The Creator is mercy-diffusing and kind, For He helps all His creatures and knows ev’ry mind. In Him, self-reliance and grandeur you see, For His kingdom is old and His nature is free.— * * * * * He is tardy in seizing on those who rebel, And does not excuse—bringers rudely repel. * * * * * When you’ve penitent turned “_It is past_,” He will write. * * * * * The extent of God’s mercies, no mortal can guess; The need of His praises, what tongue can express? * * * * * Who knows that communion with God you don’t share, When without an absolution you stand to say pray’r? * * * * * That pray’r is the key of the portal of hell, Over which in men’s presence a long time you dwell. If your path does not lead to the Maker alone, Your carpet for pray’r into Hell will be thrown! He ordered, and something from nothing arose; Who something from nothing but He could disclose? Again to nonentity’s hiding He flings us.— * * * * * And thence to the plain of the judgment He brings us. Let the robes of deceit, name and fame be dispersed! For a man becomes weak if in garments immersed. Worldly love is a veil by which nothing is gained; When you snap the attachments the Lord is obtained. * * * * * Know, that the people in ecstacy drown’d, In the eyes of the Lord special favour have found! He watches the “friend,” in the fierce burning pile? * * * * * You’ve no road in yourself while to self you are wed; The enraptured alone are informed on this head.— Some one said to a Moth “Oh, contemptible mite! Go! love one who will your affection requite.” * * * * * Between you and the candle no friendship can be! * * * * * No one tells you your conduct is perfectly right In destroying your life for the love of the light! Observe what the moth, full of hot anguish, said: “If I burn, oh astonishing! What is the dread?” * * * * * * * I fancy the flame is a beautiful rose! * * * * * Won’t you helplessly, one day, your life give away? For the sake of space and death, better give it to day! * * * * * A wild beast is not likely to change into man; Instruction is lost on it, strive as you can. * * * * * Effort makes not a rose from a willow to grow; A warm bath will not whiten a negro like snow. Since naught can the arrow of destiny brave. _Resignation’s_ the shield that is left to God’s slave.