160
OLD LETTERS.
IV.
Stern voices say, "Too much
Thou givest unto one thy soul in trust;
To frame such covenants with things of dust
Is but idolatry, that to decay
Doth quickly tend." I answer not to such,
But turning from them proudly, I appeal
Unto my equals,[1]none but those that feel
Shall be my judges in this question; nay!
I will not unto these my cause unseal,
But bear it to a Court where I shall find
A yet more patient hearing; far more kind
The Father than the Brethren! He who made
The heart doth know its need, but what are we,
And whence have we our wisdom, unafraid
With hands unskilled to vex a mystery
We cannot disentangle?
Thou givest unto one thy soul in trust;
To frame such covenants with things of dust
Is but idolatry, that to decay
Doth quickly tend." I answer not to such,
But turning from them proudly, I appeal
Unto my equals,[1]none but those that feel
Shall be my judges in this question; nay!
I will not unto these my cause unseal,
But bear it to a Court where I shall find
A yet more patient hearing; far more kind
The Father than the Brethren! He who made
The heart doth know its need, but what are we,
And whence have we our wisdom, unafraid
With hands unskilled to vex a mystery
We cannot disentangle?
Yet I speak
Too harshly in this matter, silence best
Becometh happy spirits; hearts at rest;—
Love, thy gentleness hath made me meek!
Too harshly in this matter, silence best
Becometh happy spirits; hearts at rest;—
Love, thy gentleness hath made me meek!
