Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1881-07-01
Miscellany.
PRIEST, WYER AND DooToR.
ny oliver wendell Holmes.
Tread at the centennial anniversary dinner OF
Maasachusells Medical soeety.l

!
Tread at the centennial anniversary dinner Of Il
Massachusetts Medical society1
or all the guests at llfes perennial feast,
| Who Of her children sits above the Priest7
| For him the 'broidered robe, the carven seat,
| Pride at his beck, and beauty at his feet;
| For him the incense fumes, the wine is poured,
Himself god, adorng aud adoredl
His the lrst welcome when our hearts rejoice,
His 10 our dying ear the latest voice,
Font, altar, grave, his steps on all attend,
Our staG, our stay, our ali but Heavenly frend
Where is the meddling hand that dares TO probe
The secret grief beneath his sable robe7
How grave his portl how every gesture tells.
Here truth abides here peace forever dwells;
Nex not bis lofty soul with comments vain;
Faith asks no questions; silence, ye profanel
Alasl too oft while all is calm without
The stormy spirit wars with endless doubt;
This is ths mocking spectre, scarce concealed
Behind traditions bruised and battered shield.
He sees the sleepless critic, age by age,
Scrawl his new readings on the hallowed page,
The wondrous deeds that priests and prophets saw
Dissolved In legend, cryHtalized In law,
And on the soil where saints and martyrs trod
Affairs new builded 10 the Unknown God;
His shrines imperiled, HIS evangels torn
He dares not limp, but ah how sharp his thornI
Yet while Gods herald questions as he reads
The outworn dOgmas Of his ancient creeds,
Drops from his ritual the exploded verse,
Blots from his page the Athanasan curse,
Though by the critics dangerous art perple1ed,
HIS holy life In Heavens unquestoned text;
That shining guidance doubt can never mar
The pillars hame, the light Of Betblehems start
Strong is the moral blister that will draw,
Whom blindfold Justice lends her eyes tn see
Truth in the scale that holds his promised fee.
What Has not every lie its truthful side
Its honest fraction, not to be denied7
Per cOntra-ask the moralist-in sooth
Has not lie its share In every TRUTH
Then what forbids an honest man to try
To hnd the truth that turks In every lie,
And Just as fairly call on truth to yield
The lying fraction in IL, breast eoneealed7
So the worst rogue shall claim ready friend
His modest virtues boldly to defend.
And he who sho Ss the record Of a saint
See himself blacker than the devil could paint
What struggles TO his captive soul belong
Who loves the right, yet combats for the wrong,
Who fights the battle he would flin refuse,
Aud wins, well knowing that he ought to lose;
Who speaks with glowing lips and look sincere
In spangled words that make the worst appear
The better reason; who, behind his mask,
Hid 3 his true self, and bushes at the task -
What quips, what outlets cheat the inward scorn
That mocks such triumph! Has he not his thorn
Yet stay thy judgment: were thy life the prize,
Thy death the forfeit would thy cynic eyes
See fault in him who bravely dares defend
The cause fOrorn, the wretch without q friend?
Nay, though the rightful side is wisdom's choice,
Wrong has its rights and claims a champions voice;
Let the strong arm be lifted for the weak,
For the dumb lips the fluent pleader speak
When with warm "rebel" blood our street was dyed,
Who took, unawed, the hated hireling's side
No greener civic wreath can Adams claim,
No brighter page the youthful Quincy's namei
How blest is he who knows no meaner strife
Than Arts long battle with the foes Of life?
No doubt assails him, doing still bis best,
Aud trusting kindly Nature for the rest;
No mockingconseienee tears the thin disguise
That wraps his breast, and tells him that he lies
He comes; the languid sufferer lifts his head,
And smiles welcome from his weary bed.
HI speaks: what music like the tones that tell
past is the hour Of dAnger-all 10 welli"
How can he feel the petty stings Of grief
Whose cheering presence always brings relief?
What ugly dreams can trouble his repose
Who yields himself to soothe another's woes
How sweet his hreside when the day is done
And cares have vanished with the setting sun
Evening at last its hour Of respite brings,
And on his couch his weary length he hings.
Soft be thy pillow, servant Of mankind,
Lulled by an opiate art could never ind;
Sweet be thy slumber-thou hast earned 1t we'll
Pleasant thy dreams! ClAng! goes the midnight bell
Darkness and storml The home is far away
That waits his coming ere the break of day;
The snOw-clad pines their wintry plumAge toss
Doubtful the frozen stream his road must cross;
Deep lie the drifts, the slAnted heaps have shut
The hardy woodmAn in his mountain hut
Why should thy softer frame the tempest brave?
Hast thou no life, no health, to lose or save?
Lookl read the answer in his patient eyes
Fer him no other voice when suffering cries;
Deaf to the gale that all around him blows,
feeble whisper calls hm-and he goes.
or seek the crowded clty-summer's heat
Glares burning, binding, In the narrow street,
still, noisome, deadly, sleeps the enyenomed air.
Unstirred the yellow hSg that says "BewArem
Tempt not thy fate-one little moments breath
Bears on its viewless wing the seeds Of death;
Thou at whose door the gded chariots stand,
Whose dear-bought skill uncAsps the miEer's hand,
Turn from thy fatal quest, nor cast away
That life so precious; let meaner prey
Feed the destroyers hunger; live to bless
Those happier homes that need thy care no lessl
Smiling he listens; has he, then, a charm
Whose magic virtues peril can disarm7
No safeguard his; no amulet he years.
Too well he knows that nature never spares
Her truest servant, powerless to defend
From her own weapons her unshrinking friend:
He dares the fate the bravest well might shun,
Nor asks reward, save only Heavens "well done"