The work of one Maker ’s this universe all. Our acts’ consequences to our accounts fall. Jack shoots off an arrow;--directs it to Jill. The arrow poor Jill hits;--straightway does her kill. If only it wound her, for great length of time It tortures. Pain’s God’s work; wherever the clime. Should Jack, at that moment, expire from his fright, To plague her Jill’s wound would not cease, day or night. 120 If from the effect of great pain, then, she die, Remote cause is Jack, still, of her misery. Account he must render for those pangs of hers. Although they’re God’s acts, man to man them refers. And so propagation, seed-sowing, and all; Effects of them operate. God’s sole, the call. A saint acquires powers, most astounding, from God.[216] The flying bolt he can avert with a nod. The door can be shut between cause, consequence, On saint’s reclamation, by God’s prescience. 125 He makes said unsaid, from beginning to end. Hence, neither does skewer burn, roast to coal trend.[217] From every mind that has knowledge of fact, Remembrance effaced is, though brains may be racked. Of this, dost thou proof require, most worthy friend, The text read: “What verse We annul, or We mend.”[218] Again: “They my warning made you to forget.”[219] By these is oblivion’s great power ’fore us set. To make us remember, forget, they power have. They’ve hearts subjugated o’er creation’s wave. 130 Whene’er dull forgetfulness blinds eye of man, No act can he do, howe’er wide his scan. Dost dare, thou, great saints to make laughingstock?[220] To words of the Prophet give heed, silly block. Earth’s lords have dominion o’er bodies of clay. Enlightened saints rule hold o’er hearts;--their own sway. All acts are fruits, doubtless, of experience. Man, then, is but pupil. All’s, else, mere pretence.[221] I’ll close now this subject; much more I might say; Prevented I am by the rules I obey. 135 Remembrance, forgetfulness, both are of God. Support and aid, too, must depend on His nod. Of thoughts, God, men’s good and bad souls voids, each night, By millions. Since this has seemed good in His sight. By day, their hearts fill with their thoughts all, again, Those oystershells He fills with rich pearls amain. He knows all the thoughts that here trouble our frames. ’Tis He that gives guidance to souls in their games.