Maxims of Goethe 91

It is very rare to find pure and steady activity in the accomplishment of what is good and right. We usually see pedantry trying to keep back, and audacity trying to go on too fast. 

IMAGE: Arthur Rackham, The Hare and the Tortoise (1912) 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 30

30. 

Ἡλίκην ἐξουσίαν ἔχει ἄνθρωπος μὴ ποιεῖν ἄλλο ἢ ὅπερ μέλλει ὁ θεὸς ἐπαινεῖν, καὶ δέχεσθαι πᾶν ὃν νέμῃ αὐτῷ ὁ θεός.

What a great power any man has not to do anything else than what God shall approve, and to receive contentedly whatsoever God sets apart for him. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.11 

30. 

To what endowment rich and eminent 

A man is born, what heraldic renown, 

And what estate, what wealthy brave descent, 

And in all measures what a meed and crown! 

What can compel or mould him from his course 

And place august, what power prevail to move 

His stationed foot, what strength against all force 

He hath to do but what God will approve! 

And it behoves me to remember well 

I lead not, but am led; wherefore for me 

To be a good led-man ’s my citadel, 

Obedient mind my joy and dignity. 

How blest our case, ne’er to be forced to wrong, 

With free feet marching, in our mouth a song! 

IMAGE: Luca Cambiaso, Benediction of God the Father (c. 1565) 

Maxims of Goethe 90

We are all so limited that we always think we are right; and so we may conceive of an extraordinary mind which not only errs but has a positive delight in error. 

Songs of Innocence 13

Holy Thursday (1789) 

William Blake (1757-1827) 

Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean
The children walking two & two in red & blue & green
Grey-headed beadles walkd before, with wands as white as snow
Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow

O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town
Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own
The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs
Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among
Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door 

Maxims of Goethe 89

Ingratitude is always a kind of weakness. I have never known men of ability to be ungrateful. 

IMAGE: Henry Ossawa Tanner, The Thankful Poor (1894) 

Maxims of Goethe 88

I can promise to be sincere, but not to be impartial. 

James Vila Blake, Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 29

29. 

Οἱ Πυθαγόρειοι: ἕωθεν εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν ἀφορᾶν, ἵν̓ ὑπομιμνῃσκώμεθα τῶν ἀεὶ κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ καὶ ὡσαύτως τὸ ἑαυτῶν ἔργον διανυόντων καὶ τῆς τάξεως καὶ τῆς καθαρότητος καὶ τῆς γυμνότητος: οὐδὲν γὰρ προκάλυμμα ἄστρου. 

The Pythagoreans bid us look up into the sky in the morning, that we may keep ourselves mindful of those hosts that always are accomplishing their work by the same course and in the same way; and that so we may know their orderly ranks and their purity and their natural openness—for no star wears a veil.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.27 

29. 

Pythagoras’ disciples have a creed 

Of morning’s bounden duty unto joy. 

Look up, they say, and to the expanse give heed, 

And let three lustrous thoughts thy soul employ: 

Acclaim the order and the constancy 

Of heavenly beamy bodies, each in place. 

Laud the purgation and equality 

Of matter in those fulgencies of space. 

Relish the artlessness of all those lights, 

That open to our eyes and cry us hail, 

And naught have to conceal, no hidden plights, 

But unreserved; for no star wears a veil. 

If with this homage the daily dawn we meet, 

Our path is plain, and sparkles to our feet. 

IMAGE: Fyodor Bronnikov, Pythagoreans Celebrate the Sunrise (1869) 

The Darkling Thursh

"The Darkling Thrush" 

Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) 

I leant upon a coppice gate

      When Frost was spectre-grey,

And Winter's dregs made desolate

      The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

      Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

      Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be

      The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

      The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

      Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

      Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

      The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

      Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

      In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

      Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

      Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

      Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

      His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

      And I was unaware. 

Mutability

"Mutability" 

William Wordsworth (1770-1850) 

From low to high doth dissolution climb,

And sink from high to low, along a scale

Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;

A musical but melancholy chime,

Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,

Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.

Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear

The longest date do melt like frosty rime,

That in the morning whitened hill and plain

And is no more; drop like the tower sublime

Of yesterday, which royally did wear

His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain

Some casual shout that broke the silent air,

Or the unimaginable touch of Time. 

IMAGE: Johann Heinrich Schönfeld, Allegory of Time (c. 1640) 

Hymn to the Night

"Hymn to the Night" 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) 

Aspasie, trillistos. 

I heard the trailing garments of the Night 

      Sweep through her marble halls! 

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 

      From the celestial walls! 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 

      Stoop o'er me from above; 

The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 

      As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, 

      The manifold, soft chimes, 

That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

      Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

      My spirit drank repose; 

The fountain of perpetual peace flows there— 

      From those deep cisterns flows. 

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear 

      What man has borne before! 

Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 

      And they complain no more. 

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! 

      Descend with broad-winged flight, 

The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 

      The best-beloved Night! 

IMAGE: Jean-Francois Millet, Starry Night (1865)

Songs of Innocence 12

The Divine Image (1789) 

William Blake (1757-1827) 

To Mercy Pity Peace and Love,
All pray in their distress; 
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy Pity Peace and Love,
Is God our father dear; 
And Mercy Pity Peace and Love,
Is Man his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart
Pity, a human face; 
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine
Love Mercy Pity Peace.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, turk or jew.
Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too. 

Maxims of Goethe 87

If you lay duties upon people and give them no rights, you must pay them well. 

The Light of Stars

"The Light of Stars" 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) 

The night is come, but not too soon; 

And sinking silently, 

All silently, the little moon 

Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven 

But the cold light of stars; 

And the first watch of night is given 

To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love? 

The star of love and dreams? 

O no! from that blue tent above, 

A hero's armor gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar, 

Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

O star of strength! I see thee stand 

And smile upon my pain; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand, 

And I am strong again.  

Within my breast there is no light 

But the cold light of stars; 

I give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 

Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm, 
As one by one thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and calm. 

O fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know erelong, 
Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong.