The Brilliant and the Commonplace
Day after day I worked at my life-task, and worked in an earnestspirit. Not much did I seem to accomplish; yet the little that wasdone had on it the impress of good. Still, I was dissatisfied,because my gifts were less dazzling than those of which many aroundme could boast. When I thought of the brilliant ones sparkling inthe firmament of literature, and filling the eyes of admiringthousands, something like the evil spirit of envy came into my heartand threw a shadow upon my feelings. I was troubled because I hadnot their gifts. I wished to shine with a stronger light. To dazzle,as well as to warm and vivify.Not long ago, there came among us one whom nature had richlyendowed. His mind possessed exceeding brilliancy. Flashes ofthought, like lightning from summer cloud, were ever filling the airaround him. There was a stateliness in the movement of hisintellect, and an evidence of power, that oppressed you at timeswith wonder.Around him gathered the lesser lights in the hemisphere of thought,and veiled their feeble rays beneath his excessive brightness. Heseemed conscious of his superior gifts and displayed them more likea giant beating the air to excite wonder, than putting forth hisstrength to accomplish a good and noble work. Still, I was oppressedand paralyzed by the sphere of his presence. I felt puny and weakbeside him, and unhappy because I was not gifted with equal power.It so happened that a work of mine, upon which the maker's name wasnot stamped--work done with a purpose of good--was spoken of andpraised by one who did not know me as the handicraftsman."It is tame, dull, and commonplace," said the brilliant one, in atone of contempt; and there were many present to agree with him.Like the strokes of a hammer upon my heart, came these words ofcondemnation. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" And was it, indeed, so?Yes; I felt that what he uttered was true. That my powers wereexceedingly limited, and my gifts few. Oh, what would I not havethen given for brilliant endowments like those possessed by him fromwhom had fallen the words of condemnation?"You will admit," said one--I thought it strange at the time thatthere should be even one to speak a word in favor of my poorperformance--"that it will do good?""Good!" was answered, in a tone slightly touched by contempt. "Oh,yes; it will do good!" and the brilliant one tossed his head."Anybody can do good!"I went home with a perturbed spirit. I had work to do; but I couldnot do it. I sat down and tried to forget what I had heard. I triedto think about the tasks that were before me. "Tame, dull, andcommonplace!" Into no other form would my thoughts come.Exhausted, at last, by this inward struggle, I threw myself upon mybed, and soon passed into the land of dreams.Dream-land! Thou art thought by many to be only a land of fantasyand of shadows. But it is not so. Dreams, for the most part, arefantastic; but all are not so. Nearer are we to the world ofspirits, in sleep; and, at times, angels come to us with lessons ofwisdom, darkly veiled under similitude, or written in characters oflight.I passed into dream-land; but my thoughts went on in the samecurrent. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" I felt the condemnation morestrongly than before.I was out in the open air, and around me were mountains, trees,green fields, and running waters; and above all bent the sky in itsazure beauty. The sun was just unveiling his face in the east, andhis rays were lighting up the dew-gems on a thousand blades ofgrass, and making the leaves glitter as if studded with diamonds."How calm and beautiful!" said a voice near me. I turned, and onewhose days were in the "sear and yellow leaf," stood by my side."But all is tame and commonplace," I answered. "We have this overand over again, day after day, month after month, and year afteryear. Give me something brilliant and startling, if it be in thefiery comet or the rushing storm. I am sick of the commonplace!""And yet to the commonplace the world is indebted for every greatwork and great blessing. For everything good, and true, andbeautiful!"I looked earnestly into the face of the old man. He went on."The truly good and great is the useful; for in that is the Divineimage. Softly and unobtrusively has the dew fallen, as it fallsnight after night. Silently it distilled, while the vagrant meteorsthrew their lines of dazzling light across the sky, and men lookedup at them in wonder and admiration. And now the soft grass, thegreen leaves, and the sweet flowers, that drooped beneath thefervent heat of yesterday, are fresh again and full of beauty, readyto receive the light and warmth of the risen sun, and expand with, anew vigor. All this may be tame, and commonplace; but is it not agreat and a good work that has been going on?"The tiller of the soil is going forth again to his work. Do notturn your eyes from him, and let a feeling of impatience stir inyour heart because he is not a soldier rushing to battle, or abrilliant orator holding thousands enchained by the power of afervid eloquence that is born not so much of good desires for hisfellow-men as from the heat of his own self-love. Day after day, asnow, patient, and hopeful, the husbandman enters upon the work thatlies before him, and, hand in hand with God's blessed sunshine,dews, and rain, a loving and earnest co-laborer, brings forth fromearth's treasure-house of blessings good gifts for his fellow-men.Is all this commonplace? How great and good is the commonplace!"I turned to answer the old man, but he was gone. I was standing on ahigh mountain, and beneath me, as far as the eye could reach, werestretched broad and richly cultivated fields; and from a hundredfarm-houses went up the curling smoke from the fires of industry.Fields were waving with golden grain, and trees bending with theirtreasures of fruit. Suddenly, the bright sun was veiled in clouds,that came whirling up from the horizon in dark and broken masses,and throwing a deep shadow over the landscape just before bathed inlight. Calmly had I surveyed the peaceful scene spread out beforeme. I was charmed with its quiet beauty. But now, stronger emotionsstirred within me."Oh, this is sublime!" I murmured, as I gazed upon the cloudy hostsmoving across the heavens in battle array.A gleam of lightning sprang forth from a dark cavern in the sky, andthen, far off, rattled and jarred the echoing thunder. Next came therushing and roaring wind, bending the giant-limbed oaks as if theywere but wands of willow, and tearing up lesser trees as a childtears up from its roots a weed or flower.In this war of elements I stood, with my head bared, and clinging toa rock, mad with a strange and wild delight."Brilliant! Sublime! Grand beyond the power of descriptions" I said,as the storm deepened in intensity."An hour like this is worth all the commonplace, dull events of alifetime."There came a stunning crash in the midst of a dazzling glare. Forsome moments I was blinded. When sight was restored, I saw, belowme, the flames curling upward from a dwelling upon which the fiercelightning had fallen."What majesty! what awful sublimity!" said I, aloud. I thought notof the pain, and terror, and death that reigned in the humanhabitation upon which the bolt of destruction had fallen, but of thesublime power displayed in the strife of the elements.There was another change. I no longer stood on the mountain, withthe lightning and tempest around me; but was in the valley below,down upon which the storm had swept with devastating fury. Fields ofgrain were level with the earth; houses destroyed; and the trophiesof industry marred in a hundred ways."How sublime are the works of the tempest!" said a voice near me. Iturned, and the old man was again at my side.But I did not respond to his words."What majesty! What awful sublimity and power!" continued the oldman. "But," he added, in a changed voice, "there is a higher powerin the gentle rain than lies in the rushing tempest. The power todestroy is an evil power, and has bounds beyond which it cannot go.But the gentle rain that falls noiselessly to the earth, is thepower of restoration and recreation. See!"I looked, and a mall lay upon the ground apparently lifeless. He hadbeen struck down by the lightning. His pale face was upturned to thesky, and the rain shaken free from the cloudy skirts of the retiringstorm, was falling upon it. I continued to gaze upon the force ofthe prostrate man, until there came into it a flush of life. Thenhis limbs quivered; he threw his arms about. A groan issued from hisconstricted chest. In a little while, he arose."Which is best? Which is most to be loved and admired?" said the oldMan. "The wild, fierce, brilliant tempest, or the quiet rain thatrestores the image of life and beauty which the tempest hasdestroyed? See! The gentle breezes are beginning to move over thefields, and, hand in hand with the uplifting sunlight, to raise therain that has been trodden beneath the crushing heel of the tempest,whose false sublimity you so much admired. There is nothingstartling and brilliant in this work; but it is a good and a greatwork, and it will go on silently and efficiently until not a traceof the desolating storm can be found. In the still atmosphere,unseen, but all-potent, lies a power ever busy in the work ofcreating and restoring; or, in other words, in the commonplace workof doing good. Which office would you like best to assume--which isthe most noble--the office of the destroyer or the restorer?"I lifted my eyes again, and saw men busily engaged in blotting outthe traces of the storm, and in restoring all to its former use andbeauty.Builders were at work upon the house which had been struck bylightning, and men engaged in repairing fences, barns, and otherobjects upon which had been spent the fury of the excited elements.Soon every vestige of the destroyer was gone."Commonplace work, that of nailing on boards and shingles," said theold man; "of repairing broken fences; of filling up the deepfoot-prints of the passing storm; but is it not a noble work? Yes;for it is ennobled by its end. Far nobler than the work of thebrilliant tempest, which moved but to destroy."The scene changed once more. I was back again from the land ofdreams and similitudes. It was midnight, and the moon was shining ina cloudless sky. I arose, and going to the window, sat and lookedforth, musing upon my dream. All was hushed as if I were out in thefields, instead of in the heart of a populous city. Soon came thesound of footsteps, heavy and measured, and the watchman passed onhis round of duty. An humble man was he, forced by necessity intohis position, and rarely thought of and little regarded by the many.There was nothing brilliant about him to attract the eye and extortadmiration. The man and his calling were commonplace. He passed on;and, as his form left my eye, the thought of him passed from mymind. Not long after, unheralded by the sound of footsteps, came onewith a stealthy, crouching air; pausing now, and listening; and nowlooking warily from side to side. It was plain that he was on noerrand of good to his fellowmen. He, too, passed on, and was lost tomy vision.Many minutes went by, and I still remained at the window, musingupon the subject of my dream, when I was startled by a cry of terrorissuing from a house not far away. It was the cry of a woman.Obeying the instinct of my feelings, I ran into the street and mademy way hurriedly towards the spot from which the cry came."Help! help! murder!" shrieked a woman from the open window.I tried the street door of the house, but it was fastened. I threwmyself against it with all my strength, and it yielded to theconcussion. As I entered the dark passage, I found myself suddenlygrappled by a strong man, who threw me down and held me by thethroat. I struggled to free myself, but in vain. His grip tightened.In a few moments I would have been lifeless. But, just at theinstant when consciousness was about leaving me, the guardian of thenight appeared. With a single stroke of his heavy mace, he laid themidnight robber and assassin senseless upon the floor.How instantly was that humble watchman ennobled in my eyes! How highand important was his use in society! I looked at him from a newstandpoint, and saw him in a new relation."Commonplace!" said I, on regaining my own room in my own house,panting from the excitement and danger to which I had beensubjected. "Commonplace! Thank God for the commonplace and theuseful!"Again I passed into the land of dreams, where I found myself walkingin a pleasant way, pondering the theme which had taken such entirepossession of my thoughts. As I moved along, I met the gifted onewho had called my work dull and commonplace; that work was a simplepicture of human life; drawn for the purpose of inspiring the readerwith trust in God and love towards his fellow-man. He addressed mewith the air of one who felt that he was superior, and led off theconversation by a brilliant display of words that half concealed,instead of making clear, his ideas. Though I perceived this, I wasyet affected with admiration. My eyes were dazzled as by a glare oflight."Yes, yes," I sighed to myself; "I am dull, tame, and commonplacebeside these children of genius. How poor and mean is the work thatcomes from my hands!""Not so!" said my companion. I turned to look at him; but the giftedbeing stood not by my side. In his place was the ancient one who hadbefore spoken to me in the voice of wisdom."Not so!" he continued. "Nothing that is useful is poor and mean.Look up! In the fruit of our labor is the proof of its quality."I was in the midst of a small company, and the gifted being whosepowers I had envied was there, the centre of attraction and theobserved of all observers. He read to those assembled from a book;and what he read flashed with a brightness that was dazzling. Alllistened in the most rapt attention, and, by the power of what thegifted one read, soared now, in thought, among the stars, spreadtheir wings among the swift-moving tempest, or descended into theunknown depths of the earth. As for myself, my mind seemed endowedwith new faculties, and to rise almost into the power of theinfinite."Glorious! Divine! Godlike!" Such were the admiring words that fellfrom the lips of all.And then the company dispersed. As we went forth from the room inwhich we had assembled, we met numbers who were needy, and sick, andsuffering; mourners, who sighed for kind words from the comforter:little children, who had none to love and care for them; the faintand weary, who needed kind hands to help them on their toilsomejourney. But no human sympathies were stirring in our hearts. We hadbeen raised, by the power of the genius we so much admired, farabove the world and its commonplace sympathies. The wings of ourspirits were still beating the air, far away in the upper regions oftranscendant thought.Another change came. I saw a woman reading from the same book fromwhich the gifted one had read. Ever and anon she paused, and gaveutterance to words of admiration."Beautiful! beautiful!" fell, ever and anon, from her lips; and shewould lift her eyes, and muse upon what she was reading. As she satthus, a little child entered the room. He was crying."Mother! mother!" said the child, "I want--"But the mother's thoughts were far above the regions of thecommonplace. Her mind was in a world of ideal beauty. Disturbed bythe interruption, a slight frown contracted on her beautiful browsas she arose and took her child by the arm to thrust it from theroom.A slight shudder went through my frame as I marked the touchingdistress that overspread the countenance of the child as it lookedup into its mother's face and saw nothing there but an angry frown."Every thought is born of affection," said the old man, as thisscene faded away, "and has in it the quality of the life that gaveit birth; and when that thought is reproduced in the mind ofanother, it awakens its appropriate affection. If there had been atrue love of his neighbor in the mind of the gifted one when hewrote the book from which the mother read, and if his purpose hadbeen to inspire with human emotions--and none but these areGod-like--the souls of men, his work would have filled the heart ofthat mother with a deeper love of her child, instead of freezing inher bosom the surface of love's celestial fountain. To havehearkened to the grief of that dear child, and to have ministered toits comfort, would have been a commonplace act, but, how truly nobleand divine! And now, look again, and let what passes before you givestrength to your wavering spirits."I lifted my eyes, and saw a man reading, and I knew that he readthat work of mine which the gifted one had condemned as dull, andtame, and commonplace. And, moreover, I knew that he was in troubleso deep as to be almost hopeless of the future, and just ready togive up his life-struggle, and let his hands fall listless anddespairing by his side. Around him were gathered his wife and hislittle ones, and they were looking to him, but in vain, for the helpthey needed.As the man read, I saw a light come suddenly into his face. Hepaused, and seemed musing for a time; and his eyes gleamed quicklyupwards, and as his lips parted, these words came forth: "Yes, yes;it must be so. God is merciful as he is wise, and will not forsakehis creatures. He tries us in the fires of adversity but to consumethe evil of our hearts. I will trust him, and again go forth, withmy eyes turned confidingly upwards." And the man went forth in thespirit of confidence in Heaven, inspired by what I had written."Look again," said the one by my side.I looked, and saw the same man in the midst of a smiling family. Hiscountenance was full of life and happiness, for his trust had notbeen in vain. As I had written, so he had found it. God is good, andlets no one feel the fires of adversity longer than is necessary forhis purification from evil."Look again!" came like tones of music to my ear.I looked, and saw one lying upon a bed. By the lines upon his brow,and the compression of his lips, it was evident that he was inbodily suffering. A book lay near him; it was written by the giftedone, and was full of bright thoughts and beautiful images. He tookit, and tried to forget his pain in these thoughts and images. Butin this he did not succeed, and soon laid it aside with a groan ofanguish. Then there was handed to him my poor and commonplace work;and he opened the pages and began to read. I soon perceived that aninterest was awakened in his mind. Gradually the contraction of hisbrow grew less severe, and, in a little while, he had forgotten hispain."I will be more patient," said he, in a calm voice, after he hadread for a long time with a deep interest. "There are many with painworse than mine to bear, who have none of the comforts and blessingsso freely scattered along my way through life."And then he gave directions to have relief sent to one and anotherwhom he now remembered to be in need."It is a good work that prompts to good in others," said the oldman. "What if it be dull and tame--commonplace to the few--it is agood gift to the world, and thousands will bless the giver. Lookagain!"An angry mother, impatient and fretted by the conduct of a frowardchild, had driven her boy from her presence, when, if she hadcontrolled her own feelings, she might have drawn him to her sideand subdued him by the power of affection. She was unhappy, and herboy had received an injury.The mother was alone. Before her was a table covered with books, andshe took up one to read. I knew the volume; it was written by onewhose genius had a deep power of fascination. Soon the mother becamelost in its exciting pages, and remained buried in them for hours.At length, after turning the last page, she closed the book; andthen came the thought of her wayward boy. But, her feelings towardhim had undergone no change; she was still angry, because of hisdisobedience.Another book lay upon the table; a book of no pretensions, andwritten with the simple purpose of doing good. It was commonplace,because it dealt with things in the common life around us. Themother took this up, opened to the title-page, turned a few leaves,and then laid it down again; sat thoughtful for some moments, andthen sighed. Again she lifted the book, opened it, and commencedreading. In a little while she was all attention, and ere long I sawa tear stealing forth upon her cheeks. Suddenly she closed the book,evincing strong emotion as she did so, and, rising up, went from theroom. Ascending to a chamber above, she entered, and there found theboy at play. He looked towards her, and, remembering her anger, ashadow flitted across his face. But his mother smiled and lookedkindly towards him. Instantly the boy dropped his playthings, andsprung to her side. She stooped and kissed him."Oh, mother! I do love you, and I will try to be good!"Blinding tears came to my eyes, and I saw this scene no longer. Iwas out among the works of nature, and my instructor was by my side."Despise not again the humble and the commonplace," said he, "forupon these rest the happiness and well-being of the world. Few canenter into and appreciate the startling and the brilliant, butthousands and tens of thousands can feel and love the commonplacethat comes to their daily wants, and inspires them with a mutualsympathy. Go on in your work. Think it rot low and mean to speakhumble, yet true and fitting words for the humble; to lift up thebowed and grieving spirit; to pour the oil and wine of consolationfor the poor and afflicted. It is a great and a good work--the verywork in which God's angels delight. Yea, in doing this work, you arebrought nearer in spirit to Him who is goodness and greatnessitself, for all his acts are done with the end of blessing hiscreatures."There was another change. I was awake. It was broad daylight, andthe sun had come in and awakened me with a kiss. Again I resumed mywork, content to meet the common want in my labors, and let the moregifted and brilliant ones around me enjoy the honors and fame thatgathered in cloudy incense around them.It is better to be loved by the many, than admired by the few.
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