* * * * *
[Illustration: Letter D.]
Did sweeter sounds adorn my
Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth,
Did Shadrach’s zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them miracles and law:
Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded pray’r;
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A cymbal’s sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heaven.
Each other gift, which God
on man bestows,
Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;
To one fix’d purpose dedicates its power;
And finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting Charity’s more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist’s
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow
That more remains unseen than art can show;
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
Its feeble eye intent on things above,
High as we may we lift our reason up,
By faith directed, and confirm’d by hope;
Yet are we able only to survey
Dawnings of beams and promises of day;
Heav’n’s fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight—
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds
shall be dispell’d;
The Son shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.