I should not be surprised at any time to hear that he had endowed a
scholarship or professorship or built a college dormitory, in spite of
his curious parsimony in old linen.
I do not know where our Young Astronomer got the notions that he
expresses so freely in the lines that follow. I think the statement is
true, however, which I see in one of the most popular Cyclopaedias, that
"the non-clerical mind in all ages is disposed to look favorably upon the
doctrine of the universal restoration to holiness and happiness of all
fallen intelligences, whether human or angelic." Certainly, most of the
poets who have reached the heart of men, since Burns dropped the tear for
poor "auld Nickie-ben" that softened the stony-hearted theology of
Scotland, have had "non-clerical" minds, and I suppose our young friend
is in his humble way an optimist like them. What he says in verse is
very much the same thing as what is said in prose in all companies, and
thought by a great many who are thankful to anybody that will say it for
them,--not a few clerical as wall as "non-clerical" persons among them.
WIND-CLOUDS AND STAR-DRIFTS.
V
What am I but the creature Thou hast made?
What have I save the blessings Thou hast lent?
What hope I but Thy mercy and Thy love?
Who but myself shall cloud my soul with fear?
Whose hand protect me from myself but Thine?
I claim the rights of weakness, I, the babe,
Call on my sire to shield me from the ills
That still beset my path, not trying me
With snares beyond my wisdom or my strength,
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.
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