Each special proneness unto harm is pampered by ignorant indulgence,
And the man, for want of warning, yieldeth to the apt temptation.
A smith at the loom, and a weaver at the forge, were but sorry craftsmen;
And a ship that saileth on every wind never shall reach her port:
Yet there be thousands among men who heed not the leaning of their talents,
But cutting against the grain, toil on to no good end;
And the light of a thoughtful spirit is quenched beneath the bushel of commerce,
While meaner plodding minds are driven up the mountain of philosophy:
The cedar withereth on a wall, while the house-leek is fattening in a hot-bed,
And the dock with its rank leaves hideth the sun from violets.