Does conscious genius fire thy haughty mind, Genius that raises man above his kind,— The lofty soul that soars on wing of fire, While crowds at distance marvel and admire? Oh! while the charmed world pays her homage just. Remember, every _talent_ is a _trust_, A treasure God doth to thy care confide, A cause for gratitude, but none for pride! If thou that precious talent misapply To spread the power of infidelity, To strew with flowers the path which sinners tread, To hide one treacherous snare by Satan spread, How blest—how great compared to thee—that man Whose life obscurely ends as it began. To whose meek soul no knowledge e’er was given, Save that, of all most high,—that guides to heaven Far as the sun’s pure radiance, streaming bright, Transcends the glow-worm’s dim and fading light, The wisdom to his soul vouchsafed from high Exceeds the earth-born fires that flash—and die! Oh! where shall pride securely harbour then, Where urge his claims to rule the minds of men? Blest Eden knew him not,—where all was fair— Where all was faultless—pride abode not there! The glorious angels are above his sway, Their bliss to minister—to serve—obey; We, only we, poor children of a day, Tread haughtily the ground for our sakes curst, And wear with pride the chains our Surety burst! Would that the world could know and truly prize That which is great in the Creator’s eyes! The poor man, bending o’er his scanty store, Who, with God’s presence blest, desires no more, Who feels his sins—his weakness,—though his ways Be just and pure beyond all _human_ praise; Whose humble thoughts well with his prayer accord, “Have mercy upon me, a sinner, Lord!” Who, heir of an eternal, heavenly throne, Rests all his hopes on Christ, and Christ alone! Wisest of men—for he alone is wise.— Richest of men—secure his treasure lies.— Greatest of men—his mansion is on high. His father—God,—his rest—Eternity! End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pride and His Prisoners, by A. L. O. E.