I love to look on a scene like this, And persuade myself that I am not old, For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, To catch the thrill of a happy voice And the light of a pleasant eye. N. P. WILLIS: Saturday Afternoon. How gayly is at first begun Our life's uncertain race! How smiling the world's prospect lies, Did more inviting show. Which wander through our minds ! ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA: What is youth?—A dancing billow, Winds behind, and rocks before! WORDSWORTH. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: And cometh from afar: But trailing clouds of glory, do we come WORDSWORTH: Intimations of Immortality. There was a time when meadow, grove, and spring, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore:Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare: Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth : But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. WORDSWORTH: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven. WORDSWORTH: The Prelude. Self-flatter'd, unexperienced, high in hope, When young, with sanguine cheer, and stream ers gay, We cut our cable, launch into the world, And fondly dream each wind and star our friend. YOUNG: Night Thoughts. Beautiful as sweet! And young as beautiful! and soft as young! And gay as soft! and innocent as gay! YOUNG: Night Thoughts. ZEAL. Live to do good; but not with thought to win From man return of any kindness done; Remember Him who died on cross for sin, The merciful, the meek, rejected One: When He was slain for crime of doing good, Canst thou expect return of gratitude? Do good to all; but while thou servest best, pray, And eyes whose sorrows thou hast wiped away. Still do thou good; but for His holy sake Who died for thine; fixing thy purpose ever High as His throne no wrath of man can shake: So shall He own thy generous endeavour, And take thee to His conqueror's glory up, When thou hast shared the Saviour's bitter cup. Do naught but good; for such the noble strife Of virtue is, 'gainst wrong to venture love, And for thy foe devote a brother's life, Content to wait the recompense above; Brave for the truth, to fiercest insult meek, In mercy strong, in vengeance only weak. DR. GEORGE W. BETHUNE: Live to Do Good. No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest The hand that slew till it could slay no more Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain. Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fettergall'd, Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain! Thou hast achieved a part; hast gain'd the ear Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause; Hope smiles, joy springs, and, though cold caution pause, And weave delay, the better hour is near That shall remunerate thy toils severe, By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love From all the just on earth, and all the bless'd above. COWPER: To William Wilberforce, Esq., 1792. And now, philanthropy! thy rays divine Dart round the globe, from Zembla to the line; O'er each dark prison plays the cheering light, Like northern lustres o'er the vault of night; From realm to realm, with cross or crescent crown'd, Where'er mankind and misery are found, O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow, Thy Howard journeying seeks the house of woe. And cells whose echoes only learn to groan; ERASMUS DARWIN: Nothing but the name of zeal appears 'Twixt our best actions and the worst of theirs. SIR J. DENHAM. All the rich mines of learning ransack'd are SIR J. DENHAM. For zeal like hers, her servants were to show, She was the first, where need required to go; Herself the foundress and attendant too. DRYDEN. Shame of change, and fear of future ill; And zeal, the blind conductor of the will. DRYDEN. Compute the gains of his ungovern'd zeal: Distemper'd zeal, sedition, canker'd hate, A numerous host of dreaming saints succeed, Of the true old enthusiastic breed: 'Gainst form and order they their power employ, Nothing to build, and all things to destroy. DRYDEN. Farewell to earth; my life of sense is o'er, I follow thee, refuse all other guide: And ne'er did shipwreck'd bark with broken side Loose from the shelves more anxious for a shore. And since I spent with risk of mortal harm My life and dearest hours, nor gather'd thence Profit or fruit, I crowd my sail to thee. Lord, I am turn'd! now let thy gracious arm Sustain me; and my future service be With zeal proportion'd to my past offence. From the Italian of GABRIEL FIAMMA. In his duty prompt at ev'ry call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all: And as a bird each fond endearment tries And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. Sow with a generous hand, Pause not for toil or pain, Weary not through the heat of summer, Weary not through the cold spring rain; But wait till the autumn comes For the sheaves of golden grain. Scatter the seed, and fear not; A table will be spread; What matter if you are too weary To eat your hard-earn'd bread: Sow while the earth is broken, For the hungry must be fed. Sow, while the seeds are lying In the warm earth's bosom deep, And your warm tears fall upon it,— Then sow,-for the hours are fleeting, Where the starry light appears,— You have sown to-day in tears. And many a lowly friend have I, Or sick or sad of heart, Who hails my coming steps with joy, No day is ever long; and night And if, when evening shadows fall, I kneel me down in that same room And there I say the evening prayer I have a thousand memories dear, For God but takes his gifts away, Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day; And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. But we of the religion have borne us best in fight; And the good Lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white. Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en, The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. Up with it high! unfurl it wide! that all the host The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, may know How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point of war, Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry of Navarre ! LORD MACAULAY: Battle of Ivry. Zeal and duty are not slow, But on occasion's forelock watchful wait. MILTON. So shall they build me altars in their zeal, Where knaves shall minister and fools shall kneel; Where faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell MOORE: Lalla Rookh: Veiled Prophet. Zeal is that pure and heavenly flame While that which often bears the name True zeal is merciful and mild, Can pity and forbear; The false is headstrong, fierce, and wild, While zeal for truth the Christian warms, Zeal has attain'd its highest aim, Its end is satisfied, If sinners love the Saviour's name; Nor seeks it aught beside. JOHN NEWTON. Rise! for the day is passing, Each man has some part to play; Tell zeal it lacks devotion. SIR W. RALEIGH. Unless the deed go with it: from this moment SHAKSPEARE. The Master hath need of the reapers, Look up to the hill-tops, and see The Master hath need of the reapers, And, idler, He calleth to thee; Come out of the mansions of pleasure, From the halls where the careless may be. Soon the shadows of eve will be falling, With the mists, and the dews, and the rain : Oh, what are thy rests and thy follies To the world and the rusts of the grain? The Master hath need of the reapers, To the joys that hereafter shall be? The Master hath need of the reapers, And He calleth to thee and to me; And gather the sheaves in the garner, By the wounds of that blessed One calling, Oh, think of the crowns they are wearing, As they walk with the angels in white; Of the beautiful songs they are singing, The Master Hath Need. By these, and the joys that are given, Oh, list to the summons, and go To the fields where the harvests are whitening, It was a worthy edifying sight, Some reach the healing draught: the whilst, to chase The fear supreme, around their soften'd heads Some holy man by prayer all-opening Heaven dispreads. THOMSON: Castle of Indolence. Say, does your Christian purpose still proceed T'assist in every shape the wretches' need? To free the prisoner from his anxious jail, When friends forsake him, and relations fail? Or yet with nobler charity conspire To snatch the guilty from eternal fire? Has your small squadron firm in trial stood, Without preciseness, singularly good? Safe march they on 'twixt dangerous extremes Of mad profaneness and enthusiast dreams? REV. SAMUEL WESLEY,-to Charles Wesley, or the Methodists at Oxford, 1729. Some high or humble enterprise of good To this thy purpose,-to begin, pursue, With thoughts all fix'd, and feelings purely kind; Strength to complete, and with delight review, And grace to give the praise where all is ever due. CARLOS WILCOX: Cure for Melancholy. Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know; Shalt bless the earth while in the world above; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands, unsparing and unwearied, sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers. CARLOS WILCOX: Cure for Melancholy. As thou these ashes, little brook! wilt bear Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, WORDSWORTH: Eccles. Sonnets: To Wickliffe. |