The world had much of strange and wonderful,
In passion much, in action, reason, will,
And much in Providence, which still retired
From human eye, and led Philosophy,
That ill her ignorance liked to own, through dark
And dangerous paths of speculation wild.
Some striking features, as we pass, we mark,
In order such as memory suggests.
One passion prominent appears, the lust
Of power, which oft-times took the fairer name
Of liberty, and hung the popular flag
Of freedom out. Many, indeed, its names.
When on the throne it sat, and round the neck
Of millions riveted its iron chain,
And on the shoulders of the people laid
Burdens unmerciful, it title took
Of tyranny, oppression, despotism;
And every tongue was weary cursing it.
When in the multitude it gathered strength,
And, like an ocean bursting from its bounds,
Long beat in vain, went forth resistlessly,
It bore the stamp and designation, then,
Of popular fury, anarchy, rebellion;
And honest men bewalled all order void;
All laws annulled; all property destroyed;
The venerable, murdered in the streets;
The wise, despised; streams, red with human blood;
Harvests, beneath the frantic foot trod down;
Lands, desolate; and famine at the door.
These are a part; but other names it had,
Innumerous as the shapes and robes it wore.
But under every name, in nature still
Invariably the same, and always bad.
We own, indeed, that oft against itself
It fought, and sceptre both and people gave
An equal aid; as long exemplified
In Albion's isle, Albion, queen of the seas;
And in the struggle, something like a kind
Of civil liberty grew up, the best
Of mere terrestrial root; but, sickly, too,
And living only, strange to tell! in strife
Of factions equally contending; dead,
That very moment dead, that one prevailed.
Conflicting cruelly against itself,
By its own hand it fell; part slaving part.
And men who noticed not the suicide,
Stood wondering much, why earth from age to age,
Was still enslaved; and erring causes gave.
This was earth's liberty, its nature this,
However named, in whomsoever found,—
And found it was in all of woman born,—
Each man to make all subject to his will;
To make them do, undo, eat, drink, stand, move,
Talk, think, and feel, exactly as he chose.
Hence the eternal strife of brotherhoods,
Of individuals, families, commonwealths.
The root from which it grew was pride; bad root,
And bad the fruit it bore. Then wonder not,
That long the nations from it richly reaped
Oppression, slavery, tyranny, and war;
Confusion, desolation, trouble, shame.
And, marvellous though it seem, this monster, when
It took the name of slavery, as oft
It did, had advocates to plead its cause;
Beings that walked erect, and spoke like men;
Of Christian parentage descended, too,
And dipped in the baptismal font, as sign
Of dedication to the Prince who bowed
To death, to set the sin-bound prisoner free.
Unchristian thought! on what pretence soe'er
Of right, inherited, or else acquired;
Of loss, or profit, or what plea you name,
To buy and sell, to barter, whip, and hold
In chains, a being of celestial make:
Of kindred form, of kindred faculties,
Of kindred feelings, passions, thoughts, desires;
Born free, an heir of an immortal hope;
Thought villanous, absurd, detestable!
Unworthy to be harboured in a fiend!
And only overreached in wickedness
By that, birth, too, of earthly liberty,
Which aimed to make a reasonable man
By legislation think, and by the sword
Believe. This was that liberty renowned,
Those equal rights of Greece and Rome, where men,
All, but a few, were bought, and sold, and scourged,
And killed, as interest or caprice enjoined;
In after times talked of, written of, so much,
That most, by sound and custom led away,
Believed the essence answered to the name.
Historians on this theme were long and warm.
Statesmen, drunk with the sumes of vain debate,
In lofty swelling phrase, called it perfection.
Philosophers its rise, advance, and fail,
Traced carefully: and poets kindled still,
As memory brought it up; their lips were touched
With fire, and uttered words that men adored.
Even he, true bard of Zion, holy man!
To whom the Bible taught this precious verse,
“He is the freeman whom the truth makes free.”
By fashion, though by fashion little swayed,
Scarce kept his harp from pagan freedom's praise.
The captive prophet, whom Jehovah gave
The future years, described it best, when he
Beheld it rise in vision of the night:
A dreadful beast, and terrible, and strong
Exceedingly, with mighty iron teeth;
And, lo, it brake in pieces, and devoured,
And stamped the residue beneath its feet!
True liberty was Christian, sanctified,
Baptized, and found in Christian hearts alone;
First-born of Virtue, daughter of the skies,
Nursling of truth divine, sister of all
The graces, meekness, holiness, and love;
Giving to God, and man, and all below,
That symptom showed of sensible existence,
Their due, unasked; fear to whom fear was due;
To all, respect, benevolence, and love:
Companion of religion, where she came,
There freedom came; where dwelt, there freedom dwelt;
Ruled where she ruled, expired where she expired.
“He was the freeman whom the truth made free,”
Who, first of all, the bands of Satan broke;
Who broke the bands of sin; and for his soul,
In spite of fools, consulted seriously;
In spite of fashion, persevered in good;
In spite of wealth or poverty, upright;
Who did as reason, not as fancy, bade;
Who heard temptation sing, and yet turned not
Aside: saw Sin bedeck her flowery bed,
And yet would not go up; felt at his heart
The sword unsheathed, yet would not sell the truth;
Who, having power, had not the will to hurt;
Who blushed alike to be, or have a slave;
Who blushed at naught but sin, feared naught but God;
Who, finally, in strong integrity
Of soul, 'midst want, or riches, or disgrace,
Uplifted, calmly sat, and heard the waves
Of stormy folly breaking at his feet,
Now shrill with praise, now hoarse with foul reproach,
And both despised sincerely; seeking this
Alone, The approbation of his God,
Which still with conscience witnessed to his peace.
This, this is freedom, such as angels use,
And kindred to the liberty of God,
First-born of Virtue, daughter of the skies;
The man, the state, in whom she ruled, was free;
All else were slaves of Satan, Sir, and Death.
Already thou hast something heard of good
And ill, of vice and virtue, perfect each;
Of those redeemed, or else abandoned quite;
And more shalt hear, when, at the judgment-day,
The characters of mankind we review.
Seems aught which thou hast heard astonishing?
A greater wonder now thy audience asks;
Phenomena in all the universe,
Of moral being most anomalous,
Inexplicable most, and wonderful.
I'll introduce thee to a single heart,
A human heart. We enter not the worst,
But one by God's renewing Spirit touched,
A Christian heart, awaked from sleep of sin.
What seest thou here? what markst? Observe it well.
Will, passion, reason, hopes, fears, joy, distress,
Peace, turbulence, simplicity, deceit,
Good, ill, corruption, immortality,
A temple of the Holy Ghost, and yet
Oft lodging fiends; the dwelling-place of all
The heavenly virtues, charity and truth,
Humility, and holiness, and love;
And yet the common haunt of anger, pride,
Hatred, revenge, and passions foul with lust;
Allied to heaven, yet parleying oft with hell;
A soldier listed in Messiah's band,
Yet giving quarter to Abaddon's troops;
With seraphs drinking from the well of life,
And yet carousing in the cup of death;
An heir of heaven, and walking thitherward,
Yet casting back a covetous eye on earth;
Emblem of strength, and weakness; loving now,
And now abhorring sin; indulging now,
And now repenting sore; rejoicing now,
With joy unspeakable, and full of glory;
Now weeping bitterly, and clothed in dust;
A man willing to do, and doing not;
Doing, and willing not; embracing what
He hates, what most he loves abandoning;
Half saint, and sinner half; half life, half death;
Commixture strange of heaven, and earth, and hell.
What seest thou here? what markst? A battle field,
Two banners spread, two dreadful fronts of war
In shock of opposition fierce, engaged.
God, angels, saw whole empires rise in arms,
Saw kings exalted, heard them tumble down,
And others raised,—and heeded not; but here
God, angels, looked; God, angels, fought; and Hell,
With all his legions, fought; here, error fought
With truth, with darkness light, and life with death;
And here, not kingdoms, reputations, worlds,
Were won; the strife was for eternity,
The victory was never-ending bliss,
The badge, a chaplet from the tree of life.
While thus, within, contending armies strove,
Without, the Christian had his troubles too.
For, as by God's unalterable laws,
And ceremonial of the Heaven of Heavens,
Virtue takes place of all, and worthiest deeds
Sit highest at the feast of bliss; on earth,
The opposite was fashion's rule polite.
Virtue the lowest place at table took,
Or served, or was shut out; the Christian still
Was mocked, derided, persecuted, slain;
And Slander, worse than mockery, or sword,
Or death, stood nightly by her horrid forge,
And fabricated lies to stain his name,
And wound his peace; but still he had a source
Of happiness, that men could neither give
Nor take away. The avenues that led
To immortality before him lay.
He saw, with faith's far reaching eve, the fount
Of life, his Father's house, his Saviour God,
And borrowed thence to help his present want.
Encountered thus with enemies, without,
Within, like bark that meets opposing winds
And floods, this way, now that, she steers athwart,
Tossed by the wave, and driven by the storm;
But still the pilot, ancient at the helm,
The harbour keeps in eye; and after much
Of danger passed, and many a prayer rude,
He runs her safely in; so was the man
Of God beset, so tossed by adverse winds;
And so his eye upon the land of life
He kept. Virtue grew daily stronger, sin
Décayed; his enemies, repulsed, retired;
Till, at the stature of a perfect man
In Christ arrived, and with the Spirit filled,
He gained the harbour of eternal rest.
But think not virtue, else than dwells in God
Essentially, was perfect, without spot.
Examine yonder suns. At distance seen,
How bright they burn! how gloriously they shine,
Mantling the worlds around in beamy light!
But nearer viewed, we through their lustre see
Some dark behind; so virtue was on earth,
So is in heaven, and so shall always be.
Though good it seem, immaculate, and fair
Exceedingly, to saint or angel's gaze,
The uncreated Eye, that searches all,
Sees it imperfect; sees, but blames not; sees,
Well pleased, and best with those who deepest dive
Into themselves, and know themselves the most;
Taught thence in humbler reverence to bow
Before the Holy One; and oftener view
His excellence, that in them still may rise,
And grow his likeness, growing evermore.
Nor think that any, born of Adam's race,
In his own proper virtue, entered heaven.
Once fallen from God and perfect holiness,
No being, unassisted, e'er could rise,
Or sanctify the sin poluted soul.
Oft was the trial made, but vainly made.
So oft as men, in earth's best livery clad,
However fair, approached the gates of heaven,
And stood presented to the eye of God,
Their impious pride so oft his soul abhorred.
Vain hope! in patch-work of terrestrial grain,
To be received into the courts above!
As vain as towards yonder suns to soar,
On wing of waxen plumage, melting soon.
Look round, and see those numbers infinite,
That stand before the Throne, and in their hands
Palms waving high, as token of victory
For battles won. These are the sons of men
Redeemed, the ransomed of the Lamb of God
All these, and millions more of kindred blood,
Who now are out on messages of love.
All these, their virtue, beauty, excellence,
And joy, are purchase of redeeming blood;
Their glory, bounty of redeeming love.
O Love divine! Harp, lift thy voice on high!
Shout, angels! shout aloud, ye sons of men!
And burn, my heart, with the eternal flame!
My lyre, be eloquent with endless praise!
O Love divine! immeasurable Love!
Stooping from heaven to earth, from earth to hell,
Without beginning, endless, boundless Love!
Above all asking, giving far, to those
Who naught deserved, who naught deserved but death!
Saving the vilest! saving me! O Love
Divine! O Saviour God! O Lamb, once slain!
At thought of thee, thy love, thy flowing blood,
All thoughts decay; all things remembered fade;
All hopes return; all actions done by men
Or angels, disappear, absorbed and lost;
All fly, as from the great white Throne which he,
The prophet, saw, in vision wrapped, the heavens
And earth, and sun, and moon, and starry host,
Confounded, fled, and found a place no more.
One glance of wonder, as we pass, deserve
The books of Time. Productive was the world
In many things, but most in books. Like swarms
Of locusts, which God sent to vex a land
Rebellious long, admonished long in vain,
Their numbers they poured annually on man,
From heads conceiving still. Perpetual birth!
Thou wonderst how the world contained them all:
Thy wonder stay. Like men, this was their doom;
“That dust they were, and should to dust return.”
And oft their fathers, childless and bereaved,
Wept o'er their graves, when they themselves were green,
And on them fell, as fell on every age,
As on their authors fell oblivious Night,
Which o'er the past lay, darkling, heavy, still,
Impenetrable, motionless, and sad,
Having his dismal, leaden plumage stirred
By no remembrancer, to show the men
Who after came what was concealed beneath.
The story-telling tribe, alone, outran
All calculation far, and left behind,
Lagging, the swiftest numbers. Dreadful, even
To fancy, was their never-ceasing birth;
And room had lacked, had not their life been short.
Excepting some, their definition take
Thou thus, expressed in gentle phrase, which leaves
Some truth behind: A Novel was a book
Three volumed, and once read, and oft crammed full
Of poisonous error, blackening every page,
And oftener still, of trifling, second-hand
Remark, and old, diseased, putrid thought,
And, miserable incident, at war
With nature, with itself and truth at war;
Yet charming still the greedy reader on,
Till done, he tried to recollect his thoughts,
And nothing found, but dreaming emptiness.
These, like ephemera, sprung, in a day,
From lean and shallow-soiled brains of sand,
And in a day expired; yet, while they lived,
Tremendous oft-times was the popular roar;
And cries of—Live for ever! struck the skies.
One kind alone remained, seen through the gloom
And sullen shadow of the past; as lights
At intervals they shone, and brought the eye,
That backward travelled, upward, till arrived
At him, who, on the hills of Midian, sang
The patient man of Uz; and from the lyre
Of angels, learned the early dawn of Time.
Not light and momentary labour these,
But discipline and self-denial long,
And purpose stanch, and perseverance, asked,
And energy that inspiration seemed.
Composed of many thoughts, possessing each
Innate and underived vitality;
Which, having fitly shaped, and well arranged
In brotherly accord, they builded up;
A stately superstructure, that, nor wind,
Nor wave, nor shock of falling years, could move
Majestic and indissolubly firm;
As ranks of veteran warriors in the field,
Each by himself and singly seen,
A tower of strength; in massy phalanx knit,
And in embattled squadron rushing on,
A sea of valour, dread, invincible.
Books of this sort, or sacred, or profane,
Which virtue helped, were titled, not amiss,
“The medicine of the mind:” who read them, read
Wisdom, and was refreshed; and on his path
Of pilgrimage, with healthier step advanced.
In mind, in matter, much was difficult
To understand. But, what in deepest night
Retired, inscrutable, mysterious, dark,—
Was evil, God's decrees, and deeds decreed,
Responsible: why God, the just and good,
Omnipotent and wise, should suffer sin
To rise: why man was free, accountable;
Yet God fore