FORBEARANCE. -CONDITION OF MAN. 319 FORBEARANCE. ALL that is good and great in the universe is on the side of clemency and mercy. If we look into the history of mankind, we shall find that in every age, those who have been respected as worthy have been distinguished for this virtue. Revenge dwells in little minds; a noble and magnanimous spirit is superior to it. Collected within itself, it stands unmoved by the impotent assaults of our enemies; and with generous pity, rather than with anger, looks down on their unworthy conduct. Anger and revenge are uneasy passions; "hence," says Seed, "it appears that the command of loving your enemies, which has been thought a hard saying, and impossible to be fulfilled, is really no more when resolved into its first principles, than bidding us to be at peace with ourselves, which we cannot be, so long as we continue at enmity with others." THE PRESENT CONDITION OF MAN VIN- HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of fate, TO A DEAR LITTLE BOY, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE. I MISS thee from my side With thy merry eyes and blue; Thou wert wont to give me then; When 't was time for bed again. I miss thee from my side, Or extract the apple's core; Of barley sugar, comfits sweet; I miss thee from my side, With thy query oft repeated; I miss thee from my side When brisk Punch is at the door; Judy's wrongs can charm no more! I miss thee from my side When the light of day grows pale; When with eyelids opened wide, Thou wouldst list the oft-told tale, And the murdered babes bewail; Yet so greedy of thy pain, That when all my lore would fail, I must needs begin again. I miss thee from my side In the haunts that late were thine; Where thy twinkling feet would glide, And thy clasping fingers twine; Here are checkered tumblers nine, Silent relics of thy play ; THE FROZEN DOVE. AWAY from the path! silly dove, Where the foot that may carelessly tread To sink mid the shadows of night, Poor Bird! thou hast pictured the fate Has the wing of the spirit been furl'd. The heart the most tender and light, In its warmth to the earth has been thrown, With the chill of adversity's night, To suffer and perish alone. THE TURKEY AND THE ANT. A FABLE. In other men, we faults can spy, And blame the mote that dims their eye, Each little speck and blemish find; To our own stronger errors blind. A turkey, tired of common food, Collecting here and there a grain. "Draw near, my birds," the mother cries, Behold the busy creeping race, An ant who climbed beyond his reach, Nor for a breakfast nations kill." |