He knowing I shall use them to my harm；
And find a tenfold misery in the sense
That in my childlike folly I have sprung
The trap upon myself as vermin use
Drawn by the cunning bait to certain doom。
Who wrought the wondrous charm that leads us on
To sweet perdition； but the self…same power
That set the fearful engine to destroy
His wretched offspring （as the Rabbis tell）；
And hid its yawning jaws and treacherous springs
In such a show of innocent sweet flowers
It lured the sinless angels and they fell？
Ah！ He who prayed the prayer of all mankind
Summed in those few brief words the mightiest plea
For erring souls before the courts of heaven；
Save us from being tempted；lest we fall！
If we are only as the potter's clay
Made to be fashioned as the artist wills；
And broken into shards if we offend
The eye of Him who made us； it is well；
Such love as the insensate lump of clay
That spins upon the swift…revolving wheel
Bears to the hand that shapes its growing form；
Such love； no more； will be our hearts' return
To the great Master…workman for his care；
Or would be； save that this； our breathing clay；
Is intertwined with fine innumerous threads
That make it conscious in its framer's hand；
And this He must remember who has filled
These vessels with the deadly draught of life；
Life； that means death to all it claims。 Our love
Must kindle in the ray that streams from heaven；
A faint reflection of the light divine；
The sun must warm the earth before the rose
Can show her inmost heart…leaves to the sun。
He yields some fraction of the Maker's right
Who gives the quivering nerve its sense of pain；
Is there not something in the pleading eye
Of the poor brute that suffers； which arraigns
The law that bids it suffer？ Has it not
A claim for some remembrance in the book
That fills its pages with the idle words
Spoken of men？ Or is it only clay；
Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand；
Yet all his own to treat it as he will
And when he will to cast it at his feet；
Shattered； dishonored； lost forevermore？
My dog loves me； but could he look beyond
His earthly master； would his love extend
To Him whoHush！ I will not doubt that He
Is better than our fears； and will not wrong
The least； the meanest of created things！
He would not trust me with the smallest orb
That circles through the sky； he would not give
A meteor to my guidance； would not leave
The coloring of a cloudlet to my hand；
He locks my beating heart beneath its bars
And keeps the key himself； he measures out
The draughts of vital breath that warm my blood；
Winds up the springs of instinct which uncoil；
Each in its season； ties me to my home；
My race； my time； my nation； and my creed
So closely that if I but slip my wrist
Out of the band that cuts it to the bone；
Men say； 〃He hath a devil〃； he has lent
All that I hold in trust； as unto one
By reason of his weakness and his years
Not fit to hold the smallest shred in fee
Of those most common things he calls his own
And yetmy Rabbi tells mehe has left
The care of that to which a million worlds。
Filled with unconscious life were less than naught；
Has left that mighty universe； the Soul；
To the weak guidance of our baby hands；
Turned us adrift with our immortal charge；
Let the foul fiends have access at their will；
Taking the shape of angels； to our hearts；
Our hearts already poisoned through and through
With the fierce virus of ancestral sin。
If what my Rabbi tells me is the truth；
Why did the choir of angels sing for joy？
Heaven must be compassed in a narrow space；
And offer more than room enough for all
That pass its portals； but the underworld；
The godless realm； the place where demons forge
Their fiery darts and adamantine chains；
Must swarm with ghosts that for a little while
Had worn the garb of flesh； and being heirs
Of all the dulness of their stolid sires；
And all the erring instincts of their tribe；
Nature's own teaching； rudiments of 〃sin；〃
Fell headlong in the snare that could not fail
To trap the wretched creatures shaped of clay
And cursed with sense enough to lose their souls！
Brother； thy heart is troubled at my word；
Sister； I see the cloud is on thy brow。
He will not blame me； He who sends not peace；
But sends a sword； and bids us strike amain
At Error's gilded crest； where in the van
Of earth's great army； mingling with the best
And bravest of its leaders； shouting loud
The battle…cries that yesterday have led
The host of Truth to victory； but to…day
Are watchwords of the laggard and the slave；
He leads his dazzled cohorts。 God has made
This world a strife of atoms and of spheres；
With every breath I sigh myself away
And take my tribute from the wandering wind
To fan the flame of life's consuming fire；
So； while my thought has life； it needs must burn；
And burning； set the stubble…fields ablaze；
Where all the harvest long ago was reaped
And safely garnered in the ancient barns；
But still the gleaners； groping for their food；
Go blindly feeling through the close…shorn straw；
While the young reapers flash their glittering steel
Where later suns have ripened nobler grain！
We listened to these lines in silence。 They were evidently written
honestly； and with feeling； and no doubt meant to be reverential。 I
thought； however； the Lady looked rather serious as he finished
reading。 The Young Girl's cheeks were flushed； but she was not in
the mood for criticism。
As we came away the Master said to meThe stubble…fields are mighty
slow to take fire。 These young fellows catch up with the world's
ideas one after another；they have been tamed a long while； but they
find them running loose in their minds； and think they are ferae
naturae。 They remind me of young sportsmen who fire at the first
feathers they see； and bring down a barnyard fowl。 But the chicken
may be worth bagging for all that； he said； good…humoredly。
X
Caveat Lector。 Let the reader look out for himself。 The old Master；
whose words I have so frequently quoted and shall quote more of； is a
dogmatist who lays down the law； ex cathedra； from the chair of his
own personality。 I do not deny that he has the ambition of knowing
something about a greater number of subjects than any one man ought
to meddle with； except in a very humble and modest way。 And that is
not his way。 There was no doubt something of； humorous bravado in
his saying that the actual 〃order of things〃 did not offer a field
sufficiently ample for his intelligence。 But if I found fault with
him； which would be easy enough； I should say that he holds and
expresses definite opinions about matters that he could afford to
leave open questions； or ask the judgment of others about。 But I do
not want to find fault with him。 If he does not settle all the
points he speaks of so authoritatively； he sets me thinking about
them； and I like a man as a companion who is not afraid of a half…
truth。 I know he says some things peremptorily that he may inwardly
debate with himself。 There are two ways of dealing with assertions
of this kind。 One may attack them on the false side and perhaps gain
a conversational victory。 But I like better to take them up on the
true side and see how much can be made of that aspect of the dogmatic
assertion。 It is the only comfortable way of dealing with persons
like the old Master。
There have been three famous talkers in Great Britain； either of whom
would illustrate what I say about dogmatists well enough for my
purpose。 You cannot doubt to what three I refer： Samuel the First；
Samuel the Second； and Thomas； last of the Dynasty。 （I mean the
living Thomas and not Thomas B。）
I say the last of the Dynasty； for the conversational dogmatist on
the imperial scale becomes every year more and more an impossibility。
If he is in intelligent company he will be almost sure to find some
one who knows more about some of the subjects he generalizes upon
than any wholesale thinker who handles knowledge by the cargo is like
to know。 I find myself； at certain intervals； in the society of a
number of experts in science； literature； and art； who cover a pretty
wide range； taking them all together； of human knowledge。 I have not
the least doubt that if the great Dr。 Samuel Johnson should come in
and sit with this company at one of their Saturday dinners； he would
be listened to； as he always was； with respect and attention。 But
there are subjects upon which the great talker could speak
magisterially in his time and at his club； upon which so wise a man
would express himself guardedly at the meeting where I have supposed
him a guest。 We have a scientific man or two among us； for instance；
who would be entitled to smile at the good Doctor's estimate of their
labors； as I give it here：
〃Of those that spin out life in trifles and die without a memorial；
many flatter themselves with high opinion of their own importance and
imagine that they are every day adding some improvement to human
life。〃〃Some turn the wheel of electricity； some suspend rings to a
loadstone； and find that what they did yesterday they can do again
to…day。 Some register the changes of the wind； and die fully
convinced that the win