’Tis a beautiful thought, by Philosophy taught,
That from all things created some good is out-*wrought;
That each is for use, and not one for abuse,
Which leaves the transgressor no room for excuse.
Thus the great, and the small, and the humblest of all,
To action and duty alike have a call;
And he does the best, who excels all the rest,
In making the lot of humanity blest.
As Jonathan Myer sat one night by the fire,
Watching the flames from the embers expire,
O’er his senses there stole, and into his soul,
A spell of enchantment he could not control.
The wind shook his door, and a terrible roar
In his chimney was heard, like the waves on the shore.
In wonder, amazed, old Jonathan gazed
At the huge oaken back-log as fiercely it blazed.
The flames of his fire leaped higher and higher,
And out of its brightness looked images dire;
Till at length, a great brand straight on end seemed to stand,
And then into human proportions expand.
Old Jonathan said, with a shake of his head,
“There’s nothing in nature I’ve reason to dread,
For my conscience is clear, and I’d not have a fear,
Should Satan himself at this moment appear.”
“Ha! your words shall be tried,” quick the demon replied,
“For, lo! I am Satan, here, close by your side.
Men should never defy such a being as I,
For when they least think it, behold I am nigh.”
Said Jonathan Myer, as he stirred up the fire,
“Your face nor your figure I do not admire;
But if that is your style, why, it isn’t worth while
For me to find fault or your Maker revile.
“Now don’t have a fear, lest it should appear
That you’re an intruder—I welcome you here!
So pray take a seat, and warm up your feet,
For I think I have heard that you’re partial to heat.”
“Well, you are either a fool or remarkably cool,”
Said Satan—accepting the low wooden stool—
“But before I depart, I will give you a start
Which will send back the blood with a rush to your heart.”