LITMIR.BIZ

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Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows

       Far noisier schemes, accomplished in repose,

       Too great for haste, too high for rivalry.

      Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,

       Man’s senseless uproar mingling with his toil,

       Still do thy quiet ministers move on,

      Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting;

       Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil,

       Laborers that shall not fail, when man is gone.

TO A FRIEND.

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      Who prop, thou ask’st, in these bad days, my mind?—

       He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men,

       Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen,[1] And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though blind.

      Much he, whose friendship I not long since won,

       That halting slave, who in Nicopolis

       Taught Arrian, when Vespasian’s brutal son

       Cleared Rome of what most shamed him. But be his

      My special thanks, whose even-balanced soul,

       From first youth tested up to extreme old age,

       Business could not make dull, nor passion wild;

      Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole;

       The mellow glory of the Attic stage,

       Singer of sweet Colonus, and its child.

SHAKSPEARE.

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      Others abide our question. Thou art free.

       We ask and ask. Thou smilest, and art still,

       Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill,

       Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty,

      Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,

       Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,

       Spares but the cloudy border of his base

       To the foiled searching of mortality;

      And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know,

       Self-schooled, self-scanned, self-honored, self-secure,

       Didst tread on earth unguessed at.—Better so!

      All pains the immortal spirit must endure,

       All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow,

       Find their sole speech in that victorious brow.

WRITTEN IN EMERSON’S ESSAYS.

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      “O monstrous, dead, unprofitable world,

       That thou canst hear, and hearing hold thy way!

       A voice oracular hath pealed to-day,

       To-day a hero’s banner is unfurled;

      Hast thou no lip for welcome?”—So I said.

       Man after man, the world smiled and passed by;

       A smile of wistful incredulity,

       As though one spake of life unto the dead—

      Scornful, and strange, and sorrowful, and full

       Of bitter knowledge. Yet the will is free;

       Strong is the soul, and wise, and beautiful;

      The seeds of godlike power are in us still;

       Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if we will!—

       Dumb judges, answer, truth or mockery?

WRITTEN IN BUTLER’S SERMONS.

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      Affections, Instincts, Principles, and Powers,

       Impulse and Reason, Freedom and Control—

       So men, unravelling God’s harmonious whole,

       Rend in a thousand shreds this life of ours.

      Vain labor! Deep and broad, where none may see,

       Spring the foundations of that shadowy throne

       Where man’s one nature, queen-like, sits alone,

       Centred in a majestic unity;

      And rays her powers, like sister-islands seen

       Linking their coral arms under the sea,

       Or clustered peaks with plunging gulfs between,

      Spanned by aërial arches all of gold,

       Whereo’er the chariot-wheels of life are rolled

       In cloudy circles to eternity.

TO THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

       ON HEARING HIM MISPRAISED.

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      Because thou hast believed, the wheels of life

       Stand never idle, but go always round;

       Not by their hands, who vex the patient ground,

       Moved only; but by genius, in the strife

      Of all its chafing torrents after thaw,

       Urged; and to feed whose movement, spinning sand,

       The feeble sons of pleasure set their hand;

       And, in this vision of the general law,

      Hast labored, but with purpose; hast become

       Laborious, persevering, serious, firm—

       For this, thy track across the fretful foam

      Of vehement actions without scope or term,

       Called history, keeps a splendor; due to wit,

       Which saw one clew to life, and followed it.

IN HARMONY WITH NATURE.

       TO A PREACHER.

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      “In harmony with Nature?” Restless fool,

       Who with such heat dost preach what were to thee,

       When true, the last impossibility—

       To be like Nature strong, like Nature cool!

      Know, man hath all which Nature hath, but more,

       And in that more lie all his hopes of good. Nature is cruel, man is sick of blood; Nature is stubborn, man would fain adore;

      Nature is fickle, man hath need of rest;

       Nature forgives no debt, and fears no grave;

       Man would be mild, and with

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