3l6 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Nature hath made man's bitterest foe his brother, And custom, siding with our partial mother, Widens still more the breach that parts us from each other.
All ignorant of God's will, Man is presumptuous still. A narrow judge of good and evil. He this one angel names, that devil, Though some, not bad, hard fate hath forced astray, And some, not good, were saints deemed in their day ; A destiny hath shaped our lives, even as our clay.
He learns in an ill school That scorneth even the fool ; Both on life's sea are doomed to float As messmates in a leaky boat ; Bound to some goal unknown, the wise asks, " Where "i " His question answered is by empty air ; The fool, with cheerful face, glides on and doth not care.
The one, with haughty looks, Points to his musty books. And cries with a contracted brow, " Stand off ! I better am than thou ! " But God, the infinitely good and wise. Pities them both, forbearing to despise ; Both are as fools alike in his all-seeing eyes.
He who in narrow bound Hath life's experience found. Ne'er summoned to affairs of state, Or on grave things to meditate. Who finds his love, his hate, his hope, his fear, All in a little hamlet, yet even here May prove a soul sublime, though in a narrow sphere.
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