Proverbial Philosophy / The First and Second Series

by Unknown

OF SPEAKING.

Speech is the golden harvest that followeth the flowering of thought;

Yet oftentimes runneth it to husk, and the grains be withered and scanty:

Speech is reason's brother, and a kingly prerogative of man,

That likeneth him to his Maker, who spake, and it was done:

Spirit may mingle with spirit, but sense requireth a symbol;

And speech is the body of a thought, without which it were not seen.

When thou walkest, musing with thyself, in the green aisles of the forest,

Utter thy thinkings aloud, that they take a shape and being:

For he that pondereth in silence crowdeth the storehouse of his mind,

And though he hath heaped great riches, yet is he hindered in the using.

A man that speaketh too little, and thinketh much and deeply,

Corrodeth his own heart-strings, and keepeth back good from his fellows:

A man that speaketh too much, and museth but little and lightly,

Wasteth his mind in words, and is counted a fool among men:

But thou, when thou hast thought, weave charily the web of meditation,

And clothe the ideal spirit in the suitable garments of speech.

Uttered out of time, or concealed in its season, good savoureth of evil;

To be secret looketh like guilt, to speak out may breed contention:

Often have I known the honest heart, flaming with indignant virtue,

Provoke unneeded war by its rash ambassador the tongue:

Often have I seen the charitable man go so slily on his mission,

That those who met him in the twilight, took him for a skulking thief:

I have heard the zealous youth telling out his holy secrets

Before a swinish throng, who mocked him as he spake;

And I considered, his openness was hardening them that mocked,

Whereas a judicious keeping-back might have won their sympathy:

I have judged rashly and harshly the hand, liberal in the dark,

Because in the broad daylight, it hath holden it a virtue to be close;

And the silent tongue have I condemned, because reserve hath chained it,

That it hid, yea from a brother, the kindness it had done by comforting.

No need to sound a trumpet, but less to hush a footfall:

Do thou thy good openly, not as though the doing were a crime.

Secresy goeth cowled, and Honesty demandeth wherefore?

For he judgeth—judgeth he not well?—that nothing need be hid but guilt.

Why should thy good be evil spoken of, through thine unrighteous silence?

If thou art challenged, speak, and prove the good thou doest.

The free example of benevolence, unobtruded, yet unhidden,

Soundeth in the ears of sloth, Go, and do thou likewise:

And I wot the hypocrite's sin to be of darker dye,

Because the good man, fearing, thereby hideth his light:

But neither God nor man hath bid thee cloak thy good,

When a seasonable word would set thee in thy sphere, that all might see thy brightness.

Ascribe the honour to thy Lord, but be thou jealous of that honour,

Nor think it light and worthless, because thou mayst not wear it for thyself:

Remember, thy grand prerogative is free unshackled utterance,

And suffer not the flood-gates of secresy to lock the full river of thy speech.

Come, I will show thee an affliction, unnumbered among this world's sorrows,

Yet real and wearisome and constant, embittering the cup of life.

There be, who can think within themselves, and the fire burneth at their heart,

And eloquence waiteth at their lips, yet they speak not with their tongue:

There be, whom zeal quickeneth, or slander stirreth to reply,

Or need constraineth to ask, or pity sendeth as her messengers,

But nervous dread and sensitive shame freeze the current of their speech;

The mouth is sealed as with lead, a cold weight presseth on the heart,

The mocking promise of power is once more broken in performance,

And they stand impotent of words, travailing with unborn thoughts;

Courage is cowed at the portal; wisdom is widowed of utterance;

He that went to comfort is pitied; he that should rebuke, is silent:

And fools who might listen and learn, stand by to look and laugh;

While friends, with kinder eyes, wound deeper by compassion:

And thought, finding not a vent, smouldereth, gnawing at the heart,

And the man sinketh in his sphere, for lack of empty sounds.

There be many cares and sorrows thou hast not yet considered,

And well may thy soul rejoice in the fair privilege of speech;

For at every turn to want a word,—thou canst not guess that want;

It is as lack of breath or bread: life hath no grief more galling.

Come, I will tell thee of a joy, which the parasites of pleasure have not known,

Though earth and air and sea have gorged all the appetites of sense.

Behold, what fire is in his eye, what fervour on his cheek!

That glorious burst of winged words! how bound they from his tongue!

The full expression of the mighty thought, the strong triumphant argument,

The rush of native eloquence, resistless as Niagara,

The keen demand, the clear reply, the fine poetic image,

The nice analogy, the clenching fact, the metaphor bold and free,

The grasp of concentrated intellect wielding the omnipotence of truth,

The grandeur of his speech in his majesty of mind!

Champion of the right,—patriot, or priest, or pleader of the innocent cause,

Upon whose lips the mystic bee hath dropped the honey of persuasion,

Whose heart and tongue have been touched, as of old, by the live coal from the altar,

How wide the spreading of thy peace, how deep the draught of thy pleasures!

To hold the multitude as one, breathing in measured cadence,

A thousand men with flashing eyes, waiting upon thy will;

A thousand hearts kindled by thee with consecrated fire,

Ten flaming spiritual hecatombs offered on the mount of God:

And now a pause, a thrilling pause,—they live but in thy words,—

Thou hast broken the bounds of self, as the Nile at its rising,

Thou art expanded into them, one faith, one hope, one spirit,

They breathe but in thy breath, their minds are passive unto thine,

Thou turnest the key of their love, bending their affections to thy purpose,

And all, in sympathy with thee, tremble with tumultuous emotions:

Verily, O man, with truth for thy theme, eloquence shall throne thee with archangels.

---