ABSTRACT
A PHILOSOPHER said, ‘All the world is mad, I am the only sane man in it: * * *
‘’Tis misconception all. The world is mad, And I alone am sane.’ Such the words Of England’s living sage, he rightly proud Of wisdom in the courts of wisdom. An unit in that full and flowing crowd Of miserable maniacs, I, like them, Was too intent to win the happiness And worth of life, to value high the search For possibilities, convertible, It might be, to the probable. Too full, Within the limits of a biassed mind, Of the sweet claims of many clinging friends, And the dear wisdom of kind deeds, The daily earnestness of common life, To yield, unquestioned, that high-voiced demand Of all-engrossing sanity. Wise, thought I, Mothers who bend o’er the helpless babes; And wise the husbandman, who brings From God’s right hand our daily bread; And wise the toiler’ ‘midst the clang Of mighty engines for the world’s behoof; And wise, most humbly wise, the innocent, If ignorant, who bend the knee And bow the heart to learn of God. Thus, tho’ yet in love with wisdom, I Shrank back with thoughts akin to hate or scorn, And called the wise man-egotist.
