Voices for the Speechless Part 3

But westward, look, the land is bright.

A. H. CLOUGH.

SEE, THROUGH THIS AIR.

See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth.

Above, how high progressive life may go!

Around, how wide! how deep extend below!

Vast chain of being! which from G.o.d began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, which no eye can see, No gla.s.s can reach; from infinite to thee; From thee to nothing. On superior powers Were we to press, inferior might on ours; Or in the full creation leave a void, Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed: From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and G.o.d the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame; Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees; Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.

POPE.

THE RIGHT MUST WIN.

Oh, it is hard to work for G.o.d, To rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart!

Ill masters good; good seems to change To ill with greatest ease; And, worst of all, the good with good Is at cross purposes.

It is not so, but so it looks; And we lose courage then; And doubts will come if G.o.d hath kept His promises to men.

Workman of G.o.d! Oh lose not heart, But learn what G.o.d is like; And in the darkest battle-field Thou shalt know where to strike.

For right is right, since G.o.d is G.o.d; And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin!

FABER.

ANIMATED NATURE.

Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated nature sweeter still To soothe and satisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The livelong night: nor these alone whose notes Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain; But coying rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still repeated circles, screaming loud, The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl That hails the rising moon, have charms for me.

Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake.

COWPER.

ANIMAL HAPPINESS.

The heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own.

The bounding fawn that darts along the glade When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, That skips the s.p.a.cious meadow at full speed, Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels, Starts to the voluntary race again; The very kine that gambol at high noon, The total herd receiving first from one That leads the dance a summons to be gay, Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent To give such act and utterance as they may To ecstasy too big to be suppressed-- These and a thousand images of bliss, With which kind Nature graces every scene, Where cruel man defeats not her design, Impart to the benevolent, who wish All that are capable of pleasure pleased, A far superior happiness to theirs, The comfort of a reasonable joy.

COWPER.

NO GRAIN OF SAND.

The very meanest things are made supreme With innate ecstasy. No grain of sand But moves a bright and million-peopled land, And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem.

For love, though blind himself, a curious eye Hath lent me, to behold the heart of things, And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh, Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings, Delight, from many a nameless covert sly, Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings.

LAMAN BLANCHARD.

HUMANITY, MERCY, AND BENEVOLENCE.

When that great and far-reaching softener of hearts, the sense of our failures and offences, is vividly present, the position we hold to creatures who have never done wrong is always found inexpressibly touching.

To be kind to them, and rejoice in their happiness, seems just one of the few ways in which we can act a G.o.dlike part in our little sphere, and display the mercy for which we hope in turn. The only befitting feeling for human beings to entertain toward brutes is--as the very word suggests--the feeling of _Humanity_; or, as we may interpret it, the sentiment of sympathy, as far as we can cultivate fellow feeling; of Pity so far so we know them to suffer; of Mercy so far as we can spare their sufferings; of Kindness and Benevolence, so far as it is in our power to make them happy.

MISS F. P. COBBE.

LIVING CREATURES.

What call'st thou solitude? Is mother earth With various living creatures, and the air Replenished, and all these at thy command To come and play before thee? Know'st thou not Their language and their ways? They also know, And reason not contemptibly; with these Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.

_Paradise Lost_, bk. 8.

NOTHING ALONE.

One all-extending, all-preserving Soul Connects each being, greatest with the least; Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast; All served, all serving: nothing stands alone: The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown.

POPE.

MAN'S RULE.

Thou gavest me wide nature for my kingdom, And power to feel it, to enjoy it. Not Cold gaze of winder gav'st thou me alone, But even into her bosom's depth to look, As it might be the bosom of a friend; The grand array of living things thou madest To pa.s.s before me, mak'st me know my brothers In silent bush, in water, and in air.

_Blackie's Translation of Goethe's Faust._

DUMB SOULS.

Even the she-wolf with young, on rapine bent, He caught and tethered in his mat-walled tent, And cherished all her little sharp-nosed young, Till the small race with hope and terror clung About his footsteps, till each new-reared brood, Remoter from the memories of the wood More glad discerned their common home with man.

This was the work of Jubal: he began The pastoral life, and, sire of joys to be, Spread the sweet ties that bind the family O'er dear dumb souls that thrilled at man's caress, And shared his pain with patient helpfulness.