CHARITY.
Charity suffereth long and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.—I. Corinthians, xiii. 4, 5, 6, 7, 13.
Above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness.—Colossians, iii. 14.
Now the end of the commandment is charity.—I. Timothy, i. 5.
Above all things have fervent charity among yourselves; for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.—I. Peter, iv. 8.
Attain the sum
Of Wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars
Thou knew’st by name, and all the ethereal powers,
All secrets of the deep, all Nature’s works,
Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, and sea,
And all the riches of the world enjoyedst,
And all the rule, one empire; only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add faith,
Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love,
By name to some called charity, the soul
Of all the rest.
Milton.
Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue
Than ever man pronounced, or angel sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or Science can define:
And had I power to give that knowledge birth
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach’s zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire:
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them miracles and law;
Yet gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer,
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A tymbal’s sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form; my eloquence were noise.
*****
Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bounds and due restriction knows,
To one fixt purpose dedicates its power,
And finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus in obedience to what heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy decrease,
But lasting Charity’s more ample sway,
Ne’er bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
Prior.
Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence,
The reign of genuine charity commence.
Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears,
She still is kind and still she perseveres;
The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme,
’Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream;
The danger they discern not, they deny;
Laugh at their only remedy, and die.
But still a soul thus touch’d can never cease,
Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace.
Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild,
Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child:
She makes excuses where she might condemn,
Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them;
Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast,
The worst suggested, she believes the best;
Not soon provoked, however stung and teazed,
And if perhaps made angry, soon appeased,
She rather waives than will dispute her right,
And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight.
Cowper.
Man is dear to man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life,
When they can know and feel what they have been;
Themselves the fathers and the dealers out
Of some small blessings, have been kind to such
As needed kindness, for this single cause
That we have all of us one human heart.
Such pleasure is to one kind being known,
My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week
Duly as Friday comes, though press’d herself
By all her wants, she from her store of meal
Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip
Of this old mendicant, and from her door
Returning with exhilarated heart,
Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven.
Wordsworth.
Gentle reader, see in me,
An emblem of true charity;
That while my bounty I bestow,
I’m neither heard nor seen to flow;
And I have fresh supplies from heaven
For every cup of water given.
Bishop Hoadly, on a Spring.
Were we as rich in charity of deed
As gold—what rock would bloom not with the seed?
We give our alms, and cry “What can we more?”
One hour of time were worth a load of ore!
Give to the ignorant our wisdom!—give
Sorrow our comfort!—lend to those who live
In crime, the counsels of our virtue!—share
With souls our souls, and Satan shall despair!
Alas! what converts one man, who would take
The cross, and staff, and house with Guilt, could make!
*****
Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air,
And the fierce Self, which strives and slays, is there;
What but that Self to man doth Nature teach?
Where the charmed link that binds the all to each?
Where the sweet law, (doth Nature boast its birth?)
“Good will to man, and charity on earth?”
Sir E. B. Lytton.
What though to poverty’s imploring voice
I give my earthly goods; though to the pile
I yield my body, if thy genuine love
Inspire not, this alike is void and vain.
*****
Thou, mild and gentle nature, art estranged
From envy, hatred, insolence, or pride;
Thou seekest not thy own, but others’ weal;
Slow to reprove, but studious to applaud,
And from the eyes of malice to conceal
The weakness thou lamentest to behold:
For thou of each forgiv’st and hop’st the best,
Forbearing and forgiving every ill.
*****
The time shall come when prophecy itself,
And all the knowledge which exalts mankind,
Shall lose their use; these, while the state of man
In imperfection lies, by Heaven are made
To compass ends sublime; but when that state
Imperfect, for perfection shall be changed,
Shall fade away, and boast that use no more.
But, subject to no change, through endless time
Shall Faith, and Hope, and Charity endure;
And thou, O Charity, of these the chief,
In high pre-eminence shalt ever reign!
C. P. Layard.
The consciousness of wrong, in wills not evil
Brings charity.
Leigh Hunt.
When prophecies shall fail,
When tongues shall cease, when knowledge is no more,
And the Great Day is come, thou by the throne
Shalt sit triumphant.
Glynn.
“Chief grace below, and all in all above!”
What shall I call thee? Charity or Love?
Thy name is bliss; for let but grace remove
The Serpent, Selfishness, and lo! the Dove,
Cover’d with silver wings, or plumes of gold,[1]
Enters the rescued heart, and keeps her hold:
Then love to God on high, good will to men,
With all the gentle virtues in their train,
Flourish together, and together prove
That bliss is but another name for Love!
Blest affluence of that bright flame that glows
Amid the Seraphim, “in burning rows,”
Fill my whole soul! since who has most of Love,
Knows most of Heaven, and of the joys above.
Mary Milner.
[1] Psalm lxviii. 13.