Fearfulness by James John Garth Wilkinson

Hush! do not say a word:
The truth is perilous:
The great pool will be stirred:
And this were wrong for us.

We live in sweet suppression,
The violets of dark groves:
And through our intercession,
The fashion-chariot moves.

We love the truth in season,
When no one else is near:
But then it stands to reason,
That there is much to fear.

The world is trammelled up:
Our state is with it wove:
We drink of fortune’s cup,
And of wealth’s modest love.

Don’t carry things too far,
Martyrdom is not good:
And crucifixion’s star
Shines o’er a distant flood.

Don’t mention spiritualism
Except when we’re alone:
Ours is the parson’s chrism:
We stand upon his stone.

From: Wilkinson, J J G, Improvisations from the Spirit, 1857, New Church Publishing Association: New York, pp. 190-191.
(http://archive.org/stream/imprfr00wilk#page/190/mode/2up)

Date: 1857

By: James John Garth Wilkinson (1812-1899)