshless limbs
Are not the sport of storms.
These are the bones of slaves:
They gleam from the abyss;
They cry from yawning waves,
“We are the _Witnesses_!”
Within earth’s wide domains
Are markets for men’s lives;
Their necks are galled with chains,
Their wrists are cramped with gyves.
Dead bodies, that the kite
In deserts makes its prey;
Murders, that with affright
Scare school-boys from their play.
All evil thoughts and deeds;
Anger, and lust, and pride;
The foulest, rankest weeds,
That choke life’s groaning tide!
These are the woes of slaves;
They glare from the abyss;
They cry, from unknown graves--
“We are the _Witnesses_!”
_Longfellow._
WOE.
_Woe_ unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow
strong drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame them.
--Isaiah, v. 11.
_Woe_ unto us, that we have sinned.--Lamentations, v. 16.
Venomous thornes that are so sharpe and kene,
Bear flowers we see full fresh and fayre of hue,
Poyson is also put in medicine,
And unto man his health doth oft renew.
The fire that all things eke consumeth clene
May hurt and heale; then if this be true,
I trust sometime my harm may be my healthe,
Since every _woe_ is joined with some wealth!
_Wyatt._
Though life seem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face despair;
Yet, gay this scene, and light this load of _woe_,
Compared with thy hereafter.
_Bishop Porteus._
But, God be thanked! there are moments, when
Man, subdued by nature’s mightiest powers,
Thinks even his purer self the sport of waves.
In such like moments ’tis the Godhead shows us
The distance ’twixt itself and us,--chastises
Man’s vain audacity to equal it,
And casts him back to nothingness and _woe_.
In such like moments, even the wisest sinks
Unto the dust: he, too, is formed of dust;
But soon again he rises purified
By Fate’s worst blast, and thus the Eternal’s will
Declares and proves its own omnipotence.
_Herder._
But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has driven
To censure fate, and pious hope forego:
Like yonder blasted boughs, by lightning riven,
Perfection, beauty, life, they never know,
But frown on all that pass, a monument of _woe_.
_Beattie._
_Woe_ unto those that with the morning sun
Rise to drink wine, and set till he have done
His weary course; not ceasing, until night
Have quenched their understanding with the light.
_Bishop King._
The Son of God, in doing good,
Was fain to look to Heaven, and sigh;
And shall the heirs of sinful blood
Seek joy unmixed in charity?
God will not let love’s work impart
Full solace, lest it steal the heart;
Be thou content in tears to sow,
Blessing, like Jesus, in thy _woe_.
_Keble._
_Væ vobis_, ye whose lip doth lave
So deeply in the sparkling wine,
Regardless though that passion wave
Shut from the soul heaven’s light divine;
_Væ vobis!_--heed the trumpet blast,
Fly ere the leprous taint is deep,
Fly!--ere the hour of hope be past,
And pitying angels cease to weep.
_Væ vobis_, ye who fail to read,
That name which glows where’er ye tread,
The Alpha of an infant creed,
The Omega of the sainted dead;
’Tis written where the pencill’d flowers
Their tablet to the desert show,
And where the mountain’s rocky towers
Frown darkly on the vale below;
Where roll the wondrous orbs on high,
In glorious order strong and fair,
In every letter of the sky
That midnight graves--’tis there--’tis there!
It gleams on ocean’s wrinkled brow,
And in the shell that gems its shore,
And where the solemn forests bow
_Væ vobis_, ye, who scorn the lore.
_L. H. Sigourney._
WOMAN.
Who can find a virtuous _woman_? for her price is far above rubies.
A _woman_ that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.--Proverbs, xxxi.
10, 30.
Nevertheless, neither is the man without the _woman_, neither the
_woman_ without the man in the Lord.--I. Corinthians, xi. 11.
Well I understand, in the prime end
Of nature, her th’ inferior in the mind
And inward faculties, which most excel
In outward; also her resembling less
His image who made both, and less expressing
The character of that dominion given
O’er other creatures; yet, when I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems,
And in herself complete; so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best;
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded! wisdom in discourse with her
Loses, discount’nanc’d, and like folly shows.
Authority and reason on her wait,
As one intended first, not after made
Occasionally; and to consummate all.
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat
Build in her, loveliest, and create an awe
About her, as a guard angelic placed.
_Milton._
So _woman_, born to dignify retreat
Unknown to flourish, and unseen be great,
To give domestic life its sweetest charm,
With softness polish, and with virtue warm:
Fearful of fame, unwilling to be known,
Should seek but Heaven’s applauses and her own;
Should dread no blame but that which crimes impart,
The censures of a self-condemning heart.
_Hannah More._
For _woman_ is not undevelopt man,
But diverse: could we make her as the man,
Sweet love were slain, whose dearest bond is this
Not like to like, but like in difference:
Yet in the long years liker must they grow;
The man be more of _woman_, she of man;
He gain in sweetness and in moral height,
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world;
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care:
More as the double-natured Poet, each:
Till at the last she set herself to man,
Like perfect music unto noble words;
And so these twain upon the skirts of Time,
Sit side by side, full-summ’d in all their powers,
Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be,
Self-reverent each, and reverencing each,
Distinct in individualities,
But like each other ev’n as those we love.
Then comes the statelier Eden back to men,
Then reign the world’s great bridals, chaste and calm;
Then springs the crowning race of humankind!
_Tennyson._
What highest prize hath _woman_ won
In science or in art?
What mightiest work by _woman_ done,
Boasts city, field, or mart?
“She hath no Raphael,” Painting saith;
“No Newton,” Learning cries;
Show us her Steam-ship! her Macbeth,
Her thought-won victories!
Hail boastful man! though worthy are
Thy deeds when thou art true,
Things worthier still and holier far,
Our sister yet will do;
For this the worth of _woman_ shows,
On every peopled shore,
That still as man in wisdom grows,
He honours her the more.
Oh! not for wealth, or fame, or pow’r,
Hath man’s weak angel striven,
But silent as the growing flower,
To make of earth a heav’n!
And in her garden of the sun,
Heaven’s brightest rose shall bloom;
For _woman’s_ best is unbegun!
Her advent yet to come.
_Ebenezer Elliot._
WORD.
Thy _word_ is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.--Psalm
cxix. 105.
For there is not a _word_ in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, Thou knowest
it altogether.--Psalm cxxxix. 4.
The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the _word_ of our God shall
stand for ever.--Isaiah, xl. 8.
Every idle _word_ that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof
in the day of judgment.--Matthew, xii. 36.
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil _word_.
_Shakspere._
Almighty Lord! the sun shall fail,
The moon forget her nightly tale,
And deepest silence bush on high
The radiant chorus of the sky;
But fixed for everlasting years,
Unmoved amid the wreck of spheres,
Thy _word_ shall shine in cloudless day,
When heaven and earth have passed away.
_Sir R. Grant._
Not _words_ alone it cost the Lord,
To purchase pardon for His own;
Nor will a soul by grace restored,
Return the Saviour’s _words_ alone.
Easy indeed it were to reach
A mansion in the courts above,
If swelling _words_ and fluent speech,
Might serve instead of faith and love.
But none shall gain the blissful place,
Or God’s unclouded glory see,
Who talks of free and sovereign grace,
Unless that grace has made him free.
_Cowper._
O happy they who know the Lord,
With whom be deigns to dwell,
He feeds and cheers them by His _word_,
His arm supports them well.
He helped His saints in ancient days,
Who trusted in His name;
And we can witness to His praise,
His love is still the same.
His presence sweetens all our cares,
And makes our burdens light;
A _word_ from Him dispels our fears,
And gilds the gloom of night.
_Newton._
There is a stream whose gentle flow
Supplies the city of our God;
Life, love, and joy, still gliding thro’,
And wat’ring our divine abode.
That sacred stream, Thy holy _word_,
That all our raging fear controls;
Sweet peace Thy promises afford,
And give new strength to fainting souls.
_Watts._
When quiet in my house I sit,
Thy book be my companion still,
My joy Thy sayings to repeat,
Talk o’er the records of Thy will,
And search the oracles divine
Till every heart-felt _word_ be mine.
O may the gracious _words_ divine
Subject of all my converse be;
So will the Lord His follower join,
And walk and talk himself with me;
So shall my heart His presence prove,
And burn with everlasting love.
Oft as I lay me down to rest,
O may Thy reconciling _word_
Sweetly compose my weary breast!
While, in the bosom of my Lord,
I sink in blissful dreams away,
And visions of eternal day.
Rising to sing my Saviour’s praise,
Thee may I publish all day long;
And let Thy precious _word_ of grace
Flow from my heart, and fill my tongue,
Fill all my life with purest love,
And join me to the church above.
_C. Wesley._
Where deeds pull down, _words_ can repair no faith.
_Chapman._
A voice to light gave being:
To Time, and man his earth-born chronicler;
A voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,
And sweep away life’s visionary stir;
The trumpet, (we intoxicate with pride,
Arm at its blast for deadly wars,)
To archangelic lips applied,
The grave shall open, quench the stars.
O silence! are men’s noisy years
No more than moments of thy life?
Is harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears,
With her smooth tones and discords just,
Tempered into rapturous strife,
Thy destined bond-slave? No! though earth be dust
And vanish, though the Heavens dissolve, her stay
Is in the _word_, that shall not pass away.
_Wordsworth._
Why, thou never-setting light,
Is thy brightness veil’d from me?
Why does this unusual night
Cloud thy best benignity?
I am lost without thy ray,
Guide my wandering footsteps, Lord!
Light my dark and erring way
To the noontide of thy _word_.
_Bowring, from the Russian._
I saw one man, armed simply with God’s _Word_,
Enter the souls of many fellow-men,
And pierce them sharply as a two-edged sword,
While conscience echoed back his words again;
Till, even as showers of fertilizing rain
Sink through the bosom of the valley clod,
So their hearts opened to the wholesome pain,
And hundreds knelt upon the flowery sod,
One good man’s earnest prayer, the link ’twixt them and God.
_Mrs. Norton._
WORKS--WORK.
Unto thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy; for thou renderest to every man
according to his _work_.--Psalm lxii. 12.
The _works_ of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have
pleasure therein.--Psalm cxi. 2.
Prepare thy _work_ without, and make it fit for thyself in the field:
and afterwards build thine house.--Proverbs, xxiv. 27.
These are Thy glorious _works_, Parent of Good,
Almighty, Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt’st above the Heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest _works_; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold Him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing! ye in Heaven,
On Earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
_Milton._
If faith produce no _works_; I see
That faith is not a living tree.
Thus faith and _works_ together grow,
No separate life they e’er can know:
They’re soul and body, hand and heart,--
What God hath joined, let no man part.
_Hannah More._
O, how unlike the complex _works_ of man,
Heaven’s easy, artless, unencumbered plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile;
From ostentation, as from weakness free,
It stands, like the cerulean arch we see,
Majestic in its own simplicity.
Inscribed above the portal, from afar
Conspicuous as the brightness of a star,
Legible only by the light they give,
Stand the soul-quickening words: Believe and live!
_Cowper._
Oh how I love with melted soul to leave
The house of prayer, and wander in the fields
Alone! what though the opening air be chill!
Although the lark, checked in his airy path,
Eke out his song, perched on the fallow clod
That still o’ertops the blade; although no branch
Have spread its foliage, save the willow wand
That dips its pale leaves in the swollen stream.
What though the clouds oft lower; their threats but end
In summer showers, that scarcely fill the folds
Of moss-couched violets, or interrupt
The merle’s dulcet pipe--melodious bird!
He hid behind the milk-white sloe-thorn spray,
(Whose early flowers anticipate the leaf,)
Welcomes the time of buds, the infant year.
Sweet is the sunny nook to which my steps
Have brought me, hardly conscious where I roamed,
Unheeding where--so lovely all around,
The _works_ of God arrayed in vernal smile.
_Grahame._
How manifold Thy _works_, O Lord,
In wisdom, power, and goodness wrought!
The earth is with Thy riches stored,
And ocean with Thy wonders fraught:
Unfathom’d caves beneath the deep
For Thee their hidden treasures keep.
_J. Montgomery._
Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe’er estate,
I have a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate;
And a _work_ of lowly love to do
For the Lord on whom I wait.
_A. L. Waring._
Fellow-_workers_ are we; hour by hour,
Human tools are shaping Heaven’s great schemes,
Till we see no limit to man’s power,
And reality outstrips old dreams.
Toil and struggle, therefore, _work_ and weep,
In God’s care ye shall calmly sleep,
When the night cometh.
_Mrs. Embury._
Lord of all Being! where can fancy fly,
To what far realms, unmeasured by thine eye?
Where can he hide beneath Thy blazing sun,
Where dwell’st Thou not, the boundless, viewless One?
Shall guilt couch down within the cavern’s gloom,
And quivering, groaning, meditate her doom?
Or scale the mountains, where the whirlwinds rest,
And in the night-blast cool her fiery breast?
Within the cavern-gloom Thine eye can see,
The sky-clad mountains lift their heads to Thee!
Thy spirit rides upon the thunder storms,
Darkening the sky with their terrific forms!
Beams in the lightning, rocks upon the seas,
Roars in the blast, and whispers in the breeze;
In calms, in storm, in Heaven, in earth, Thou art!
Trace but Thy _works_, they bring Thee to the heart.
_R. Montgomery._
The blackbird early leaves its rest
To meet the smiling morn,
And gather fragments for its nest
From upland, wood, and lawn.
The busy bee that wings its way
’Mid sweets of varied hue,
At every flower would seem to say--
“There’s _work_ enough to do.”
The cowslip and the spreading vine,
The daisy in the grass,
The snowdrop and the eglantine,
Preach sermons as we pass.
The ant within its cavern deep,
Would bid us labour too,
And writes upon its tiny heap,
“There’s _work_ enough to do.”
The planets, at their Maker’s will,
Move onward in their cars,
For Nature’s wheel is never still--
Progressive as the stars!
The leaves that flutter in the air,
And summer breezes woo,
One solemn truth to man declare--
“There’s _work_ enough to do.”
_J. Burbidge._
WORLD.
The Lord is the true God, he is the living God, and an everlasting king:
He hath made the earth by his power, he hath established the _world_ by
his wisdom.--Jeremiah, x. 10, 12.
What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole _world_, and
lose his own soul?--Mark, viii. 36.
If the _world_ hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you.
If ye were of the _world_, the _world_ would love his own: but because
ye are not of the _world_, but I have chosen you out of the _world_,
therefore the _world_ hateth you.--John, xv. 18, 19.
Be not conformed to this _world_, but be ye transformed by the renewing
of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and
perfect will of God.--Romans, xii. 2.
The friendship of the _world_ is enmity with God: whosoever therefore
will be a friend of the _world_, is the enemy of God.--James, iv. 4.
And the _world_ passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth
the will of God abideth for ever.--I. John, ii. 17.
The weary mariner so fast not flies
An howling tempest, harbour to attain;
Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise,
So fast to fold, to save his bleating train!
As I, wing’d with contempt and just disdain,
Now fly the _world_ and what it most doth prize,
And sanctuary seek, free to remain
From wounds of abject times, and envy’s eyes:
To me this _world_ did once seem sweet and fair,
While sense’s light mind’s perspective kept blind;
Now like imagin’d landscapes in the air,
And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find;
Or if aught here is had that praise should have,
It is an obscure life and silent grave.
_William Drummond._
Of this fair volume which we “_world_” do name,
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of him who it corrects and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare,
Find out his power, which wildest powers doth tame,
His providence extending everywhere,
His justice, which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page--no period of the same.
But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleas’d with colour’d vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands--leaving what is best;
On the great writer’s sense ne’er taking hold;
Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.
_William Drummond._
Seek well another _world_; who studies this,
Travels in clouds, seeks manna where none is.
_Henry Vaughan._
Lord, mail my heart with faith, and be my shield,
And if a _world_ confront me, I’ll not yield.
_Francis Quarles._
To tremble, (as the creatures of an hour
Ought,) at the view of an Almighty power
Before His presence, at whose awful throne
All tremble in all _worlds_ except our own;
To supplicate His mercy, love His ways,
And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise;
Though common sense, allowed a casting voice,
And free from bias, must approve the choice;
Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme,
And wild as madness in the _world’s_ esteem.
_Cowper._
The joy that vain amusements give,
O, sad conclusion that it brings,
The honey of a crowded hive
Defended by a thousand stings.
’Tis thus the _world_ rewards the fools
That live upon her treacherous smiles;
She leads them blindfold, by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.
_Cowper._
What is this _world_?
What but a spacious burial-field unwalled,
Strewed with death’s spoils, the spoils of animals,
Savage and tame, and full of dead men’s bones?
The very turf on which we tread once lived,
And we that live must lend our carcases,
To cover our own offspring: in their turns,
They too must cover theirs.
_Blair._
Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,
I laughed and danced, I talked and sung,
And proud of health, of freedom vain,
Dreamed not of sorrow, care, nor pain:
Oh! then in those light hours of glee,
I thought the _world_ was made for me.
But when the hour of trial came,
And sickness shook my feeble frame,
And folly’s gay pursuits were o’er,
And I could sing and dance no more,
Oh! then I thought bow sad ’twould be
Were only this _world_ made for me.
_Princess Amelia._
Virtue, for ever frail as fair below,
Her tender nature suffers in the crowd,
Nor touches on the _world_ without a stain;
The _world_’s infectious.
_Young._
The _world_’s a school
Of wrong, and what proficients swarm around
We must or imitate or disapprove;
Must ’list as their accomplices or foes;
That stains our innocence, this wounds our peace.
_Young._
Thrice happy _world_, where gilded toys
No more disturb our thoughts, no more pollute our joys!
There light or shade no more succeed by turns,
There reigns the eternal sun with an unclouded ray,
There all is calm as night, yet all immortal day,
And truth for ever shines, and love for ever burns.
_Isaac Watts._
The flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay,
Tempts, and then flies:
What is this _world_’s delight?
Lightning, that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
_Shelley._
Dreams cannot picture a _world_ so fair--
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!
_Mrs. Hemans._