And how does the Te Deum—­the noblest hymn written by man since St John finished his Book of Revelations—­how does that end, but with the same old cry as that of the Psalmist in the 119th Psalm—­

“O Lord, in thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded”?

Now it is difficult to tell men what being confounded means; difficult and almost needless; for there are those who know what it means without being told; and those who do not know what it means without being told, are not likely to know by my telling, or any man’s telling.  No, not if an angel from heaven came and told them what being confounded meant would they understand him, at least till they were confounded themselves; and then they would know by bitter experience—­perhaps when it was too late.

And who are they?  What sort of people are they?

First, silly persons; whom Solomon calls fools—­though they often think themselves refined and clever enough—­luxurious and “fashionable” people, who do not care to learn, who think nothing worth learning save how to enjoy themselves; who call it “bad form” to be earnest, and turn off all serious questions with a jest.  These are they of whom Wisdom says—­“How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity, and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate knowledge?  I also will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your fear cometh.”

Next, mean and truly vulgar persons; who are shameless; who do not care if they are caught out in a lie or in a trick.  These are they of whom it is written that outside of God’s kingdom, in the outer darkness wherein are weeping and gnashing of teeth, are dogs, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie.

And next, and worst of all, self-conceited people.  These are they of whom Solomon says, “Seest thou a man who is wise in his own conceit?  There is more hope of a fool than of him.”  They are the people who will not see when they are going wrong; who will not hear reason, nor take advice, no, nor even take scorn and contempt; who will not see that they are making fools of themselves, but, while all the world is laughing at them, walk on serenely self-satisfied, certain that they, and they only, know what the world is made of, and how to manage the world.  These are they of whom it is written—­“He that being often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy.”  Then they will learn, and with a vengeance, what being confounded means by being confounded themselves, and finding themselves utterly wrong, where they thought themselves utterly right.  Yet no.  I do not think that even that would cure some people.  There are those, I verily believe, who would not confess that they were in the wrong even in the bottomless pit, but, like Satan and his fallen angels in Milton’s poem, would have excellent arguments to prove that they were injured and ill-used, deceived and betrayed, and lay the blame of their misery on God, on man, on anything but their own infallible selves.