The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

“What!—Glass?” methinks I hear you cry, “forbear—
“Take heed, young man; you handle brittle ware.”
—I thank you for your caution—but 'tis now too late;—
Glass is the word; and I must meet my fate.
Come what will come; at least the worst I know;
—And if I cut my fingers—be it so.

“Beauty's like Glass,” satiric bards have said:
“Credit's like Glass,” exclaims the man of trade:
“Life's Joys, all frail as Glass,” the Sage attacks:
“Like Glass,” say Wits, “a Courtier's Promise cracks.”
—But these allusions all on one side strike—
So many things like Glass! What is Glass like?

122

—There, with your leave, I mean to rest my plan.—
And I say,—“Glass is like a worthy Man.”

When active flame with heat more subtle glows,
Dissolving Glass a radiant liquid flows:
So, when warm feelings touch the generous Heart,
It yields, relaxes, melts, in every part.

Glass runs consistent in the fiercest fire,
Soft, but cohesive; fluid, yet entire:
So honest Men, when human woes they weep,
Chang'd, not debas'd, one virtuous tenor keep.

Glass flies beneath th' incumbent hammer's stroke,
To glittering shivers in a moment broke;
Ev'n as the noble Mind, which force would tame,
Embraces ruin, to escape from shame.

Yet ductile Glass, by gentler methods wrought,
Assumes each semblance of the artist's thought;
Like Manly Breasts, that spurn oppressive sway,
But meet truth, reason, right, and sense, half-way.

123

Glass, still respondent to the workman's care,
As every shape, can every colour bear:
Ev'n so good Men, in every turn of fate,
Can act all parts, and in all parts be great.

Pervious to every beam, transparent Glass
Gives to the eye, all objects as they pass:
So the clear Soul, when justice claims her due,
Or honour calls,—sets all within, to view.
The Diamond's piercing edge must Glass divide,
It's polish'd surface mocks all power beside:
So Spirits, which no base subservience own,
Pay homage to Superior Worth alone.

No drug, nor juice of all the acid tribe,
Can move the Tints, which Glassy Pores imbibe;
So no mean prejudice, no bribes, nor art,
Efface th' Impressions of an Upright Heart.

The Glass, that Ages after Ages use,
Nor splendor, substance, weight, nor strength, will lose;

124

So fresh and fair, survives bright Virtue's praise;
No toil exhausts it, and no Time decays.

Glass, fraught with powers to earlier days unknown,
Gives Heav'n-born Harmony its sweetest tone;
So conscious Dignity, within the breast,
Tunes all to joy, or warbles all to rest.

The Fact, thus prov'd, let him disprove, who can,
—True to my text I'll end as I began—
—I say, that—“Glass is like a worthy Man!”