 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
TRUE WISDOM.
More bless'd is he, his soul more wise,
Who learns himself to know,
Than he who maps the bending skies,
Or counts the flowers which blow;
Or, like the sapient Stygerite,
Can class the burning stars of night;
Or, with the Swedish sage's eyes,
Arrange in families fair and meet
Each shrub, and tree, and grass, which lies
Scatter'd beneath the wanderer's feet.
Who learns himself to know,
Than he who maps the bending skies,
Or counts the flowers which blow;
Or, like the sapient Stygerite,
Can class the burning stars of night;
Or, with the Swedish sage's eyes,
Arrange in families fair and meet
Each shrub, and tree, and grass, which lies
Scatter'd beneath the wanderer's feet.
For flowers must fade, and stars must sink,
And earth must pass away,
But that which thinks must ever think,
And never know decay:
And greater he whose soul hath brought
Within control each wandering thought,
Than he whose warlike skill hath led
Armies to battle and renown;
And, while unnumber'd victims bled,
Grasp'd sword and sceptre, throne and crown.
And earth must pass away,
But that which thinks must ever think,
And never know decay:
165
Within control each wandering thought,
Than he whose warlike skill hath led
Armies to battle and renown;
And, while unnumber'd victims bled,
Grasp'd sword and sceptre, throne and crown.
But greatest those who fear to boast,
And strongest those who feel
Their follies and their faults the most;
For weakness can conceal
Its head beneath the shade of pride,
And pride can weave a web to hide
Its own unhallow'd sway,
But he who knows himself will tear
The tawdry mask away,
And to be humble nobly dare.
And strongest those who feel
Their follies and their faults the most;
For weakness can conceal
Its head beneath the shade of pride,
And pride can weave a web to hide
Its own unhallow'd sway,
But he who knows himself will tear
The tawdry mask away,
And to be humble nobly dare.
Within the mind—a universe—
Some flowers may still be found—
Some lovely flowers which sin's submerse
Has never wholly drown'd—
Some buds of Eden's happier prime,
Spared in the punishment of crime,
Which Heaven can yet revive
And cherish into bloom,
And we should weed our hearts and strive
To give these blossoms room.
Some flowers may still be found—
Some lovely flowers which sin's submerse
Has never wholly drown'd—
Some buds of Eden's happier prime,
Spared in the punishment of crime,
Which Heaven can yet revive
And cherish into bloom,
And we should weed our hearts and strive
To give these blossoms room.
Benevolence, charity, and love,
Are still by mortals felt,
And pity still hath power to move,
And sympathy to melt;
And though around us must remain
The stigma of our primal stain,
Yet those by Heaven made wise,
To watch the wilderness within,
May rear the flowers of Paradise
Above the noxious weeds of sin.
Are still by mortals felt,
166
And sympathy to melt;
And though around us must remain
The stigma of our primal stain,
Yet those by Heaven made wise,
To watch the wilderness within,
May rear the flowers of Paradise
Above the noxious weeds of sin.
May He who knows our weakest part
Illume with heavenly light
Each self-inspecting wanderer's heart,
And make its darkness bright,
And aid each mortal effort made
The path in which He trode to tread,
That we through Him may rise,
And like Him shine, and with Him share
The boundless glories of the skies,
Which he hath labour'd to prepare.
Illume with heavenly light
Each self-inspecting wanderer's heart,
And make its darkness bright,
And aid each mortal effort made
The path in which He trode to tread,
That we through Him may rise,
And like Him shine, and with Him share
The boundless glories of the skies,
Which he hath labour'd to prepare.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |