"Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say: "Beneath my searching eye All mist and darkness melt away, Phantoms and fables fly. Before me truth can stand alone, The naked, solid truth; And man matured by worth will own, If I am shunned by youth. "Firm is my tread, and sure though slow; My footsteps never slide; And he that follows me shall know I am the surest guide." Thy boast is vain; but were it true That thou couldst safely steer Life's rough and devious pathway through, Such guidance I should fear. How could I bear to walk for aye, With eyes to earthward prone, O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, And sand and flinty stone; Never the glorious view to greet Of hill and dale, and sky; To see that Nature's charms are sweet, Or feel that Heaven is nigh? If in my heart arose a spring, A gush of thought divine, At once stagnation thou wouldst bring With that cold touch of thine. If, glancing up, I sought to snatch But one glimpse of the sky, My baffled gaze would only catch Thy heartless, cold grey eye. If to the breezes wandering near, I listened eagerly, And deemed an angel's tongue to hear That whispered hope to me, That heavenly music would be drowned In thy harsh, droning voice; Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, Might my sad soul rejoice. Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee The still, small voice of Heaven; Thine eyes are dim and cannot see The helps that God has given. There is a bridge o'er every flood Which thou canst not perceive; A path through every tangled wood, But thou wilt not believe. Striving to make thy way by force, Toil-spent and bramble-torn, Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, And burst through brier and thorn: And, pausing by the river's side, Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, By casting pebbles in its tide, To cross the swelling stream. Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try Thy toilsome way to bore, Regardless of the pathway nigh That would conduct thee o'er Not only art thou, then, unkind, And freezing cold to me, But unbelieving, deaf, and blind: I will not walk with thee! Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, Thine eyes like lightning shine; Ecstatic joys to thee belong, And powers almost divine. But 'tis a false, destructive blaze Within those eyes I see; Turn hence their fascinating gaze; I will not follow thee. "Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, Walk on the common sod; Go, trace with timid foot and eye The steps by others trod. 'Tis best the beaten path to keep, The ancient faith to hold; To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, And lie within the fold.