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as the wheat, that is long before it is ripe; but when it is brought to maturity, maketh the whole face of the earth glad, and strengtheneth the limbs, and rejoiceth the heart of man?

If thou, then, wouldest be useful in thy day, if thou wouldest have men reap fruit from thee, remember, that now must thy mind be ploughed and sown, now must the lesson of wisdom be dropped in, now must we labour and have patience, now is the seed-time, and by-and-by shall be the harvest.

Dost thou love, O little one, to see the vine, with its ripening clusters, amidst green leaves and curling tendrils? Dost thou love to taste its luscious fruit? or to wet thy lips with the red wine?

Remember, that before the grapes appear, the gardener must be busy in lopping and training the branches; before the vintage, must come the pruning-time; else would the sap waste itself in useless boughs, and in autumn thou wouldest find leaves instead of fruit.

So, if thou wouldest be pleasant among men, if thou wouldest have them to delight in thee, thy temper must be trained, and thy evil passions be lopped away; else wilt thou run to waste, and produce no good fruit.

Can the husbandman make the corn to grow, or can the gardener make the grapes to ripen? Is it the plough that causeth the wheat to spring up, or the pruning-knife that produceth the clusters of the vine?

No; it is God that maketh the corn to grow,

and produceth the clusters of the vine. His showers cause the wheat to spring, and the grape to swell; and it is His sun that ripeneth them.

Can the teaching of man make thee good and useful? Can the lesson of wisdom make thee wise unto salvation?


No, little one! Pray to God, and He will teach thee; cry unto Him, and He will bless thee. He teach thee, thou wilt be wise; if He bless thee, thou wilt be good and happy.


Those which are now for the first time printed, from Manuscript, are marked (MS.) The rest had been printed before.



Les moindres faits de ce temps-là me plaisent, par cela seul, qu'ils sont de ce temps-là. ROUSSEAU.

Now steals th' eleventh year away,
Since first within this grove I stray,
O'ercome with pleasing fear;

'Twas novelty that charmed before,
But novelty is now no more,

And habit makes thee dear.

I know each alley and each glade,
Each bank that offers noontide-shade,
Or sun at shut of day;

I know where Spring's first violet blows,
Or lingers the last wilding rose

That scents the silent way.

Ah me! as thus alone I rove,
How former pleasures fill the grove!
From every dusky glen

Forth seems an ancient friend to start,
That shared my walks, that shared my heart,
And join'd my boyish strain.

Awhile we play'd thine elms beneath,
And softer seem'd the gale to breathe,
And lovelier went the day :

They part, where choice or fortune leads,
And still another race succeeds,

As thoughtless and as gay.

Thus on thy boughs of giant size,
The quivering leaves successive rise,
And flourish but to fall:
When Autumn strips the fading year,
Again the folded buds appear,
And wait the Zephyr's call.

By Isis one the Muses lead,

And some along the classic mead
That Camus loves to lave;

Some lightly weave the thoughtless dance,
And now, perhaps, the sport of chance,
One ploughs th' Atlantic wave.

Me too shall envious cloister, soon,
And silent cell, and studious gown
Bid leave thy haunts behind;

To scan the heavens, the depths explore,
And sow with mathematic lore

The fertile fields of Mind:

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