There
Is, Indeed, A Tide In The Affairs Of Men, As The Poet Says, And
Yet As Things Flow They Circulate, And The Ebb Always Balances
The Flow.
All streams are but tributary to the ocean, which
itself does not stream, and the shores are unchanged, but in
longer periods than man can measure.
Go where we will, we
discover infinite change in particulars only, not in generals.
When I go into a museum and see the mummies wrapped in their
linen bandages, I see that the lives of men began to need reform
as long ago as when they walked the earth. I come out into the
streets, and meet men who declare that the time is near at hand
for the redemption of the race. But as men lived in Thebes, so
do they live in Dunstable to-day. "Time drinketh up the essence
of every great and noble action which ought to be performed, and
is delayed in the execution." So says Veeshnoo Sarma; and we
perceive that the schemers return again and again to common sense
and labor. Such is the evidence of history.
"Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the Suns."
There are secret articles in our treaties with the gods, of more
importance than all the rest, which the historian can never know.
There are many skilful apprentices, but few master workmen. On
every hand we observe a truly wise practice, in education, in
morals, and in the arts of life, the embodied wisdom of many an
ancient philosopher. Who does not see that heresies have some
time prevailed, that reforms have already taken place? All this
worldly wisdom might be regarded as the once unamiable heresy of
some wise man. Some interests have got a footing on the earth
which we have not made sufficient allowance for. Even they who
first built these barns and cleared the land thus, had some
valor. The abrupt epochs and chasms are smoothed down in history
as the inequalities of the plain are concealed by distance. But
unless we do more than simply learn the trade of our time, we are
but apprentices, and not yet masters of the art of life.
Now that we are casting away these melon seeds, how can we help
feeling reproach? He who eats the fruit, should at least plant
the seed; aye, if possible, a better seed than that whose fruit
he has enjoyed. Seeds! there are seeds enough which need only
to be stirred in with the soil where they lie, by an inspired
voice or pen, to bear fruit of a divine flavor. O thou
spendthrift! Defray thy debt to the world; eat not the seed of
institutions, as the luxurious do, but plant it rather, while
thou devourest the pulp and tuber for thy subsistence; that so,
perchance, one variety may at last be found worthy of
preservation.
There are moments when all anxiety and stated toil are becalmed
in the infinite leisure and repose of nature.
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