Save as our atoms feel tyrannic chance, Conscience,-Freewill,-absurd! And if you ask 'Good, my dear sir!-but we must wait, I doubt, ; Nor Science mourn, by her high-priests betray'd And send the boys and girls rejoicing on their course!' 633. CREED. The first UNCURSED by doubt, our earliest creed we take; Too oft the light that led our earlier hours 634. CRISIS. A Nation's Holmes. ONCE to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight, Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right, And the choice goes by for ever 'twixt that darkness and that light. Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand, Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land? Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong, And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong. Backward look across the ages and the beaconmoments see, That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea; Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly; Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath pass'd by.-Lowell. 635. CRISIS. A Soul's THERE is a time, we know not when, A point, we know not where, That marks the destiny of men To glory or despair. There is a line, by us unseen, To pass that limit is to die To die as if by stealth; The conscience may be still at ease, The spirit light and gay, That which is pleasing still may please, Oh, where is this mysterious bourne How far may we go on in sin? How long will God forbear? An answer from the skies is sent: J. A. Alexander. 636. CRISIS. The important AT every motion of our breath A moment usher'd us to birth, 'Twixt that, long fled, which gave us light, This is that moment,-who can tell O God! henceforth our hearts incline 637. CRITICS. James Montgomery. MANY knotty points there are, Which all discuss, but few can clear.-Prior. Let those teach others who themselves excel; And censure freely, who have written well. Pope. Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best, Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest. Pope. Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, The gen'rous critic fann'd the poet's fire, The critic eye, that microscope of wit, Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit. To observations which ourselves we make, We grow more partial for the observer's sake. 638. CRITICISM. Bitter WHOEVER thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend : A perfect judge will read each work of wit Pope. Learn then what morals critics ought to show : Shun their fault, who, scandalously nice, Will needs mistake an author into vice. Pope. Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, Ah! ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine, Pope. Pope. Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend. Pope. Pope. A CRITIC was of old a glorious name, O JESUS! Sweet the tears I shed, My heart dissolves to see Thee bleed, This heart so hard before; I hear Thee for the guilty plead, And grief o'erflows the more. 'Twas for the sinful Thou didst die, And I a sinner stand: What love speaks from Thy dying eye, I know this cleansing blood of Thine O Christ of God! O spotless Lamb! In patient hope the cross I'll bear, Thine arm shall be my stay ; And Thou, enthroned, my soul shalt spare, 641. CROSS. My It is not heavy, agonizing woe, Bearing me down with hopeless, crushing weight; No ray of comfort in the gathering gloom, A heart bereaved-a household desolate. Mine is a daily cross of petty cares, Of little duties pressing on my heart, Of little troubles hard to reconcile, Of inward struggles-overcome in part. My feet are weary in their daily round, It is not heavy, Lord, yet oft I pine; It is not heavy, but 'tis everywhere; I dare not lay it down. I only ask 642. CROSS. The: the source of comfort. Is it not strange, the darkest hour That ever dawn'd on sinful earth Should touch the heart with softer power For comfort, than an angel's mirth? That to the cross the mourner's eye should turn Sooner than where the stars of. Christmas burn? Sooner than where the Easter sun 'Who died to heal, is risen to save'? Sooner than where upon the Saviour's friends The very Comforter in light and love descends? Keble. 643. CROSS: to be borne willingly. The cross is always ready, and waits for thee in every place. Why hopest then to avoid that from which no human being has been exempt? . . . Thou art deceived, wretchedly deceived, if thou expect anything but tribulation; for this whole mortal life is full of care, and signed on every side with the cross..... If thou bearest the cross willingly it will soon bear thee beyond the reach of suffering, where God shall take away all sorrow from thy heart.-Thomas à Kompis. ON every side, dear Lord, on every side, Waits there an 'always ready' cross for me? May not I find, through all this world so wide, Some restful place from all cross-bearing free? The way is dark, thorn-lined and sharp with flints, Whose jagged edges bruise and pierce my feet; Thou knowest, Lord, they mark with bloody prints The toilsome path. Ah, rest would seem so sweet! So sweet to lay aside this heavy cross So sweet to find some quiet resting-place- And breathe all fulness of life's joy and grace. Was there on earth for Him a place of rest? Was there an hour wherein He might not feel The weight of Calvary's cross upon Him prest? The pang of mocking thorn and piercing steel? With prescient sorrow did He not endure Through all the way the dolour of that hour, When, thy eternal freedom to secure, He met alone the last foe's cruel power? And wilt thou basely shun that blessed sign, His mark and seal, inscribing thee His own? Nay, rather shout, 'Thou blessed cross! be mine; I'll bear thee gladly-by thy sign be known.' 647. CURIOSITY. SEE its power expand When first the coral fills the infant's hand; Nor yet alone to toys and tales confined, earth; Who form'd a pathway for the obedient sun, And bade the seasons in their circles run; Turn to the world-its curious dwellers view, The gibbet's victim, or the nation's gaze, Sprague. Faith we may boast, undarken'd by a doubt, We thirst to find each awful secret out. Sprague. The inquiring spirit will not be controll'd, We would make certain all, and all behold. Sprague. 651. CUSTOM : its influence on habit. THAT monster, custom, who all sense doth eat To the next abstinence; the next, more easy; All habits gather by unseen degrees; As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas. 652. CUSTOM. Power of Dryden. MAN yields to custom as he bows to fate, Custom, 'tis true, a venerable tyrant, As custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway Custom does often reason overrule, Our thoughts, our morals, our most fix'd belief 655. DANGER. THE absent danger greater still appears; Speak, speak, let terror strike slaves mute, What is danger More than the weakness of our apprehensions? Beaumont and Fletcher. Our dangers and delights are near allies; From the same stem the rose and prickle rise. Alyen. |