I give them instruments to play upon, God choosing me to help Him."
At fault for violins, thou absent?"
He were at fault for Stradivari's work."
Why, many hold Giuseppe's violins As good as thine."
May be: they are different.
His quality declines: he spoils his hand With over-drinking. But were his the best, He could not work for two. My work is mine, And, heresy or not, if my hand slacked
I should rob God - since He is fullest good- Leaving a blank instead of violins.
I say, not God Himself can make man's best Without best men to help Him. I am one best Here in Cremona, using sunlight well
To fashion finest maple till it serves
More cunningly than throats for harmony. 'Tis rare delight: I would not change my skill To be the Emperor with bungling hands And lose my work, which comes as natural As self at waking."
"Thou art little more Than a deft potter's wheel, Antonio; Turning out work by mere necessity And lack of varied function. Higher arts Subsist on freedom- eccentricity - Uncounted inspirations - influence
That comes with drinking, gambling, talk turned wild, Then moody misery and lack of food
With every dithyrambic fine excess:
These make at last a storm which flashes out
In lightning revelations. Steady work Turns genius to a loom; the soul must lie Like grapes beneath the sun till ripeness comes And mellow vintage. I could paint you now The finest Crucifixion; yesternight Returning home I saw it on a sky
Blue-black, thick-starred. I want two louis d'ors To buy the canvas and the costly blues-
"Where are those last two
I lent thee for thy Judith? — her thou saw'st In saffron gown, with Holofernes' head
And beauty all complete?"
I lack the proper model - and the mood. A great idea is an eagle's egg,
Craves time for hatching; while the eagle sits Feed her."
"If thou wilt call thy pictures eggs
I call the hatching, Work. 'Tis God gives skill, But not without men's hands: He could not make Antonio Stradivari's violins
Without Antonio. Get thee to thy easel."
Extract from Paradise Lost
JOHN MILTON
SON of Heaven and Earth,
Attend! That thou art happy, owe to God; That thou continuest such, owe to thyself, That is, to thy obedience; therein stand. This was that caution given thee; be advised. God made thee perfect, not immutable; And good he made thee; but to persevere He left it in thy power-ordained thy will By nature free, not over-ruled by fate Inextricable, or strict necessity. Our voluntary service he requires, Not our necessitated. Such with him Finds no acceptance, nor can find; for how Can hearts not free be tried whether they serve Willing or no, who will but what they must By destiny, and can no other choose? Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand In sight of God enthroned, our happy state Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds. On other surety none; freely we serve Because we freely love, as in our will To love or not; in this we stand or fall.
And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down As when a lordly cedar, green with boughs, Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.
GOD give us men! A time like this demands Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands; Men whom the lust of office does not kill; Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;
Men who possess opinions and a will;
Men who have honor, - men who will not lie;
Men who can stand before a demagogue,
And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking! Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog
In public duty, and in private thinking:
For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds, Their large professions and their little deeds, Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps, Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps!
FLING forth the triple-colored flag to dare The bright, untraveled highways of the air. Blow the undaunted bugles, blow, and yet Let not the boast betray us to forget.
Lo, there are high adventures for this hour- Tourneys to test the sinews of our power. For we must parry - as the years increase The hazards of success, the risks of peace!
What do we need to keep the nation whole, To guard the pillars of the State? We need The fine audacities of honest deed; The homely old integrities of soul; The swift temerities that take the part Of outcast right— the wisdom of the heart; Brave hopes that Mammon never can detain, Nor sully with his gainless clutch for gain.
We need the Cromwell fire to make us feel The common burden and the public trust To be a thing as sacred and august As the white vigil where the angels kneel. We need the faith to go a path untrod, The power to be alone and vote with God.
PRESTON WILLIAM SLOSSON
TRANSMUTE the ancient valor of arrow, pike and sword, The virtues which the weary march and the battlefield
Courage and faith reblazon for the needful work of peace,
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