A Churchyard Thought— Brevity of
"As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more."-Psalm ciii. 15, 16.
"Qual fummo in aere, ed in acqua la schiuma."-DANTE.
"Nix, rosa, ros, fumus, ventus et aura, nihil."-BERNAR BAUHUSIUS.
SAY, what is human life, and whereunto
Shall I compare it ? 'Tis a tiny cloud
Borne where the sun shines bright, and storms are loud,
Onward, athwart the illimitable blue,
Until it wastes itself in tearful dew :
A lily o'er its garden-compeers proud
To-day; in death to-morrow lowly bowed :—
'Tis like a spark of fire that upward flew :—
A glad wave dancing o'er a sunny sea,
Soon on a silent desert shore to strike :-
A smile short broken by a sob of grief:
A falling star quench'd in eternity :-
A wine-cup shiver'd when 'tis drain'd :-'tis like Whate'er is bright, or sad, or small, or brief.
A Churchyard Thought— Life.
'Behold the child, by nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw;
Some livelier plaything gives the youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite.
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage;
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before,
Till, tired, he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er."
Essay on Man.
EACH thinks he lives, the happy Boy who rules,
The welcome tyrant of the careless hour,
His playmates by a character of power;
The Youth but just emancipate from Schools,
Contemptuous, vain, the very Prince of fools,
Lavish of his first Love's exhaustless dower;
The Man who scales Ambition's painful tower;
The weary elder throwing down his tools.
Oh, cheat! oh, mockery! oh, snare to lure
Men to play out this Drama's 'lotted parts,
Loyal, unquestioning, content, secure!
Oh, dream!-for not in Action's busy marts
Plies the true Life; but in emphatic Thought;
To know Self, Nature, God.-The rest is nought.
Another Churchyard Thought.-Spirits.
τίς δ ̓ οἶδεν εἴ ζῆν τοῦθ ̓ ἀπόκληται θανεῖν.—ΕURIPIDES.
"He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know,
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair field or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown."-HENRY VAUGHAN.
"If yet your gentle souls fly in the air,
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings."
Richard III., Act iv. Scene 4.
WHERE are the spirits that informed the dead?
Are they now hymning at the springs of day;
Or, with a lingering love for things of clay,
On tremulous wings still hovering overhead,
Do they sweet influence o'er our couches shed?
Or were they wafted without sense away
Back to the God who gave them, till the bray
Of the last trump shall sound its note of dread?
Teach me, O Lord! whether my soul shall save
Its sensible affections after death,
Continuous, or sleep on a dreamless sleeping—
Secret but opening to us with the grave—
Teach me, when I sigh forth my latest breath,
To trust me fearless to thy holy keeping.
Another Churchyard Thought-Immortality of the Soul.
"When I see nothing annihilated, and not even a drop of water wasted, I cannot suspect the annihilation of souls."-FRANKLYN'S Letters.
"Morte carent animæ: semperque priore relictâ
Sede, novis domibus habitant vivuntque receptæ.
Omnia mutantur; nihil interit; errat et illinc
Huc venit, hinc illuc."-OVID.
THIS all my knowledge, this my faith and trust,
That as no atom perisheth, the soul
Dies not; but freed by death from the control
Of flesh, when the frail body sinks to dust,
It puts on some new change. If with the Just
At once made perfect-can such creed stand whole
With final judgment?—If beyond the roll
Of stars it wanders with no earthward lust,
Cloth'd with new faculties-or hovereth still
Over its old affections, watching the ill
And good of its lov'd kindred; if it leap
Into new bodies; if it dream, or sleep
The moment-seeming sleep of Infancy,
I know not :-this I know, it cannot die!
"These haunts are where they should be, at home, not sleeping or concocting the surfeits of an irregular feast, but up and stirring; in winter, often ere the sound of any bell awakes man to labour or devotion; in summer, as oft with the bird that first rouses, or not much tardier, to read good authors, or cause them to be read, till the attention be weary, or memory have its full fraught."-MILTON.
FLING wide the casement, for the morning breeze
Already curls the dew upon the stream,
And o'er their half-built nests with welcome scream
The busy rooks fill all the neighbouring trees.
Be labour lighten'd by luxurious ease;
Up to the oriel window wheel the chair;
(Sweet aid to study the fresh morning air,)
And ponder tasks which please, or ought to please:-
Gaze happy round upon your pictur'd room-
Your own; for swiftly may the time draw nigh
When homeless thou, in stifling city pent,
With spirit lustreless, and body bent,
Shall rise each morning unrefresh'd, and sigh
Daily o'er real toil with hopeless gloom.
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