MINDS are for sects of various kinds decreed,
As diff'rent soils are form'd for diff'rent seed;
Some when converted sigh in sore amaze,
And some are wrapt in joy's ecstatic blaze;
Others again will change to each extreme,
They know not why, as hurried in a dream :
Unstable they, like water, take all forms,
Are quick and stagnant; have their calms and storms;
High on the hills they in the sunbeams glow,
Then muddily they move debased and slow;
Or cold and frozen rest, and neither rise nor flow.
Here are, who all the Church maintains approve,
But yet the Church herself they will not love :
In angry speech they blame the carnal tie,
Which pure religion lost her spirit by :
What time from prisons, flames and tortures led,
She slumber'd careless in a royal bed;
To make, they add, the Church's glory shine,
Should Diocletian reign, not Constantine.
The Church of Rome, who here is poor and old:
Use not triumphant rail'ry, or at least
Let not thy ancient mother be a beast:
Great was her pride indeed in ancient times,
Yet shall we think of nothing but her crimes?
Exalted high above all earthly things,
She placed her foot upon the neck of kings;
But some have deeply since avenged the crown, And thrown her glory and her honours down :
We've Baptists old and new,-forbear to ask
What the distinction-I decline the task!
This I perceive, that when a sect grows old,
Converts are few, and the converted cold:
Some Swedenborgians in our streets are found,
Those wandering walkers on enchanted ground,
Who in our world can other worlds survey,
And speak with spirits though confined in clay :
But while these gifted men, a favoured fold,
New powers exhibit and new worlds behold,
Is there not danger lest their minds confound
The pure around them with the gross around?
Alas! too sure on both they bring disgrace,
Their earth is crazy, and their heaven is base!
Jews are with us, but far unlike to those
Who, led by David, warr'd with Israel's foes:
Unlike to those whom his imperial son
Taught truths divine-the Preacher Solomon:
Nor war nor wisdom yield our Jews delight,
They will not study, and they dare not fight.
More might I add: I might describe the flocks
Made by seceders from the ancient stocks ;
Those who will not to any guide submit,
Nor find one creed to their conceptions fit-
Each sect, they judge, in something goes astray,
And every church has lost the certain way.
A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing,
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways,
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting and shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms :
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read :
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.
KEATS, Endymion.
IT came, I know not whence, from far above,
That clear immortal flame that still doth rise
Within thy sacred breast, and fills the skies,
And heals all hearts, and adds to heaven new
love.
This burns me, this, and the pure light thereof;
Not thy fair face, thy sweet untroubled eyes:
For love that is not love for aught that dies,
Dwells in the soul where no base passions move.
If then such loveliness upon its own
Should graft new beauties in a mortal birth, The sheath bespeaks the shining blade within. To gain our love God hath not clearer shown Himself elsewhere: thus heaven doth vie with earth,
To make thee worthy worship without sin.
MICHAEL ANGELO (J. A. SYMONDS).
BENEATH an Indian palm a girl
Of other blood reposes,
Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl
Amid that wild of roses.
Beside a northern pine a boy
Is leaning fancy-bound,
Nor listens where with noisy joy
Awaits the impatient hound.
Cool grows the sick and feverish calm-
Relaxed the frosty twine,-
The pine-tree dreameth of the palm
The palm-tree of the pine.
As soon shall nature interlace
Those dimly visioned boughs,
As these young lovers face to face
Renew their early vows!
(O my love, O my love),
I said: Let me fall or stand,
Let me live or die,
But this once hear me speak—
(O my love, O my love)—
Yet a woman's words are weak;
You should speak, not I.
You took my heart in your hand
With a friendly smile,
With a critical eye you scanned,
Then set it down,
And said: It is still unripe,
Better wait awhile;
Wait while the skylarks pipe,
Till the corn grows brown.
|