Crows pick out the eyes of the dead, when the dead have no longer need of them; but flatterers mar the soul of the living, and her eyes they blind.
IMAGE: Caspar David Friedrich, The Tree of Crows (c. 1822)
The Death of Marcus Aurelius
Tuesday, October 27, 2026
Netherlandish Proverbs 18
"To find the dog in the pot."
Monday, October 26, 2026
Delphic Maxims 104
Act swiftly
IMAGE: John Trumbull, The Death of Paulus Aemilius at the Battle of Cannae (1773)
.jpg)
Seneca, Moral Letters 87.12
Posidonius thinks that the syllogism should be framed as follows: “Things which bestow upon the soul no greatness or confidence or freedom from care are not goods. But riches and health and similar conditions do none of these things; therefore, riches and health are not goods.”
This syllogism he then goes on to extend still further in the following way: “Things which bestow upon the soul no greatness or confidence or freedom from care, but on the other hand create in it arrogance, vanity, and insolence, are evils. But things which are the gift of Fortune drive us into these evil ways. Therefore, these things are not goods.”
“But,” says the objector, “by such reasoning, things which are the gift of Fortune will not even be advantages.”
No, advantages and goods stand each in a different situation. An advantage is that which contains more of usefulness than of annoyance. But a good ought to be unmixed and with no element in it of harmfulness.
A thing is not good if it contains more benefit than injury, but only if it contains nothing but benefit. Besides, advantages may be predicated of animals, of men who are less than perfect, and of fools.
Hence the advantageous may have an element of disadvantage mingled with it, but the word “advantageous” is used of the compound because it is judged by its predominant element. The good, however, can be predicated of the wise man alone; it is bound to be without alloy.
This syllogism he then goes on to extend still further in the following way: “Things which bestow upon the soul no greatness or confidence or freedom from care, but on the other hand create in it arrogance, vanity, and insolence, are evils. But things which are the gift of Fortune drive us into these evil ways. Therefore, these things are not goods.”
“But,” says the objector, “by such reasoning, things which are the gift of Fortune will not even be advantages.”
No, advantages and goods stand each in a different situation. An advantage is that which contains more of usefulness than of annoyance. But a good ought to be unmixed and with no element in it of harmfulness.
A thing is not good if it contains more benefit than injury, but only if it contains nothing but benefit. Besides, advantages may be predicated of animals, of men who are less than perfect, and of fools.
Hence the advantageous may have an element of disadvantage mingled with it, but the word “advantageous” is used of the compound because it is judged by its predominant element. The good, however, can be predicated of the wise man alone; it is bound to be without alloy.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 87
Nevertheless, however accommodating we wish to be, it is never wise to use our words carelessly. As much as it may offend the Peripatetics, Posidonius offers us a more precise set of distinctions:
For something to be a good, it must be of benefit in itself, without any qualifications.
For something to be an evil, it must be of harm in itself, without any qualifications.
For something to be an advantage, it must offer a greater opportunity for benefit than for harm.
For something to be a disadvantage, it must offer a greater opportunity for harm than for benefit.
By such standards, which avoid any uncertainty or ambiguity, virtue is our sole human good, vice is our sole human evil, and all other circumstances will become either advantages or disadvantages to us, depending on whether they are employed in the service of virtue or of vice.
Sometimes the semantics isn’t “just” semantics. We run the grave risk of a creeping definition, where a relative advantage is easily confused with an absolute good, and so we slowly begin to view conditional qualities as if they possessed an unconditional worth. Before too long, things like money or health are treated with a total reverence they hardly deserve.
The first syllogism explains this clearly enough. Money and health do not, of their own accord, make us better, which is why we should not rightly refer to them as goods.
The second syllogism may appear to be pushing the envelope, even for a Stoic, but if examined closely, it simply draws some further conclusions from the previous claim. While money and health do not, of their own accord, make us worse, they still have an uncanny way of encouraging us to make poor choices for ourselves.
I suppose it only remains to be seen if these circumstances ought to be treated as advantages or as disadvantages, yet because their utility is entirely contingent, I will once again have to say, “It depends.” How are they influencing my judgments?
Is Posidonius being a bit too pessimistic here? Do wealth and comfort usually turn out to be disadvantages, where the potential harm outweighs the potential benefits? This is a particular, and not a universal question, but in speaking from my own experience, that sounds about right. Though a man of far greater character may find it to be otherwise, such men are rather hard to come by. Posidonius is calling the odds as he sees them.
The critic is placing far too much value in the “gifts” of Fortune, to the point where he conflates the perfect with the imperfect. The good life will be pure and simple, regardless of the trimmings.
Nevertheless, however accommodating we wish to be, it is never wise to use our words carelessly. As much as it may offend the Peripatetics, Posidonius offers us a more precise set of distinctions:
For something to be a good, it must be of benefit in itself, without any qualifications.
For something to be an evil, it must be of harm in itself, without any qualifications.
For something to be an advantage, it must offer a greater opportunity for benefit than for harm.
For something to be a disadvantage, it must offer a greater opportunity for harm than for benefit.
By such standards, which avoid any uncertainty or ambiguity, virtue is our sole human good, vice is our sole human evil, and all other circumstances will become either advantages or disadvantages to us, depending on whether they are employed in the service of virtue or of vice.
Sometimes the semantics isn’t “just” semantics. We run the grave risk of a creeping definition, where a relative advantage is easily confused with an absolute good, and so we slowly begin to view conditional qualities as if they possessed an unconditional worth. Before too long, things like money or health are treated with a total reverence they hardly deserve.
The first syllogism explains this clearly enough. Money and health do not, of their own accord, make us better, which is why we should not rightly refer to them as goods.
The second syllogism may appear to be pushing the envelope, even for a Stoic, but if examined closely, it simply draws some further conclusions from the previous claim. While money and health do not, of their own accord, make us worse, they still have an uncanny way of encouraging us to make poor choices for ourselves.
I suppose it only remains to be seen if these circumstances ought to be treated as advantages or as disadvantages, yet because their utility is entirely contingent, I will once again have to say, “It depends.” How are they influencing my judgments?
Is Posidonius being a bit too pessimistic here? Do wealth and comfort usually turn out to be disadvantages, where the potential harm outweighs the potential benefits? This is a particular, and not a universal question, but in speaking from my own experience, that sounds about right. Though a man of far greater character may find it to be otherwise, such men are rather hard to come by. Posidonius is calling the odds as he sees them.
The critic is placing far too much value in the “gifts” of Fortune, to the point where he conflates the perfect with the imperfect. The good life will be pure and simple, regardless of the trimmings.
—Reflection written in 2/2014
IMAGE: Pieter de Hooch, A Woman with a Pair of Scales (c. 1664)
Sunday, October 25, 2026
Stockdale on Stoicism 60
No men avoid this initial terrible fear that only their imaginations can generate and few, if any, avoid the initial hesitant step of grudgingly giving ground while taking measure of their predicament.
Finding himself sinking into the quagmire of complicity, hardly a man exists who does not wish he had stood up and blown the "enough’s enough" whistle sooner than he did. For self-respect—and in the long term sense, for mental health—the sooner he blows the whistle, the better.
If a person had delivered up your body to some passer by, you would certainly be angry. And do you feel no shame in delivery up your mind to any reviler, to be disconcerted and confounded?
It is better to die of hunger, exempt from guilt and fear, than to live in affluence with perturbation.
If a man’s sense of honor, his good faith, and his prudence are not destroyed, then he too is preserved; but if any of these perish or be taken by storm, then he too perishes with them.
Once the neophyte political prisoner realizes that experiencing pain is not as bad as its anticipation, a kind of equanimity and pride comes over him. He knows that it is the unpunished complicity, not the tortured compliance, that tears a man apart.
He casts aside the error of involving himself with externals, of depending on "what is not up to him," on another’s sympathy, gullibility, or the price for making a "deal."
He uses both the rational and irrational elements of his soul—both part of the same to the Stoic—to see his proper role in the unfolding drama.
He accommodates himself to fate. He makes a declaration to himself and to the prison regime that, regarding his choices, he is "free."
He has arrived at the point where the "strategic" side of Stoicism, the accommodation to fate and mind over matter, can bring him peace.
—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character
IMAGE: Evelyn De Morgan, Hope in a Prison of Despair (1887)
Saturday, October 24, 2026
Friday, October 23, 2026
Henry David Thoreau 19
IMAGE: James Goodwyn Clonney, In the Woodshed (1838)
Ralph Waldo Emerson 24
—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals (27 June, 1839)
IMAGE: Paul Emile Chabas, Dancing Nymphs (1899)
Thursday, October 22, 2026
Seneca, Moral Letters 87.11
I think that the reasoning of Posidonius is better: he holds that riches are a cause of evil, not because, of themselves, they do any evil, but because they goad men on so that they are ready to do evil.
For the efficient cause, which necessarily produces harm at once, is one thing, and the antecedent cause is another. It is this antecedent cause which inheres in riches; they puff up the spirit and beget pride, they bring on unpopularity and unsettle the mind to such an extent that the mere reputation of having wealth, though it is bound to harm us, nevertheless affords delight.
All goods, however, ought properly to be free from blame; they are pure, they do not corrupt the spirit, and they do not tempt us. They do, indeed, uplift and broaden the spirit, but without puffing it up.
Those things which are goods produce confidence, but riches produce shamelessness. The things which are goods give us greatness of soul, but riches give us arrogance. And arrogance is nothing else than a false show of greatness.
“According to that argument,” the objector says, “riches are not only not a good, but are a positive evil.”
Now they would be an evil if they did harm of themselves, and if, as I remarked, it were the efficient cause which inheres in them; in fact, however, it is the antecedent cause which inheres in riches, and indeed it is that cause which, so far from merely arousing the spirit, actually drags it along by force.
Yes, riches shower upon us a semblance of the good, which is like the reality and wins credence in the eyes of many men. The antecedent cause inheres in virtue also; it is this which brings on envy—for many men become unpopular because of their wisdom, and many men because of their justice.
But this cause, though it inheres in virtue, is not the result of virtue itself, nor is it a mere semblance of the reality; nay, on the contrary, far more like the reality is that vision which is flashed by virtue upon the spirits of men, summoning them to love it and marvel thereat.
For the efficient cause, which necessarily produces harm at once, is one thing, and the antecedent cause is another. It is this antecedent cause which inheres in riches; they puff up the spirit and beget pride, they bring on unpopularity and unsettle the mind to such an extent that the mere reputation of having wealth, though it is bound to harm us, nevertheless affords delight.
All goods, however, ought properly to be free from blame; they are pure, they do not corrupt the spirit, and they do not tempt us. They do, indeed, uplift and broaden the spirit, but without puffing it up.
Those things which are goods produce confidence, but riches produce shamelessness. The things which are goods give us greatness of soul, but riches give us arrogance. And arrogance is nothing else than a false show of greatness.
“According to that argument,” the objector says, “riches are not only not a good, but are a positive evil.”
Now they would be an evil if they did harm of themselves, and if, as I remarked, it were the efficient cause which inheres in them; in fact, however, it is the antecedent cause which inheres in riches, and indeed it is that cause which, so far from merely arousing the spirit, actually drags it along by force.
Yes, riches shower upon us a semblance of the good, which is like the reality and wins credence in the eyes of many men. The antecedent cause inheres in virtue also; it is this which brings on envy—for many men become unpopular because of their wisdom, and many men because of their justice.
But this cause, though it inheres in virtue, is not the result of virtue itself, nor is it a mere semblance of the reality; nay, on the contrary, far more like the reality is that vision which is flashed by virtue upon the spirits of men, summoning them to love it and marvel thereat.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 87
I find myself in the odd situation of being inspired by a philosopher whose books I have never read, which is perhaps something like falling in love with a girl you have never met.
Posidonius, I am told, wrote on a wide range of subjects, much like Aristotle, and while he was a firm supporter of the Stoic tradition, he did not hesitate to employ the teachings from a variety of other schools. This immediately endears him to me, for we should always embrace the truth, wherever we happen to find it.
Yet none of his works have survived, and we are left with only references and fragments. Though I am fascinated when Seneca or Cicero discuss his thinking, usually with great respect, I grow frustrated when I cannot go straight to the source, and I imagine what it would be like if someone actually discovered his writings, perhaps safely tucked away under some rubble in Asia Minor. I feel much the same way about Panaetius.
I am pleased to see how Posidonius tried to resolve the problem of the good by distinguishing the different aspects of causality. Even as the source of any action is from the agent itself, there are also the conditions that came before it, which set the grounds, so to speak, for that change to take place. Our own choices are the efficient causes of what we do, and yet various circumstances will influence these decisions, by making one path or the other seem more appealing.
I will speculate that Posidonius intended the antecedent cause to be a type of material cause, though I may well be mistaken. In any case, it serves a similar purpose, by providing the occasion.
Now contrary to what the determinists might claim, the environment does not make the man, but it will certainly give him an emphatic nudge. If you put a bottle of Bushmills in front of me, I will be sorely tempted to drink it all in one sitting. If you show me a picture of the lost love of my life, I will instinctively feel intense pain, and I will be sorely tempted to put a sad record on the turntable and begin brooding.
Yet these are merely temptations, and they do not compel me to do anything whatsoever. Neither the bottle nor the photograph is good or evil for me—it is my judgments about the bottle and the photograph that are good or evil for me.
The injury proceeds from the error in my estimation, and yet it is also my responsibility to avoid those situations that are likely to weaken my resolve. Do I have the excellence within me to be surrounded by luxury? If I believe it to be so, then I can take up the challenge, but if there is any doubt about my capacity, then it is best to leave it be.
Since the benefit or the harm of riches is relative to our character, we cannot speak of money as good or evil in any absolute sense. External things will often present an appearance of worth, at which point I must remind myself why their value hinges upon my internal disposition toward virtue or vice. Seek out that which makes the task easier, and avoid that which makes the burden heavier.
Observe how this applies to every circumstance, such that even something as noble as the wisdom or justice in one can also be twisted into an excuse for envy by another. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I again refer you to the argument on virtue in the Meno: do not confuse the conditional with the unconditional.
Posidonius was willing to grant how the concepts of good and evil can be applied equivocally, as antecedent causes, as long as we understand why they unequivocally rest in the quality of our thinking, as efficient causes. This willingness to seek an agreement between different point of view, by qualifying the various senses of a term, reminds me of another one of my philosophical heroes, Thomas Aquinas.
I find myself in the odd situation of being inspired by a philosopher whose books I have never read, which is perhaps something like falling in love with a girl you have never met.
Posidonius, I am told, wrote on a wide range of subjects, much like Aristotle, and while he was a firm supporter of the Stoic tradition, he did not hesitate to employ the teachings from a variety of other schools. This immediately endears him to me, for we should always embrace the truth, wherever we happen to find it.
Yet none of his works have survived, and we are left with only references and fragments. Though I am fascinated when Seneca or Cicero discuss his thinking, usually with great respect, I grow frustrated when I cannot go straight to the source, and I imagine what it would be like if someone actually discovered his writings, perhaps safely tucked away under some rubble in Asia Minor. I feel much the same way about Panaetius.
I am pleased to see how Posidonius tried to resolve the problem of the good by distinguishing the different aspects of causality. Even as the source of any action is from the agent itself, there are also the conditions that came before it, which set the grounds, so to speak, for that change to take place. Our own choices are the efficient causes of what we do, and yet various circumstances will influence these decisions, by making one path or the other seem more appealing.
I will speculate that Posidonius intended the antecedent cause to be a type of material cause, though I may well be mistaken. In any case, it serves a similar purpose, by providing the occasion.
Now contrary to what the determinists might claim, the environment does not make the man, but it will certainly give him an emphatic nudge. If you put a bottle of Bushmills in front of me, I will be sorely tempted to drink it all in one sitting. If you show me a picture of the lost love of my life, I will instinctively feel intense pain, and I will be sorely tempted to put a sad record on the turntable and begin brooding.
Yet these are merely temptations, and they do not compel me to do anything whatsoever. Neither the bottle nor the photograph is good or evil for me—it is my judgments about the bottle and the photograph that are good or evil for me.
The injury proceeds from the error in my estimation, and yet it is also my responsibility to avoid those situations that are likely to weaken my resolve. Do I have the excellence within me to be surrounded by luxury? If I believe it to be so, then I can take up the challenge, but if there is any doubt about my capacity, then it is best to leave it be.
Since the benefit or the harm of riches is relative to our character, we cannot speak of money as good or evil in any absolute sense. External things will often present an appearance of worth, at which point I must remind myself why their value hinges upon my internal disposition toward virtue or vice. Seek out that which makes the task easier, and avoid that which makes the burden heavier.
Observe how this applies to every circumstance, such that even something as noble as the wisdom or justice in one can also be twisted into an excuse for envy by another. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I again refer you to the argument on virtue in the Meno: do not confuse the conditional with the unconditional.
Posidonius was willing to grant how the concepts of good and evil can be applied equivocally, as antecedent causes, as long as we understand why they unequivocally rest in the quality of our thinking, as efficient causes. This willingness to seek an agreement between different point of view, by qualifying the various senses of a term, reminds me of another one of my philosophical heroes, Thomas Aquinas.
—Reflection written in 2/2014
_da_originale_del_100-50_ac._ca._6142.JPG)
Wednesday, October 21, 2026
Snippets from the Handbook 6
But for the moment you must utterly remove the will to get; for if you will to get something not in man's power you are bound to be unfortunate; while none of the things in man's power that you could honorably will to get is yet within your reach.
Impulse to act and not to act, these are your concern; yet exercise them gently and without strain, and provisionally.
—Epictetus, The Handbook 2
Jottings on Marcus 8
—from Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.8
For so many years, I couldn't get any sleep, because I was always worried about what she might be thinking.
It only began to get better when I attended to the quality of my own judgments, and I learned a bit about how to discern between the good and the evil within myself.
The ugly impressions will still present themselves, but now I firmly remind them why they belong to me, and not to her.
This works far better than drinking whiskey or counting sheep.
IMAGE: Edvard Munch, Sleepless Night: Self-portrait in Inner Turmoil (1920)
.jpg)
Tuesday, October 20, 2026
Seneca, Moral Letters 87.10
“That which, while we are desiring to attain it, involves us in many evils, is not a good. But while we are desiring to attain riches, we become involved in many evils; therefore, riches are not a good,”
“Your first premise,” they say, “contains two meanings; one is: we become involved in many evils while we are desiring to attain riches. But we also become involved in many evils while we are desiring to attain virtue. One man, while travelling in order to prosecute his studies, suffers shipwreck, and another is taken captive.
“The second meaning is as follows: that through which we become involved in evils is not a good. And it will not logically follow from our proposition that we become involved in evils through riches or through pleasure; otherwise, if it is through riches that we become involved in many evils, riches are not only not a good, but they are positively an evil. You, however, maintain merely that they are not a good.
“Moreover,” the objector says, “you grant that riches are of some use. You reckon them among the advantages; and yet on this basis they cannot even be an advantage, for it is through the pursuit of riches that we suffer much disadvantage.”
Certain men answer this objection as follows: “You are mistaken if you ascribe disadvantages to riches. Riches injure no one; it is a man’s own folly, or his neighbor’s wickedness, that harms him in each case, just as a sword by itself does not slay; it is merely the weapon used by the slayer. Riches themselves do not harm you, just because it is on account of riches that you suffer harm."
“Your first premise,” they say, “contains two meanings; one is: we become involved in many evils while we are desiring to attain riches. But we also become involved in many evils while we are desiring to attain virtue. One man, while travelling in order to prosecute his studies, suffers shipwreck, and another is taken captive.
“The second meaning is as follows: that through which we become involved in evils is not a good. And it will not logically follow from our proposition that we become involved in evils through riches or through pleasure; otherwise, if it is through riches that we become involved in many evils, riches are not only not a good, but they are positively an evil. You, however, maintain merely that they are not a good.
“Moreover,” the objector says, “you grant that riches are of some use. You reckon them among the advantages; and yet on this basis they cannot even be an advantage, for it is through the pursuit of riches that we suffer much disadvantage.”
Certain men answer this objection as follows: “You are mistaken if you ascribe disadvantages to riches. Riches injure no one; it is a man’s own folly, or his neighbor’s wickedness, that harms him in each case, just as a sword by itself does not slay; it is merely the weapon used by the slayer. Riches themselves do not harm you, just because it is on account of riches that you suffer harm."
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 87
My head has now been stuffed with this philosophy nonsense for so long, that I find certain passages to be downright humorous, as if they were egghead versions of the classic “Who’s on First?” skit by Abbott and Costello.
For me, this letter is full of such hilarious exchanges, where the Peripatetic remains tied to the notion that “things” must either be good or bad, and he cannot conceive of the Stoic insight that the value is not in the circumstance, but only in the use of the circumstance.
The Stoic: “If money were really a good in itself, it would never be an occasion for evil. And yet you only have to spend some time in a room full of bankers to see how easily it is abused.”
The Peripatetic: “So now you’re going to tell me that walking is evil, because I might trip and fall while I’m on my way to school? Should I never get on a boat, because there’s a chance it will sink?”
The Stoic: “The walking and the sailing are to be treated as indifferent, with the benefit or the harm being relative to the virtue or the vice within us.”
The Peripatetic: “But you’re the one who said that riches aren’t a good, and if they aren’t a good, then they have to be an evil. So, which one is it?”
The Stoic: “It’s neither, until we choose to make something of it.”
The Peripatetic: “Ah, that makes it appear very bad. Are you claiming that money is always bad?”
The Stoic: “I didn’t say that.”
The Peripatetic: “Then money must be a good, which is what I I’ve been saying from the beginning.”
The Stoic: “No, it depends. It doesn’t have to be good, and it doesn’t have to be evil.”
The Peripatetic: “Well, it sounds like you are pointing out all of the downsides, as if there aren’t any upsides.”
The Stoic: “I am conscious of both, just as I know how a sword can become a tool to defend, or a tool to oppress.”
The Peripatetic: “Oh, so now you want to ban all the swords too? What kind of weirdo are you?”
And so on . . .
In the simplest of terms, the critic won’t distinguish between the merits of what we do and the conditions under which we do it, between the dignity on the inside and the trappings on the outside.
He is not yet willing to think beyond the standards of acquisition, possession, and consumption, like a yuppie who defines himself by his stock portfolio, his wine cellar, and his squash club membership.
My head has now been stuffed with this philosophy nonsense for so long, that I find certain passages to be downright humorous, as if they were egghead versions of the classic “Who’s on First?” skit by Abbott and Costello.
For me, this letter is full of such hilarious exchanges, where the Peripatetic remains tied to the notion that “things” must either be good or bad, and he cannot conceive of the Stoic insight that the value is not in the circumstance, but only in the use of the circumstance.
The Stoic: “If money were really a good in itself, it would never be an occasion for evil. And yet you only have to spend some time in a room full of bankers to see how easily it is abused.”
The Peripatetic: “So now you’re going to tell me that walking is evil, because I might trip and fall while I’m on my way to school? Should I never get on a boat, because there’s a chance it will sink?”
The Stoic: “The walking and the sailing are to be treated as indifferent, with the benefit or the harm being relative to the virtue or the vice within us.”
The Peripatetic: “But you’re the one who said that riches aren’t a good, and if they aren’t a good, then they have to be an evil. So, which one is it?”
The Stoic: “It’s neither, until we choose to make something of it.”
The Peripatetic: “Ah, that makes it appear very bad. Are you claiming that money is always bad?”
The Stoic: “I didn’t say that.”
The Peripatetic: “Then money must be a good, which is what I I’ve been saying from the beginning.”
The Stoic: “No, it depends. It doesn’t have to be good, and it doesn’t have to be evil.”
The Peripatetic: “Well, it sounds like you are pointing out all of the downsides, as if there aren’t any upsides.”
The Stoic: “I am conscious of both, just as I know how a sword can become a tool to defend, or a tool to oppress.”
The Peripatetic: “Oh, so now you want to ban all the swords too? What kind of weirdo are you?”
And so on . . .
In the simplest of terms, the critic won’t distinguish between the merits of what we do and the conditions under which we do it, between the dignity on the inside and the trappings on the outside.
He is not yet willing to think beyond the standards of acquisition, possession, and consumption, like a yuppie who defines himself by his stock portfolio, his wine cellar, and his squash club membership.
—Reflection written in 2/2014
Monday, October 19, 2026
All Nature Has a Feeling
"All Nature Has a Feeling"
John Clare (1793-1864)
All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks
Are life eternal: and in silence they
Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;
There's nothing mortal in them; their decay
Is the green life of change; to pass away
And come again in blooms revivified.
Its birth was heaven, eternal is its stay,
And with the sun and moon shall still abide
Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.
Are life eternal: and in silence they
Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;
There's nothing mortal in them; their decay
Is the green life of change; to pass away
And come again in blooms revivified.
Its birth was heaven, eternal is its stay,
And with the sun and moon shall still abide
Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.
IMAGE: J.M.W. Turner, Buttermere Lake (1798)
The Stranger
"The Stranger"
When trouble haunts me, need I sigh?
No, rather smile away despair;
For those have been more sad than I,
With burthens more than I could bear;
Aye, gone rejoicing under care
Where I had sunk in black despair.
When pain disturbs my peace and rest,
Am I a hopeless grief to keep,
When some have slept on torture's breast
And smiled as in the sweetest sleep,
Aye, peace on thorns, in faith forgiven,
And pillowed on the hope of heaven?
Though low and poor and broken down,
Am I to think myself distrest?
No, rather laugh where others frown
And think my being truly blest;
For others I can daily see
More worthy riches worse than me.
Aye, once a stranger blest the earth
Who never caused a heart to mourn,
Whose very voice gave sorrow mirth—
And how did earth his worth return?
It spurned him from its lowliest lot,
The meanest station owned him not;
An outcast thrown in sorrow's way,
A fugitive that knew no sin,
Yet in lone places forced to stray—
Men would not take the stranger in.
Yet peace, though much himself he mourned,
Was all to others he returned.
* * * * *
His presence was a peace to all,
He bade the sorrowful rejoice.
Pain turned to pleasure at his call,
Health lived and issued from his voice.
He healed the sick and sent abroad
The dumb rejoicing in the Lord.
The blind met daylight in his eye,
The joys of everlasting day;
The sick found health in his reply;
The cripple threw his crutch away.
Yet he with troubles did remain
And suffered poverty and pain.
Yet none could say of wrong he did,
And scorn was ever standing bye;
Accusers by their conscience chid,
When proof was sought, made no reply.
Yet without sin he suffered more
Than ever sinners did before.
IMAGE: William Blake, The Agony in the Garden (1800)
I Am!
"I Am!"
I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows?
My friends forsake me like a memory lost.
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish, an oblivious host,
Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost.
And yet I am—I live—though I am toss'd
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dream,
Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys,
But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem
And all that's dear. Even those I loved the best
Are strange—nay, they are stranger than the rest.
I long for scenes where man has never trod,
For scenes where woman never smiled or wept;
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept
Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie,
The grass below; above the vaulted sky.
IMAGE: Laurits Andersen Ring, Walking in a Rye Field (1905)
Sunday, October 18, 2026
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)