Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast; why passive lies our clay,-- Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" Fool! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee, _That_ was, is, and shall be: Time's wheel runs back or stops; Potter and clay endure. He fixed thee 'mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. What though the earlier grooves Which ran the laughing loves Around thy base, no longer pause and press? What though, about thy rim, Scull-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? Look not thou down, but up! To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp's flash, and trumpet's peal, The new wine's foaming flow, The Master's lips aglow! Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel? But I need, now as then, Thee, God, who mouldest men; And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did I--to the wheel of life With shapes and colors rife, Bound dizzily--mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst: So, take and use Thy work! Amend what flaws may lurk, What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim! My times be in _Thy_ hand! Perfect the cup as planned! Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same! ROBERT BROWNING. * * * * * THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS. FROM "HUDIBRAS," PART I. He was of that stubborn crew Of errant saints, whom all men grant To be the true church militant; Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun; Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery, And prove their doctrine orthodox By apostolic blows and knocks; Call fire, and sword, and desolation A godly, thorough Reformation, Which always must be carried on And still be doing, never done; As if religion were intended For nothing else but to be mended. A sect whose chief devotion lies In odd perverse antipathies; In falling out with that or this, And finding somewhat still amiss; More peevish, cross, and splenetic, Than dog distract, or monkey sick; That with more care keep holiday The wrong than others the right way; Compound for sins they are inclined to, By damning those they have no mind to; Still so perverse and opposite, As if they worshipped God for spite; The self-same thing they will abhor One way, and long another for. SAMUEL BUTLER. * * * * * THE PROBLEM.