Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 62, Number 385. November, 1847.Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 62, Number 385. November, 1847.
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
Gifts, in the eye of Heaven, not always bear
The marketable value stamped by man
Upon them,--else the poor were truly poor,
The willing spirit destitute indeed.
In other balance are our actions weighed
By Him who sees the heart in all its thoughts;
Both what it wills and cannot, what it tries
And doth,--and with what motive, for what end.
Clouds clothe them like realities, and shine
Even so to human eyes; yet, not the less
Are only mockeries of the things they seem,
And melt as we survey them. Let us not
The shadow for the substance take, the Jay
For the true Bird of Paradise. A crust
Dealt, by the poor man, from his daily loaf,
To the wayfarer, poorer than himself--
A cup of water, in the Saviour's name
Proffered, with ready hand, to thirsting lips,--
Seem trifles in themselves, yet weigh for wine,
And gems, and gold, and frankincense. The mite,--
The widow's offering, and her all, put in
With grief, because she had no more to give,
Yet given although her all,--was in the sight
Of Heaven a sumless treasury bestowed,
And reckoned such in her account above:--
When Nineveh, through all her myriad streets,
Lay blackened with idolatry and crime,
God had preserved her--would have saved her whole--
Had but the Prophet, as a leaven, found
His righteous ten!
Therefore, Oh never deem
Thoughts, deeds, or feelings valueless, that bear
The balance of the heart to Virtue's side!
The coral worm seems nought, but coral worms
Combined heave up a reef, where mightiest keels
Are stranded, and the powers of man put down.
The water-drop wears out the stone; and cares
Trifling, if ceaseless, form an aggregate,
Whose burden weighs the buoyant heart to earth.
Think not the right path may be safely left,
Though 'twere but for one moment, and one step;
That one departure, slight howe'er it be,
From Innocence is nought. The young peach-bloom,
Rudely brushed off, can be restored no more,
By all the cunning of the painter's art;
Nor to the sered heart comes, in after life
Again,--however longed for, or bewailed,--
Youth's early dews, the pure and delicate!
VALEDICTORY VISITS AT ROME.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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