But consider, child of sensibility; the lot of men is labour, Labour for the mouth, or labour in the spirit, labour stern and individual. Worldly cares and worldly hopes exact the thoughts of all, And there is a necessary selfishness, rooted in each mortal breast. The plans of prudence, or the whisperings of pride, or all-absorbing reveries of love, Ambition, grief, or fear, or joy, set each man for himself; Therefore, the centre of a circle, whereunto all the universe convergeth, Is seen in fallen solitude, the naked selfish heart: Stripped of conventional deceptions, untrammelled from the harness of society, We all may read one little word engraved on all we do; Other men, what are they unto us? the age, the mass, the million,-- We segregate, distinct from generalities, that isolated particle, a self: It is the very law of our life, a law for soul and body, An earthly law for earthly men, toiling in responsible probation. For each is the all unto himself, disguise it as we may, Each infinite, each most precious; yet even as a nothing to his neighbour. O consider, we be crowding up an avenue, trapped in the decoy of time, Behind us the irrevocable past, before us the illimitable future: What wonder is there, if the traveller, wayworn, hopeful, fearful, Burdened himself, so lightly heed the burden of his brother? How shouldst thou marvel and be sad, that the pilgrims trouble not to learn thee, When each hath to master for himself the lessons of life and immortality? Moreover, what art thou,--so vainly impatient of Neglect, Where then is thy worthiness, that so thou claimest honour? Let the true judgment of humility reckon up thine ill deserts, How little is there to be loved, how much to stir up scorn! The double heart, the bitter tongue, the rash and erring spirit, Be these, ye purest among men, your passports unto favour? It is mercy in the Merciful, and justice in the Just, to be jealous of His creature's love, But how should evil or duplicity arrogate affection to itself? Where love is happiness and duty, to be jealous of that love is godlike, But who can reverence the guilty? who findeth pleasure in the mean? Check the presumption of thy hopes: thankfully take refuge in obscurity, Or, if thou claimest merit, thy sin shall be proclaimed upon the housetops.