By Author [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Title [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Language
all Classics books content using ISYS

Download this book: [ ASCII ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month
fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry.
Author: H. G. Adams, - To be updated
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Cyclopædia of Sacred Poetical Quotations: Consisting of Choice Passages from the Sacred Poetry of All Ages and Countries, Classified and Arranged, for Facility of Reference, Under Subject Headings; Illustrated by Striking Passages from Scripture, and Forming Altogether a Complete Book of Devotional Poetry." ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.









  _Engraved by P. P. Becker._

  London, Groombridge and Sons.]




                            SACRED POETICAL


                             CONSISTING OF
                      OF ALL AGES AND COUNTRIES,

                        UNDER SUBJECT HEADINGS;


                        AND FORMING ALTOGETHER


                        EDITED BY H. G. ADAMS.

                             NEW EDITION.

    “A verse may find him who a sermon flies,
    And turn delight into a sacrifice.”--HERBERT.

                            ALEX. GARDNER,


The favour with which our former compilation--the “Cyclopædia of
Poetical Quotations”--was received, and the numerous calls which we had
for an extension of the plan of that work, induced us to determine on
the issue of this companion volume, which, although exactly similar in
size and price, and method of arrangement, yet possesses a decidedly
distinctive feature in the _sacred_ character of all the pieces
included. We have endeavoured to make it one of the most complete
collections of RELIGIOUS POETRY ever offered to the public; and cannot
doubt that, as such, it will be acceptable to a very large class of
readers. As the matter in this volume had to be arranged under a far
less number of distinct headings than that of the work above named,
there was space for the introduction of longer pieces, and thus many
of the most beautiful specimens of devotional poetry, which are to
be found in the literature of this and other nations, are given with
little or no curtailment. Although there is much poetry of a religious
character scattered through the former volume, yet--inasmuch as it
is presumed that most persons who possess the one will also desire
to have the other--none of the pieces which may there be found are
admitted into this compilation, except in some cases where it was
felt that by re-uniting the portions there arranged under several
headings, so complete and beautiful a whole could be presented, that
its insertion here was almost rendered necessary.

As we wished to make our volume entirely _unsectarian_ in its
character, we have endeavoured to avoid the insertion of poems which
involve merely doctrinal points. Those grand truths and principles of
Christianity on which all denominations of the Saviour’s professed
followers are agreed, offered ample scope for poetic illustration;
and happily we could, alike from the pages of a Milton, a Watts, a
Doddridge, a Wesley, a Montgomery, and a Keble, find plenty of matter
for our purpose, without entering at all upon the thorny paths of
controversy. The introduction of Scripture quotations at the head of
each subject will, we apprehend, be considered a useful feature of our
compilation. As might be expected, the noblest poetry that ever was
written is to be found in the inspired volume, and those passages which
we have selected therefrom, as specimens of poetic composition alone,
will, we apprehend, be considered the true gems of the collection.

While we are upon the subject of Scripture quotations, we may perhaps
be allowed to place before our readers a fine passage from Gilfillan’s
“Bards of the Bible,” in reference thereto:--

“The charm which Scripture quotation adds to writing, let those tell
who have read Milton, Bunyan, Burke, Foster, Southey, Croly, Carlyle,
Macaulay, yea, and even Byron, all of whom have sown their pages
with this ‘orient pearl’ and brought thus an impulse from divine
inspiration, to add to the effect of their own. Extracts from the
Bible always attest and vindicate their origin. They nerve what else
in the sentence in which they occur is pointless; they clear a space
for themselves, and cast a wide glory around the page where they are
found. Taken from the _classics_ of the _heart_, all hearts vibrate
more or less strongly to their voice. It is even as David felt of old
toward the sword of Goliath, when he visited the high-priest, and said,
‘There is none like that, give it me;’ so writers of true taste and
sympathies feel on great occasions, when they have certain thoughts and
feelings to express, a longing for that sharp two-edged sword, and an
irresistible inclination to cry ‘None like that, give it us; this right
Damascus blade alone can cut the way of our thought into full utterance
and victory.’”

From the Psalms of David, as giving expression in the most poetical and
devotional form, to almost every variety of passion and emotion of
which the human mind is cognizant, we have, of course, taken a large
proportion of our Scripture passages, and therefore do we think it well
to quote the above author’s apostrophe to these sublime compositions.

“Wild, holy, tameless strains, how have you run down through ages in
which large poems, systems, and religions have perished, firing the
souls of poets, kissing the lips of children, smoothing the pillows of
the dying, stirring the warrior to heroic rage, perfuming the chambers
of solitary saints, and clasping into one the hearts and voices of
thousands of assembled worshippers; tinging many a literature, and
finding a home in many a land; and still ye seem as fresh, and young,
and powerful as ever; yea, preparing for even mightier triumphs than
when first chanted! Britain, Germany, and America now sing you; but you
must yet awaken the dumb millions of China and Japan.”

It has been beautifully and truly observed by the eloquent and learned
Bishop Lowth, that “We shall think of Poetry much more humbly than it
deserves, unless we direct our attention to that quarter where its
importance is most eminently conspicuous, or unless we contemplate it
as employed on sacred subjects, and in subservience to religion. This
indeed appears to have been the original office and destination of
Poetry, and this it still so happily performs, that in all other cases
it seems out of character, as if intended for this purpose alone. In
other instances Poetry appears to want the assistance of art, and in
this to shine forth with all its natural splendour, or rather to be
animated by that inspiration, which on other occasions is spoken of
without being felt.”

These observations apply more especially to Hebrew Poetry, that
loftiest and noblest manifestation of true poetic inspiration; and are
quoted by Dr. Caunter in his able and judicious treatise on “The Poetry
of the Pentateuch,” in reference to which the learned writer observes
that “Sacred themes have inspired the greatest poets of almost every
age, and of every civilized country where the true God has been adored,
the doctrine of redemption promulgated, and the divine attributes
avowed. Those sublime themes have called forth the highest intellectual
endowments of man.” Herder, another profound critic, and lover of
Poetry in its most sublime forms, says of it, that “without God it is a
showy Papyrus without moisture; every system of morals without Him is a
mere parasitical plant. It makes a flowery display in fine words, and
sends forth its branches hither and thither; nay, it insinuates itself
into every weak spot and crevice of the human soul; but the sun rises
and it vanishes.”

All true Poets have felt and known this, although they have not always
acknowledged it; sometimes it was but a dim confused perception of the
truth which they obtained; being dazzled by the blaze of their own
genius, they have mistaken that for a divine effluence, and worshipped
it in the place of that greater glory, of which it was but a faint
reflex and emanation. Sometimes it was pride of intellect which forbade
them to bow down to any other God than that which bore the impress of
self: sometimes it was a kind of pantheistic worship of nature, as an
abstract divinity; so enamoured were they of the fair face of creation,
that they forgot the Creator; the works, how beautiful! how perfect!
But the workman, what of Him? We have spoken in the past tense, and it
might be thought that our remarks were meant to apply to poets of pagan
lands, and of benighted ages of the world’s history; but alas! they are
equally applicable to all ages, and to all lands; and especially to our
own country and age of Christian enlightenment. Many of the most gifted
singers of the present day, of the most fervent and devoted spirits,
might have served as high-priests in the temple of Apollo, and offered
adoration at the shrine of Flora, Ceres, and the Bona Dea, and other
pagan impersonifications of the sun, and the earth, with its beauties
and riches. To such as these the flowers, those stars of earth, are
not the living, glowing, breathing “charactery” in which the Almighty
writes instructive lessons of His wisdom and goodness, telling the
sick, the weary, and the sad at heart, that

    “Whoso careth for the flowers
      Will care much more for them.”

To such the stars, those flowers of heaven, are not bright revelations
of the Deity who sustains and directs them in their courses.

    “For ever singing as they shine,
    The hand that made us is divine.”

To such the whispering gales, the rustling boughs, the humming insects,
the singing rills, and the warbling birds, speak not of an ever
watchful, ever wakeful Power, to which in every emergency the prayerful
soul may turn. Calm and soothing as is doubtless the influence of
nature, upon the troubled souls of all who submit themselves to her
gentle teachings, yet with how much greater satisfaction and delight
must those contemplate her beauties and share her calm enjoyments,
who see in her various changes and aspects but so many revelations of
Almighty love, and read in her fair lineaments the wondrous story of
redeeming grace.

    “Alas! that mankind sees Him not,--the Great
    And Everlasting Framer of all worlds;
    Who paints himself upon the leaves of flowers,
    And flings his portrait on the breasted clouds,
    And sheds his syllogisms in the shape
    Of suns, and moons, and planetary systems,”

as J. Stanyan Bigg, the latest, but not the least, of the true poets of
the present cycle, has finely said. We must give another extract from
his “Night and the Soul,” published too late for quotation in the body
of our volume:--

    “Nature is still, as ever, the thin veil
    Which half conceals, and half reveals the face
    And lineaments supernal of our King,--
    The modifying medium through which
    His glories are exhibited to man,--
    The grand repository where he hides
    His mighty thoughts to be dug out like diamonds;--
    Still is the day irradiate with His glory,
    Flowing in steady, sun-streaked, ocean gush
    From His transcendant nature,--still at night
    O’er our horizon trail the sable robes
    Of the Eternal One, with all their rich
    Embroidery and emblazonment of stars.”

This is high and holy teaching. Well were it if every mere
nature-worshipper could be brought to the same conviction as the poet
of “Night and the Soul,” and confess that--

    “Religion is the true Philosophy!
    Faith is the last great link ’twixt God and man.
    There is more wisdom in a whispered prayer
    Than in the ancient lore of all the schools:
    The soul upon its knees holds God by the hand.
    Worship is wisdom as it is in heaven!
    ‘I do believe! Help Thou mine unbelief!’
    Is the last greatest utterance of the soul.”

“I do believe!” how few are there among the gifted children of song,
who can stoop from the lofty heights of intellectual glory, to utter
this confession of the insufficiency of human reason, the littleness of
human power.--

    “Stoop, stoop, proud man! the gate of heaven is low,
    And all who enter in thereat must bend!
    Reason has fields to play in, wide as air,
    But they have bounds; and if she soar beyond,
    Lo! there are lightnings and the curse of God.
    And the old thundered ‘Never!’ from the jaws
    Of the black darkness and the mocking waste.
    Come not to God with questions on thy lips,
    He will have love--love and a holy trust.
    And the self-abnegation of a child.
    ’Tis a far higher wisdom to believe,
    Than to cry ‘Question’ at the porch of truth.
    Think not the Infinite will calmly brook
    The plummet of the finite in its depths.”

God and His attributes are undoubtedly the poet’s noblest themes, and
to celebrate the greatness and glory of His works, the wonders of His
power, and the riches of His grace, have the highest efforts of human
genius in all ages been directed. From the time when Moses sung his
song of triumph as the waters closed over Pharaoh and his host, when
the Prophets uttered their rapt predictions, and the inspired Psalmist
sent forth those strains of supplication and thanksgiving which are
still sounding daily in our ears, and stirring our hearts to devotion,
down to the period when Milton wrote his great epic,

    “Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
    Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
    Brought death into the world,”

has the lyre been consecrated to the service of religion--has
religious poetry been the most beautiful and touching, as well
as the most lofty and sublime of all poetry. As Dr. Caunter well
observes, “The noblest epics which have elicited the poetic genius of
different countries, have been based upon subjects either immediately
connected with, or remotely allied to, religion. The authors of the
Mahabarat and the Ramayana, two Hindoo epics of high celebrity and
extraordinary magnitude, extending each to several hundred thousand
lines, of the Iliad and the Odyssey, of the Inferno, of the Jerusalem
Delivered, of the Paradise Lost and Regained, have, either directly or
consequentially, all made the Deity and His illimitable perfections the
subjects of their immortal song.”

And so it is; every true poet is essentially a religious poet; his
religion may not be Christianity, his views of the divine nature and
attributes may be distorted, and he may be altogether ignorant of
the great truths of scripture revelation, yet there will ever be in
minds of the greatest reach and capacity, a striving after that which
is good and holy, and a knowledge, approximating to the truth, of the
relationship between the Creator and the created; for

    “Spontaneously to God will tend the soul,
    Like the magnetic needle to the pole.”

Would that all whose “tranced hands have woke the lyre,” and chanted
such strains as the world would not willingly let die, had had such
clear views of the nature of the obligation which lay on them to
dedicate their powers to the service of true religion, as our own
Milton, who commenced his immortal epic thus:--

    “And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
    Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
    Instruct me, for Thou know’st: Thou from the first
    Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread
    Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast abyss,
    And mad’st it pregnant. What in me is dark
    Illumine; what is low, raise and support;
    That to the height of this great argument
    I may assert eternal Providence,
    And justify the ways of God to men.”

Would that all could bear some such testimony to the truth as it is in
Jesus, and exclaim with him--

                    “O, unexampled Love!
    Love no where to be found less than Divine!
    Hail, Son of God, Saviour of men, Thy Name
    Shall be the copious matter of my song
    Henceforth, and never shall my harp Thy praise
    Forget, nor from Thy Father’s praise disjoin.”

A similar spirit of fervent piety animated the breast of the Italian
poet Lorenzo de Medici, who made this solemn request at the footstool
of the Almighty, previous to entering on the composition of a poem:--

        “In ardent adoration joined,
          Obedient to Thy holy will,
        Let all my faculties combined
          Thy just desires, O God, fulfil!
        From thee derived, eternal King,
        To thee our noblest powers we bring:
    O, may thy hand direct our wandering way!
    O, bid thy light arise, and chase the clouds away!”

Listen also to the author of the “Night Thoughts,” and hear his
acknowledgment of the true sources of poetic inspiration:--

    “O Thou bless’d Spirit: whether the Supreme,
    Great ante-mundane Father; in whose breast,
    Embryo creation, unborn being, dwelt,
    And all its various revolutions rolled,
    Present, though future; prior to themselves;
    Whose breath can blow it into nought again;
    Or, from His throne some delegated power;
    Who, studious of our peace, dost turn the thought
    From vain and vile, to solid and sublime!
    Unseen Thou lead’st me to delicious draughts
    Of Inspiration, from a purer stream,
    And fuller of the God, than that which burst
    From famed Castalia.”

Alas! how often has been, and is, this noble gift of poesy abused and
prostituted to base purposes; of how few could it be said that he had
written no line which dying he might wish to blot. Dryden, we may
remember, exclaims

    “O gracious God! How far have we
    Profaned Thy heavenly gift of poesy!
    Made prostitute and profligate the muse,
    Debased to each obscene and impious use,
    Whose harmony was first ordained above
    For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love!”

Yet even he cannot altogether escape the reproach conveyed in these
lines to such as have, at times, shown themselves unworthy of the
sacred gift, and of this he appears to be conscious when he says “how
far have _we_,” etc. Cowper might with great propriety act the censor
on such a dereliction of duty, and say--

    “Debased to servile purposes of pride,
    How are the powers of genius misapplied!
    The gift, whose office is the Giver’s praise,
    To trace Him in His word, His work, His ways,
    Then spread the rich discovery, and invite
    Mankind to share in the divine delight;
    Distorted from its use and just design,
    To make the pitiful possessor shine,
    To purchase at the fool-frequented fair
    Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear,
    Is profanation of the basest kind--
    Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.”

So also might one of the sacred poets of our own day, many of whose
strains of simple, earnest, and pure devotion, will be found in our
volume. He has just passed from hence to sing in a heavenly choir; and
fain would we embody in this preface a slight tribute of our admiration
for his genius, and our gratitude for the service he has rendered to
the Christian Religion.


    SWEET minstrel, who through life hast turned thy face
      Unto the city of the heavenly king;
    Of infinite mercy, and of boundless grace,
      And God’s high attributes hast loved to sing;
      E’en like a pilgrim onward journeying,
    To whom this world was no abiding place;
      But through whose mists of sin and sorrowing
    Thou hadst a light the devious way to trace.
    The river thou hast crossed, the shining gate
      Hath oped to bid thee welcome to thy rest;
    Thy voice, which sounded in our ears but late,
      Now swells the chorus of the truly blest:
    Thou hast departed, but hast left thy lays,
    A rich bequest of holy prayer and praise.



                      SACRED POETICAL QUOTATIONS.


I will sanctify the tabernacle of the congregation and the altar: I
will sanctify also both _Aaron_ and his sons, to minister to me in the
priest’s office.--Exodus, xxix. 44.

And Moses stripped _Aaron_ of his garments, and put them upon Eleazar
his son; and _Aaron_ died there in the top of the mount; and Moses and
Eleazar came down from the mount.--Numbers, xx. 28.

_Aaron_ the saint of the Lord.--Psalm cvi. 16.

Called of God, as was _Aaron_.--Hebrews, v. 4.

                  So, with trembling hand,
    He hasted to unclasp the priestly robe,
    And cast it o’er his son, and on his head
    The mitre place; while, with a feeble voice,
    He blessed, and bade him keep his garments pure
    From blood of souls. But then, as Moses raised
    The mystic breastplate, and that dying eye
    Caught the last radiance of those precious stones,
    By whose oracular and fearful light
    Jehovah had so oft His will revealed
    Unto the chosen tribes, whom _Aaron_ loved
    In all their wanderings--but whose promised land
    He might not look upon--he sadly laid
    His head upon the mountain’s turfy breast,
    And with one prayer, half-wrapped in stifled groans,
    Gave up the ghost.
                                        _Mrs. Sigourney._


And _Abel_ brought of the firstlings of his flock, and of the
fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto _Abel_ and his
offering.--Genesis, iv. 4.

They were wont to speak in old time, saying, They shall surely ask
counsel at _Abel_.--II. Samuel, xx. 18.

By faith _Abel_ offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain,
by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of
his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh.--Hebrews, xi. 4.

    Blood has a voice to pierce the skies;
    Revenge! the blood of _Abel_ cries;
    But the dear stream when Christ was slain,
    Speaks peace aloud from every vein.

    Adjacent rose a myrtle-planted mound,
    Whose spiry top a granite fragment crowned.
    Tinctured with many-coloured moss the stone,
    Rich as a cloud of summer-evening shone,
    Amid encircling verdure that arrayed
    The beauteous hillock with a cope of shade.
    “Javan,” said Enoch, “on this spot began
    The fatal curse;--man perished here by man.
    The earliest death a son of Adam died
    Was murder, and that murder fratricide!
    Here _Abel_ fell a corse along the shore;
    Here Cain’s recoiling footsteps reeked with gore.
    Horror upraised his locks, unloosed his knees;
    He heard a voice, he hid among the trees:
    --‘Where is thy brother?’--from the whirlwind came
    The voice of God amidst enfolding flame:
    --‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’--hoarse and low,
    Cain muttered from the copse--‘that I should know?’

           *       *       *       *       *

    That mound of myrtles o’er her favourite child
    Eve planted, and the hand of Adam piled
    Yon mossy stone, above his ashes raised,
    His altar once, with _Abel’s_ offering blazed,
    When God well pleased beheld the flames arise,
    And smiled acceptance on the sacrifice.”
                                   _J. Montgomery._


And now am I their song, yea, I am their by-word. They _abhor_ me, they
flee far from me.--Job, xxx. 9, 10.

I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth
thee. Wherefore I _abhor_ myself, and repent in dust and ashes.--Job,
xlii. 5, 6.

Let love be without dissimulation. _Abhor_ that which is evil; cleave
to that which is good.--Romans, xii. 9.

    Father of lights! from whom proceeds
    Whate’er thy every creature needs;
    Whose goodness providently nigh,
    Feeds the young ravens when they cry;
    To thee I look, my heart prepare;
    Suggest, and hearken to my prayer.

    Fain would I know, as known by thee,
    And feel the indigence I see:
    Fain would I all my vileness own,
    And deep beneath the burden groan;
    _Abhor_ the pride that lurks within,
    Detest and loathe myself and sin.

    ’Tis a point I long to know,
      Oft it causes anxious thought,
    Do I love the Lord, or no?
      Am I his, or am I not?
    Could I joy his saints to meet,
      Choose the ways I once _abhorred_,
    Find at times the promise sweet,
      If I did not love the Lord?

    Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
      Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
    Given to redeem the human mind from error,
      There were no need of arsenals nor forts.
    The warrior’s name would be a name _abhorred_;
      And every nation that should lift again
    Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
      Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain.


For we are strangers before thee, and sojourners, as were all our
fathers: our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none
_abiding_.--I. Chronicles, xxix. 15.

The fear of the Lord tendeth to life, and he that hath it shall _abide_
satisfied.--Proverbs, xix. 23.

They that trust in the Lord shall be as Mount Zion, which cannot be
removed, but _abideth_ for ever.--Psalm cxxv. 1.

If ye _abide_ in me, and my words _abide_ in you, ye shall ask what ye
will, and it shall be done unto you.--John, xv. 7.

    Eternal power! whose high _abode_
    Becomes the grandeur of a God--
    Infinite lengths beyond the bounds,
    Where stars revolve their little rounds.

    The lowest step beneath thy seat
    Rises too high for Gabriel’s feet:
    In vain the tall archangel tries
    To reach thine height with wondering eyes.

    “We’ve no _abiding_ city here:”--
      This may distress the worldly mind;
    But should not cost the saint a tear,
      Who hopes a better rest to find.

    “We’ve no _abiding_ city here;”
      We seek a city out of sight;
    Zion its name,--the Lord is there,
      It shines with everlasting light.

    O! sweet _abode_ of peace and love,
      Where pilgrims freed from toil are blest;
    Had I the pinions of a dove,
      I’d fly to thee and be at rest.

    Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
    It is not night if Thou be near:
    Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise
    To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes.

    _Abide_ with me from morn till eve,
    For without Thee I cannot live.
    _Abide_ with me when night is nigh,
    For without Thee I dare not die.


The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and
_abundant_ in goodness and truth.--Exodus, xxxiv. 6.

A faithful man shall _abound_ with blessings; but he that maketh haste
to be rich, shall not be innocent.--Proverbs, xxviii. 20.

Therefore as ye _abound_ in every thing, in faith and utterance, and
knowledge, and in all diligence, and in your love to us, see that ye
_abound_ in this grace also.--II. Corinthians, viii. 7.

We beseech you brethren and exhort you by the Lord Jesus, that as ye
have received of us how ye ought to walk and to please God, so ye would
_abound_ more and more.--I. Thessalonians, iv. 1.

Unto Him that is able to do exceeding _abundantly_ above all that we
ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.--Ephesians,
iii. 20.

Out of the _abundance_ of the heart the mouth speaketh.--Matthew, xii.

                          God on thee
    _Abundantly_ his gifts hath also poured,
    Inward and outward both.

                      Good the more
    Communicated, more _abundant_ grows;
    The author not impaired but honoured more.

    The God of Nature and of Grace
      In all his works appears;
    His goodness through the earth we trace,
      His grandeur in the spheres.

    Behold this fair and fertile globe,
      By Him in wisdom planned;
    ’Twas He who girded, like a robe,
      The ocean round the land.

    His blessings fall in plenteous showers
      Upon the lap of earth,
    That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers,
      And rings with infant mirth.

    If God hath made this world so fair,
      Where sin and death _abound_;
    How beautiful beyond compare
      Will Paradise be found!
                                 _J. Montgomery._


The Lord shall make thee the head, and not the tail; and thou shalt be
_above_ only, and thou shalt not be beneath; if that thou hearken unto
the commandments of the Lord thy God, which I command thee this day, to
observe and to do them.--Deuteronomy, xxviii. 13.

The Lord is high _above_ all nations, and his glory _above_ the
heavens.--Psalm cxiii. 4.

He that cometh from _above_ is _above_ all: he that is of the earth
is earthly, and speaketh of the earth: he that cometh from heaven is
_above_ all.--John, iii. 31.

    Be this my one great business here,
    With serious industry and fear,
      Eternal bliss to ensure:
    Thine utmost counsel to fulfil,
    And suffer all thy righteous will,
      And to the end endure.

    Then Saviour, then, my soul receive,
    Transported from this vale to live
      And reign with thee _above_;
    Where faith is sweetly lost in sight,
    And hope in full supreme delight,
      And everlasting love.

    Descend from heaven immortal Dove,
      Stoop down and take us on thy wings,
    And mount and bear us far _above_
      The reach of these inferior things.

    Beyond, beyond this lower sky,
      Up where eternal ages roll;
    Where solid pleasures never die,
      And fruits immortal feast the soul.

    Rise my soul and stretch thy wings,
      Thy better portion trace;
    Rise from transitory things,
      Towards heaven, thy native place.

    Sun, and moon, and stars decay;
      Time shall soon this earth remove;
    Rise, my soul, and haste away
      To seats prepared _above_.


By faith _Abraham_, when he was called to go out into a place which he
should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed; and he went out, not
knowing whither he went.

By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country,
dwelling in tabernacles with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with him of the
same promise:

For he looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and
maker is God.--Hebrews, xi. 8, 9, 10.

_Abraham_ believed God, and it was counted unto him for
righteousness.--Romans, iv. 3.

                Him God the Most High, vouchsafed
    To call by vision, from his father’s house,
    His kindred, and false gods, into a land
    Which he did show him, and from him did raise
    A mighty nation; and upon him shower
    His benedictions so, that in his seed
    All nations shall be blest; he straight obeyed,
    Not knowing to what land, yet firm believed:
    He left his gods, his friends, and native soil,
    Ur of Chaldea, passing now the ford
    To Haran; after him a cumbrous train
    Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude,
    Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth
    To God, who called him, in a land unknown.

    Like _Abraham_ ascending up the hill
      To sacrifice, his servants left below,
    That he might act the great Commander’s will
      Without impeach to his obedient blow:
    Even so the soul, remote from earthly things,
    Should mount salvation’s shelter,--mercy’s wings.
                                   _Robert Southwell._

              Though round him numerous tribes,
    Sworn foes to Heaven’s dread Ruler, pitch their tents,
    No wayward doubts or coward fears appal
    The Patriarch’s soul. By the bright hope sustained,
    That in his seed all nations should be blest,
    Calm and unmoved the delegated seer
    Submissive bends to the Eternal Will.
                                            _Samuel Hayes._


I Paul myself beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ,
who in presence am base among you, but being _absent_ am bold toward
you.--II. Corinthians, x. 1.

I write these things, being _absent_, lest being present I should use
sharpness, according to the power which the Lord hath given me.--II.
Corinthians, xiii. 10.

    To Jesus, the crown of my hope,
      My soul is in haste to be gone;
    Oh, bear me, ye cherubim, up,
      And waft me away to His throne!

    My Saviour, whom _absent_, I love,
      Whom not having seen, I adore;
    Whose name is exalted above
      All glory, dominion, and pow’r.

    Thus far my God hath led me on,
    And made His truth and mercy known;
    My hopes and fears alternate rise,
    And comforts mingle with my sighs.

    Through this wild wilderness I roam,
    Far distant from my blissful home;
    Lord, let Thy presence be my stay,
    And guard me in this dangerous way.

    Temptations everywhere annoy,
    And sins and snares my peace destroy;
    My earthly joys are from me torn,
    And oft an _absent_ God I mourn.

    Had I the tongues of Greeks and Jews,
    And nobler speech than angels use,
    If love be _absent_, I am found,
    Like tinkling brass, an empty sound.

    If love to God and love to men
    Be _absent_, all my hopes are vain;
    Nor tongues, nor gifts, nor fiery zeal,
    The work of love can e’er fulfil.


Thus saith the Lord unto this people, thus have they loved to wander,
they have not refrained their feet; therefore the Lord doth not
_accept_ them; he will now remember their iniquity, and visit their
sins.--Jeremiah, xiv. 10.

Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be
_acceptable_ in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer.--Psalm
xix. 14.

Proving what is _acceptable_ unto the Lord.--Ephesians, v. 10.

God is no respecter of persons; but in every nation, he that feareth
him, and worketh righteousness, is _accepted_ with him.--Acts, x. 34,

    This woman, whom thou mad’st to be my help,
    And gav’st me as thy perfect gift, so good,
    So fit, so _acceptable_, so divine.

    Thus I imboldened spake, and freedom and
    Permission, and _acceptance_ found.

    God is a spirit just and wise;
      He sees our inmost mind;
    In vain to heaven we raise our cries,
      And leave our souls behind.

    Nothing but truth before his throne
      With honour can appear;
    The painted hypocrites are known
      Through the disguise they wear.

    Lord search my thoughts, and try my ways,
      And make my soul sincere;
    Then shall I stand before thy face,
      And find _acceptance_ there.

    _Accept_ my prayer O Lord,
      A contrite spirit cries,
    And asks, depending on Thy word,
      A pardon from the skies.

    Let me _acceptance_ find,
      Unworthy though I be;
    Be there a place in heaven assigned
      To me, Lord, even me!


Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace: thereby good shall
come unto thee.--Job, xxii. 21.

    _Acquaint_ thee, O mortal! _acquaint_ thee with God;
    And joy, like the sunshine, shall beam on thy road;
    And peace, like the dewdrop, shall fall on thy head;
    And sleep, like an angel, shall visit thy bed.

    _Acquaint_ thee, O mortal! _acquaint_ thee with God;
    And he shall be with thee when fears are abroad,
    Thy safeguard in danger that threatens thy path,--
    Thy joy in the valley and shadow of death.

    _Acquaint_ thyself with God, if thou would’st taste
    His works. Admitted once to his embrace,
    Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before:
    Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart
    Made pure, shall relish with divine delight
    Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
    Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone,
    And eyes intent upon the scanty herb
    It yields them: or recumbent on its brow
    Ruminate, heedless of the scene outspread
    Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away
    From inland regions to the distant main.
    Man views it and admires; but rests content
    With what he views. The landscape has his praise,
    But not its Author. Unconcerned who framed
    The Paradise he sees, he finds it such,
    And such well pleased to find it, asks no more.
    Not so the mind that has been touched from heaven,
    And in the schools of sacred wisdom taught
    To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
    Fair as it is, existed ere it was.
    Not for its own sake merely, but for his
    Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise;
    Praise that from earth resulting as it ought,
    To earth’s acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once
    Its only just proprietor in Him.

                             ADAM AND EVE.

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he
him; male and female created he them.--Genesis, i. 27.

By one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death
passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.--Romans, v. 12.

For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the

For as in _Adam_ all die, even so in Christ shall all be made
alive.--I. Corinthians, xv. 21, 22.

The first man _Adam_ was made a living soul; the last _Adam_ was made a
quickening spirit.--I. Corinthians, xv. 45.

    Thou man thy image mad’st, in dignity,
    In knowledge and in beauty like to thee;
    Placed in a heaven on earth: without his toil,
    The ever flourishing and fruitful soil
    Unpurchased food produced: all creatures were
    His subjects, serving more for love than fear.

    For contemplation he, and valour formed;
    For softness she, and sweet attractive grace;
    He for God only, she for God in him:
    His fair large front and eye sublime, declared
    Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks
    Round from his parted forelock manly hung
    Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad:
    She as a veil down to the slender waist,
    Her unadorned golden tresses wore
    Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved
    As the vine curls her tendrils: which implied
    Subjection, but required with gentle sway,
    And by her yielded, by him best received.

    So spake our mother _Eve_; and _Adam_ heard
    Well pleased, but answered not; for now, too nigh
    The archangel stood; and from the other hill
    To their fixed station, all in bright array,
    The cherubim descended; on the ground
    Gliding mysterious, as evening mist
    Risen from a river, o’er the marish glides,
    And gathers round, fast at the labourer’s heel
    Homeward returning. High in front advanced,
    The brandished sword of God before them blazed,
    Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat
    And vap’rous as the Libyan air adust,
    Began to parch that temperate clime; whereat
    On either hand the hast’ning angels caught
    Our lingering parents; and to th’ eastern gate
    Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast
    To the subjected plain; then disappeared.
    They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
    Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
    Waved over by that flaming brand; the gate
    With dreadful faces thronged, and fiery arms.
    Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
    The world was all before them where to choose
    Their place of rest, and Providence their guide;
    They hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
    Through Eden took their solitary way.

    Oft hast thou heard our elder patriarchs tell
    How _Adam_ once by disobedience fell;
    Would that my tongue were gifted to display
    The terror and the glory of that day,
    When seized and stricken by the hand of death,
    The first transgressor yielded up his breath!

           *       *       *       *       *

    With him his noblest sons might not compare
    In God-like features and majestic air;
    Not out of weakness rose his gradual frame,
    Perfect from his Creator’s hand he came;
    And as in form excelling, so in mind
    The sire of men transcended all mankind;
    A soul was in his eye, and in his speech
    A dialect of heaven no art could reach;
    For oft of old to him the evening breeze
    Had borne the voice of God among the trees;
    Angels were wont their songs with his to blend,
    And talk with him as their familiar friend.
    But deep remorse for that mysterious crime,
    Whose dire contagion through elapsing time
    Diffused the curse of death beyond control,
    Had wrought such self-abasement in his soul,
    That he whose honour was approached by none,
    Was yet the meekest man beneath the sun.
                                    _J. Montgomery._


The Lord hath said concerning you, O ye remnant of Judah; Go ye
not into Egypt: know certainly that I have _admonished_ you this
day.--Jeremiah, xlii. 19.

And I myself also am persuaded of you, my brethren, that ye also are
full of goodness, filled with all knowledge, able also to _admonish_
one another.--Romans, xv. 14.

Now all these things happened unto them for ensamples: and they are
written for our _admonition_, upon whom the ends of the world are
come.--I. Corinthians, x. 11.

    Thou Power Supreme! who aiming to rebuke
    Offenders, dost put off the gracious look,
    And clothe thyself in terrors, like the flood
    Of ocean roused into his fiercest mood,
    Whatever discipline Thy will ordain
    For the brief course that must for me remain;
    Teach me with quick-eared spirit to rejoice
    In _admonitions_ of thy softest voice!
    Whate’er the path these mortal feet may trace,
    Breathe through my soul the blessing of Thy grace;
    Glad, through a perfect love, a faith sincere,
    Drawn from the wisdom that begins with fear;
    Glad to expand, and, for a season, free
    From finite cares, to rest absorbed in Thee.

    In every copse and sheltered dell,
      Unveiled to the observant eye,
    Are faithful _monitors_, who tell
      How pass the hours and seasons by.

    The green-robed children of the spring,
      Will mark the periods as they pass;
    Mingle with leaves time’s feathered wing,
      And bind with flowers his silent glass.

    Thus in each flower and simple bell,
      That in our path betrodden lie;
    Are sweet remembrancers, who tell
      How fast the winged moments fly.
                            _Charlotte Smith._


Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to
come.--Revelations, iv. 8.

Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto Him that sitteth
upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever.--Revelations, v.

        In ardent _adoration_ joined,
          Obedient to Thy holy will,
        Let all my faculties combined
          Thy just desires, O God, fulfil!
        From thee derived, Eternal King,
        To thee our noblest powers we bring:
    O, may thy hand direct our wandering way!
    O, bid thy light arise, and chase the clouds away!
                                   _Lorenzo de Medici._

    Ye who spurn His righteous sway,
      Yet, oh yet, He spares your breath;
    Yet His hand, averse to slay,
      Balances the bolt of death.
    Ere that dreadful bolt descends,
      Haste before His feet to fall;
    Kiss the sceptre He extends,
      And _adore_ Him “Lord of all.”
                           _Sir R. Grant._

    Eternal Power, whose high abode
    Becomes the grandeur of a God,
    Infinite lengths beyond the bounds
    Where stars revolve their little rounds.

    Thee, while the first archangel sings,
    He hides his face behind his wings,
    And ranks of shining thrones around,
    Fall worshipping and spread the ground.

    Lord, what shall earth and ashes do?
    We would _adore_ our Maker too;
    From sin and dust to Thee we cry,
    The Great, the Holy, and the High.


Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway
for our God.

Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be
made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places

And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it
together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.--Isaiah, xl. 3, 4,

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord hath anointed
me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the
broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of
the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of
the Lord.--Isaiah, lxi. 1, 2.

Let the floods clap their hands, let the hills be joyful together
before the Lord; for He cometh to judge the earth: with righteousness
shall He judge the world, and the people with equity.--Psalm xcviii. 8,

    Well then, my soul, joy in the midst of pain;
    Thy Christ, that conquered hell, shall from above
    With greater triumph yet return again,
    And conquer His own justice with His love--
    Commanding earth and seas to render those
    Unto His bliss, for whom he paid His woes.
                                       _Henry Wotton._

    When Thou, attended gloriously from Heaven,
    Shall in the sky appear, and from Thee send
    The summoning archangels to proclaim
    The dread tribunal, forthwith from all winds
    The living, and forthwith the cited dead
    Of all past ages, to the general doom
    Shall hasten.

    Come then, and added to thy many crowns,
    Deceive yet one, the crown of all the Earth,
    Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine
    By ancient covenant, ere Nature’s birth;
    And thou hast made it thine by purchase since,
    And overpaid its value with thy blood.
    Thy saints proclaim thee king; and in their hearts
    Thy title is engraven with a pen
    Dipped in the fountain of eternal love.
    Thy saints proclaim thee king; and thy delay
    Gives courage to their foes, who could they see
    The dawn of thy last _advent_ long desired,
    Would creep into the bowels of the hills
    And flee for safety to the falling rocks.

    Messiah comes!--Let furious discord cease;
    Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace!
    Disease and anguish feel His blest control,
    And howling fiends release the tortured soul!
    The beams of gladness Hell’s dark caves illume,
    And mercy broods above the distant gloom.
                                     _Bishop Heber._

    The Lord shall come! the earth shall quake;
    The mountains to their centre shake;
    And withering from the vault of night,
    The stars shall pale their feeble light.

    The Lord shall come! but not the same
    As once in lowliness he came;
    A silent Lamb before His foes,
    A weary man and full of woes.

    The Lord shall come! a dreadful form,
    With rainbow wreath, and robes of storm;
    On cherub wings and wings of wind,
    Appointed Judge of all mankind!
                                 _Bishop Heber._

    The chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll on fire,
    As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire;
    Self-moving it drives on its pathway of cloud,
    And the heavens with the burthen of Godhead are bowed!

    The glory! the glory! by myriads are pour’d
    The host of the angels to wait on their Lord,
    And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there,
    And all who the palm-wreath of victory wear.
                                            _H. H. Milman._

    Messiah comes! ye rugged paths be plain!
    The Shiloh comes! ye towering cedars bend;
    Swell forth, ye valleys; and, ye rocks, descend;
    The withered branch let balmy fruits adorn,
    And clustering roses twine the leafless thorn;
    Burst forth, ye vocal groves, your joy to tell--
    The God of Peace redeems His Israel.
                                     _C. H. Johnson._


He hath said in his heart, I shall not be moved, for I shall never be
in _adversity_.--Psalm x. 6.

In the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of _adversity_
consider: God also hath set the one over against the other, to the end
that man should find nothing after him.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 14.

Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them; and them which
suffer _adversity_, as being yourselves also in the body.--Hebrews,
xiii. 3.

    Stern teacher! should’st thou come, and sit by me,
      And fix upon me thy dread, stony eyes,
    Calmly may I behold and welcome thee,
      As one that hath a message from the skies,
      Fraught with intelligence to make me wise:
    God grant me strength to view thee steadfastly,
      And listen to thy voice, though agonies
    Should rack my soul or frame. _Adversity!_
    Full oft hast thou a friend to mortals been,
      A blessing in disguise, though stern thy look;
    Hard is thy hand, but still thy palms between
      Thou hold’st outspread the pages of God’s Book;
    Wherein who reads with humble, prayerful mind,
    Will hope, and ease, and consolation find.

    When first thy sire to send on earth
      Virtue, his darling child, designed,
    To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
      And bade thee form her infant mind.
    Stern rugged nurse, thy rigid lore
    With patience many a year she bore;
    What sorrow was thou bad’st her know,
    And, from her own, she learned to melt at other’s woe.

    _Adversity_ misunderstood,
      Becomes a double curse:
    Her chastening hand improves the good,
      But makes the wicked worse.
    Thus clay more obdurate becomes,
      To the fierce flame consign’d;
    While gold in the red ordeal melts,
      But melts to be refin’d.
                            _C. C. Colton._


Set your _affection_ upon my words; desire them, and ye shall be
instructed.--Wisdom, vi. 2.

Set your _affection_ on things above, not on things on the
earth.--Colossians, iii. 2.

Be kindly _affectioned_ one to another.--Romans, xii. 10.

    Heavenly Father! God of love,
    Look with mercy from above;
    Let thy streams of comfort roll,
    Let them fill and cheer my soul.

    Love celestial, ardent fire;
    O extreme of sweet desire!
    Spread thy bright, thy gentle flame,
    Swift o’er all my mental frame.

    Sweet _affections_ flow from hence,
    Sweet above the joys of sense;
    Let me thus for ever be,
    Full of gladness, full of thee.

    Precious are the kind _affections_
      Which around this life entwine,
    Making earth, with all its troubles,
      Something more than half divine.
    But, alas! they fade and perish,
      Like the bright and fragrant flowers,
    Sorrow blights, and death destroys them,
      And their beauty time devours.

    ’Tis not so with those _affections_,
      That are set on heavenly things;
    They will bloom and flourish ever,
      Watered by eternal springs;
    Warmed by everlasting sunshine,
      Sheltered from the storms of earth,
    Ever growing and increasing,
      Knowing nought of drought or dearth.


Before I was _afflicted_ I went astray; but now have I kept thy
word.--Psalm cxix. 67.

It is good for me that I have been _afflicted_, that I might learn thy
statutes.--Psalm cxix. 71.

I know that the Lord will maintain the cause of the _afflicted_, and
the right of the poor.--Psalm cxl. 12.

He was oppressed, and He was _afflicted_, yet He opened not His mouth:
He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her
shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth.--Isaiah, liii. 7.

In all their _affliction_ He was _afflicted_, and the angel of His
presence saved them: in His love and in His pity He redeemed them; and
He bare them and carried them all the days of old.--Isaiah, lxiii. 9.

Come, and let us return unto the Lord: for He hath torn, and He will
heal us; He hath smitten, and He will bind us up.--Hosea, vi. 1.

For our light _affliction_, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.--II. Corinthians, iv.

    _Affliction_ has a taste as sweet
    As any cordial comfort.

    Perfumes, the more they’re chafed, the more they render
    Their pleasant scents, and so _affliction_
    Expresseth virtue fully.
                                             _John Webster._

              _Afflictions_ clarify the soul,
    And, like hard masters, give more hard directions,
    Tutoring the non-age of uncurbed affections.
                                     _Francis Quarles._

    To bear _affliction_ with a bended brow,
    Or stubborn heart, is but to disallow
    The speedy means to health.
                           _Francis Quarles._

    A life all ease is all abused;--
      O, precious grace that made the wise
    To know--_affliction_, rightly used,
      Is mercy in disguise.
                           _G. B. Cheever._

    Heaven but tries our virtues by _affliction_,
    And oft the cloud which wraps the present hour
    Serves but to brighten all our future days.
                                       _Dr. Brown._

    I cannot call _affliction_ sweet,
      And yet ’twas good to bear;
    _Affliction_ brought me to Thy feet,
      And I found comfort there.

    My wearied soul was all resigned
      To Thy most gracious will;
    Oh! had I kept that better mind,
      Or been _afflicted_ still!

    Where are the vows which then I vowed,
      The joys which then I knew?
    Those vanished like the morning cloud,
      These like the early dew.

    Lord, grant me grace for every day,
      Whate’er my state may be;
    Through life, in death, with truth to say,
      “My God is all to me!”
                               _J. Montgomery._

    Come then, _Affliction_, if my Father bids,
    And be my frowning friend: a friend that frowns,
    Is better than a smiling enemy.
    We welcome clouds that bring the former rain,
    Though they the present prospect blacken round,
    And shade the beauties of the opening year,
    That, by their stores enriched, the earth may yield
    A fruitful summer and a plenteous crop.

    Mid pleasure, plenty, and success,
      Freely we take from Him who lends;
    We boast the blessings we possess,
      Yet scarcely thank the one who sends.

    But let _affliction_ pour its smart,
      How soon we quail beneath the rod!
    With shattered pride, and prostrate heart,
      We seek the long-forgotten God.
                                  _Eliza Cook._


Great men are not always wise, neither do the _aged_ understand
judgment.--Job, xxxii. 9.

And even to your old _age_ I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry
you.--Isaiah, xlvi. 4.

Cast me not off in the time of old _age_; forsake me not when my
strength faileth.--Psalm lxxi. 9.

Now also, when I am old and grey-headed, O God, forsake me not; until I
have showed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to every
one that is to come.--Psalm lxxi. 18.

They shall still bring forth fruit in old _age_; they shall be fat and
flourishing.--Psalm xcii. 14.

That the _aged_ men be sober, grave, temperate, sound in faith, in
charity, in patience. The _aged_ women likewise, that they be in
behaviour as becometh holiness.--Titus, ii. 2, 3.

    Ye gods! how easily the good man bears
    His cumbrous honours of increasing years.
    _Age_, oh my father, is not, as they say,
    A load of evils heaped on mortal clay,
    Unless impatient folly aids the curse,
    And weak lamenting makes our sorrows worse.
    He, whose soft soul, whose temper ever even,
    Whose habits placid as a cloudless heaven,
    Approve the partial blessings of the sky,
    Smooths the rough road, and walks untroubled by;
    Untimely wrinkles furrow not his brow,
    And graceful wave his locks of reverend snow.
                             _M., from Anaxandrides._

    And next in order sad, _Old age_ we found,
    His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind;
    With drooping cheer still pouring on the ground,
    As on the place where nature him assign’d
    To rest, when that the sisters had untwined
    His vital thread, and ended with their knife
    The fleeting course of fast-declining life:
    There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint,
    Rue with himself his end approaching fast,
    And all for nought his wretched mind torment
    With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past,
    And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste;
    Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek,
    And to be young again of Jove beseek!
    Crook-backed he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed,
    Went on three feet and sometime crept on four,
    With old lame bones that rattled by his side:
    His scalp all piled, and he with eld forelore,
    His wither’d fist still knocking at death’s door;
    Fumbling and drivelling as he draws his breath;
    For brief, the shape and messenger of death.

    So mayest thou live till, like ripe fruit, thou drop
    Into thy mother’s lap, or be with ease
    Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature.
    This is old _age_, but then thou must outlive
    Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change
    To withered, weak, and grey.

    O my coevals! remnants of yourselves!
    Poor human ruins, tottering o’er the grave!
    Shall we, shall _aged_ men, like _aged_ trees,
    Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling,
    Still more enamoured of this wretched soil?
    Shall our pale, withered hands be still stretched out,
    Trembling at once with eagerness and _age_?
    With avarice and convulsions griping hard?
    Grasping at air! For what has earth beside?
    Man wants but little, nor that little long:
    How soon must he resign his very dust,
    Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!

    _Age_ should fly concourse, cover in retreat
    Defects of judgment, and the will subdue;
    Walk thoughtful on the silent solemn shore
    Of that vast ocean it must sail so soon;
    And put good works on board; and wait the wind
    That shortly blows us into worlds unknown.

    But were death frightful, what has _age_ to fear?
    If prudent, _age_ should meet the friendly foe,
    And shelter in his hospitable gloom.

    The seas are quiet when the winds are o’er,
    So calm are we, when passions are no more!
    For then we know how vain it was to boast
    Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.
    Clouds of affection from our youthful eyes
    Conceal the emptiness which _age_ descries:
    The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed,
    Lets in new lights through chinks that time has made.
    Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
    As they draw near to their eternal home;
    Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
    That stand upon the threshold of the new.

    The fruits of _age_, less fair, are yet more sound
    Than those a brighter season pours around;
    And, like the stores autumnal suns mature,
    Through wintry regions unimpaired endure.

    _Age_, by long experience well informed,
    Well read, well tempered, with religion warmed,
    That fire abated which impels rash youth,
    Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth,
    As time improves the grape’s authentic juice,
    Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use,
    And claims a reverence, in his shortening day,
    That ’tis an honour and a joy to pay.

                            How pure
    The grace, the gentleness of virtuous _age_!
    Though solemn, not austere; though wisely dead
    To passion, and the wildering dreams of hope,
    Not unalive to tenderness and truth,--
    The good old man is honoured and revered,
    And breathes upon the young-limbed race around
    A grey and venerable charm of years.
                               _Robert Montgomery._

    Youth, with swift feet, walks onward in the way,
      The land of joy lies all before his eyes;
    _Age_, stumbling, lingers slower day by day,
      Still looking back, for it behind him lies.
                                _Frances Ann Kemble._

    Oh! Youth is firmly bound to earth,
      When hope beams on each comrade’s glance:
    His bosom-chords are tuned to mirth,
      Like harp-strings in the cheerful dance;
    But _Age_ has felt those ties unbound,
    Which fixed him to that spot of ground
      Where all his household comforts lay;
    He feels his freezing heart grow cold,
    He thinks of kindred in the mould,
    And cries, amid his grief untold,
      “I would not live alway.”
                                 _William Knox._

    He passeth calmly from that sunny morn,
    Where all the buds of youth are newly born,
    Through varying intervals of onward years,
    Until the eve of his decline appears;
    And while the shadows round his path descend,
    And down the vale of _age_ his footsteps tend,
    Peace o’er his bosom sheds her soft control,
    And throngs of gentlest memories charm the soul;
    Then, weaned from earth, he turns his steadfast eye
    Beyond the grave, whose verge he falters nigh,
    Surveys the brightening regions of the blest,
    And, like a wearied pilgrim, sinks to rest.
                                      _Willis G. Clark._

    The _aged_ Christian stands upon the shore
      Of Time, a storehouse of experience,
    Filled with the treasures of rich heavenly lore;
      I love to sit and hear him draw from thence
    Sweet recollections of his journey past,
    A journey crowned with blessings to the last.
                                _Mrs. St. Leon Loud._

    Why should old _age_ escape unnoticed here,
    That sacred era to reflection dear;
    That peaceful shore where passion dies away,
    Like the last wave that ripples o’er the bay;
    O, if old _age_ were cancelled from our lot,
    Full soon would man deplore the unhallowed blot;
    Life’s busy day would want its tranquil even,
    And earth would lose her stepping-stone to Heaven.
                                     _Caroline Gilman._


I am the _Almighty_ God.--Genesis, xvii. 1.

If thou return to the _Almighty_, thou shalt be built up, thou shalt
put away iniquity far from thy tabernacles.

Yea, the _Almighty_ shall be thy defence, and thou shalt have plenty of

For then shalt thou have thy delight in the _Almighty_, and shalt lift
up thy face unto God.--Job, xxii. 23, 25, 26.

And when they went, I heard the noise of their wings, like the noise of
great waters, as the voice of the _Almighty_.--Ezekiel, i. 24.

    These are thy glorious works, Parent of good;
    _Almighty!_ this thy universal frame,
    Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then;
    Unspeakable! who sitt’st above the heavens,
    To us invisible, or dimly seen
    In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
    Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.
    Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
    Angels! for ye behold him, and with songs
    And choral symphonies, day without night,
    Circle his throne rejoicing: ye in heaven,
    On earth join all ye creatures to extol
    Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.

    What though th’ _Almighty’s_ regal throne
    High o’er yon azure heaven’s exalted dome,
    By mortal eye unkenned; where east, nor west,
    Nor south, nor blustering north has breath to blow:
    Albeit he then with angels and with saints
    Holds conference, and to his radiant host
    E’en face to face, stands visibly confest;
    Yet know that not in presence nor in power,
    Shines he less perfect here: ’tis man’s dim eye
    That makes the obscurity.
                                   _Christopher Stuart._

    Tell me, hast ever thought upon the Being
    Whom we _Almighty_ call? Hast ever sent
    Thy prayerful thoughts unto His holy throne?
    And felt His power, and trembled at the thought?
    If not, I cannot call thee man! thou art
    A stone, a clod, a dull insensate thing.
                                          _Old Play._

    _Almighty_ Father, gracious Lord,
      Kind guardian of my days,
    Thy mercies let my heart record
      In songs of grateful praise.

    In life’s first dawn, my tender frame,
      Was thy indulgent care,
    Long ere I could pronounce thy name,
      Or breathe the infant prayer.

    Each rolling year new favours brought
      From thy exhaustless store;
    But ah! in vain my lab’ring thought,
      Would count thy mercies o’er.

    While sweet reflection, through my days,
      Thy bounteous hand would trace;
    Still dearer blessings claim my praise,
      The blessings of thy grace.

    _Almighty_ Father of mankind,
      On thee my hopes remain;
    And, when the day of trouble comes,
      I shall not trust in vain.

    Thou art our kind preserver, from
      The cradle to the tomb,
    And I was cast upon thy care,
      E’en from my mother’s womb.

    Thou wilt not cast me off, when age
      And evil days descend;
    Thou wilt not leave me in despair
      To mourn my latter end.

    Therefore in life I’ll trust in thee,
      In death I will adore;
    And after death will sing thy praise,
      When time shall be no more.


A high look, and a proud heart, and the ploughing of the wicked is
sin.--Proverbs, xxi. 4.

Though thou exalt thyself as the eagle, and though thou set thy
nest among the stars, thence will I bring thee down, saith the
Lord.--Obadiah, 4.

Woe unto you Pharisees, for ye love the uppermost seats in the
synagogues, and greetings in the markets.--Luke, xi. 43.

    Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy,
    Court favour, yet untaken, I besiege;
    _Ambition’s_ ill-judged efforts to be rich.
    Alas! _Ambition_ makes my little, less;
    Embittering the possessed: why wish for more?
    Wishing, of all employments, is the worst.

    Woe to thee, wild _Ambition_! I employ
      Despair’s low notes thy dread effects to tell;
    Born in high heaven, her peace thou could’st destroy;
      And but for thee, there had not been a hell.

    Through the celestial domes thy clarion pealed;
      Angels, entranced, beneath thy banners ranged,
    And straight were fiends; hurled from the shrinking field,
      They waked in agony to wail the change.

    Darting through all her veins the subtle fire,
      The world’s fair mistress first inhaled thy breath;
    To lot of higher beings learned to aspire;
      Dared to attempt, and doomed the world to death.
                                        _Maria A. Brooks._

                      The sons of earth
    Who, vexed with vain disquietude, pursue
    _Ambition’s_ fatuous light through miry pools,
    That yawn for their destruction, stray, foredoomed,
    Amid delusive shadows to their end.
                                      _William Herbert._

    _Ambition_, when the pinnacle is gained
    With many a toilsome step, the power it sought
    Wants to support itself, and sighs to find
    The envied height but aggravates the fall.
                                    _George Bally._


And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top
of it reached to Heaven: and behold the _angels_ of God ascending and
descending on it.--Genesis, xxviii. 12.

The _angel_ of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and
delivereth them.--Psalm xxxiv. 7.

For He shall give His _angels_ charge over thee, to keep thee in all
thy ways.

They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against
a stone.--Psalm xci. 11, 12.

Then the devil leaveth Him, and behold, _angels_ came and ministered
unto Him.--Matthew, iv. 11.

Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and He shall
presently give me more than twelve legions of _angels_.--Matthew, xxvi.

There is joy in the presence of the _angels_ of God over one sinner
that repenteth.--Luke, xv. 10.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, hereafter ye shall see Heaven open,
and the _angels_ of God ascending and descending upon the Son of
Man.--John, i. 51.

And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many _angels_ round about the
throne, and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten
thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands; Saying with
a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power,
and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and
blessing.--Revelations, v. 11, 12.

And I saw another _angel_ fly in the midst of Heaven, having
the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the
earth.--Revelations, xiv. 6.

    And is there care in heaven? and is there love
    In heavenly spirits to the creatures base,
    That may compassion of their evils move?
    There is; else much more wretched were the case
    Of men than beasts. But O! th’ exceeding grace
    Of highest God that loves his creatures so,
    And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
    That blessed _angels_ he sends to and fro,
    To serve to wicked men, to serve his wicked foe.

    The multitude of _angels_, with a shout
    Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
    As from blest voices uttering joy, Heaven rung
    With jubilee, and loud Hosannas filled
    The eternal regions: lowly reverent
    Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground,
    With solemn adoration down they cast
    Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold.

    _Angels_ are men of a superior kind;
    _Angels_ are men in lighter habit clad,
    High o’er celestial mountains winged in flight;
    And men are _angels_ loaded for an hour,
    Who wade the miry vale, and climb with pain,
    And slippery step, the bottom of the steep.
    _Angels_ their failings, mortals have their praise;
    While here, of corps ethereal, such enrolled,
    And summoned to the glorious standard soon,
    Which flames eternal crimson through the skies.
    Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin,
    Yet absent but not absent from their love.
    Michael has fought our battles; Raphael sung
    Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown,
    Sent by the Sovereign; and are these, O man!
    Thy friends and warm allies, and thou (shame burn
    Thy cheek to cinder!) rival to the brutes!

    These are the haunts of meditation, these
    The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath,
    Ecstatic felt: and, from this world retired,
    Conversed with _angels_, and immortal forms,
    On gracious errands bent: to save the fall
    Of virtue, struggling on the brink of vice;
    In waking whispers, and repeated dreams;
    To hint pure thought, and warn the favoured soul,
    For future trials fated, to prepare.

    They are God’s minist’ring spirits, and are sent,
      His messengers of mercy, to fulfil
    Good for salvation’s heirs. For us they still
    Grieve when we sin, rejoice when we repent:
    And on the last dread day they shall present
      The severed righteous at His holy hill,
      With them God’s face to see, to do His will,
    And bear with them His likeness. Was it meant,
    That we this knowledge should in secret seal,
      Unthought of, unimproving? Rather say,
      God deigned to man His _angel_ hosts reveal,
    That man might learn, like _angels_, to obey;
    And those who long their bliss in Heaven to feel,
      Might strive on earth to serve him ev’n as they.
                                            _Bp. Mant._

    When by a good man’s grave I muse alone,
    Methinks an _angel_ sits upon the stone;
    Like those of old on that thrice-hallowed night,
    Who sate and watched in heavenly raiment bright;
    And with a voice inspiring joy, not fear,
    Said, pointing upward, that he is not here,
    That he is risen!
                                     _Samuel Rogers._

    Elysian race! while o’er their slumbering flocks
    The Galilean shepherds watched, ye came
    To sing hosannas to the heaven-born Babe,
    And shed the brightness of your beauty round:
    Nor have ye left the world, but still, unseen,
    Surround the earth, as guardians of the good,
    Inspiring souls, and leading them to heaven;
    And oh! when shadows of the state unknown
    Advance, and life endures the grasp of death,
    ’Tis yours to hallow and illume the mind,
    The starry wreath to bring, by _angels_ worn,
    And crown the spirit for her native sphere.
                                 _Robert Montgomery._

    Hark! what mean those holy voices,
      Sweetly sounding through the skies?
    Lo! the _angelic_ host rejoices,
      Heavenly hallelujahs rise.

    Listen to the wond’rous story,
      Which they chant in hymns of joy:
    “Glory in the highest, glory!
      Glory be to God most high!

    Peace on earth, good will from heaven,
      Reaching far as man is found;
    Souls redeemed, and sins forgiven:--
      Loud our golden harps shall sound!”

        “Many in this world of cares,”
          Truly hath the poet said,
        “Sit with _angels_ unawares;”
          Round our path, and round our bed,
        _Angels_ ever watch and wait,
    Striving still to turn our steps unto heaven’s gate.


O Lord, rebuke me not in thine _anger_, neither chasten me in thy hot
displeasure.--Psalm vi. 1.

A wrathful man stirreth up strife; but he that is slow to _anger_
appeaseth strife.--Proverbs, xv. 18.

Be not hasty in thy spirit to be _angry_; for _anger_ resteth in the
bosom of fools.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 9.

Be ye _angry_, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your
wrath.--Ephesians, iv. 26.

    The _anger_ of the Lord? Oh, dreadful thought!
    How can a creature frail as man endure
    The tempest of His wrath? Ah, whither flee
    To ’scape the punishment he well deserves?
    Flee to the cross! the great atonement there
    Will shield the sinner, if he supplicate
    For pardon with repentance true and deep,
    And faith that questions not. Then will the frown
    Of _anger_ pass from off the face of God,
    Like a black tempest-cloud that hides the sun.

    The golden sun is going down,
      Or melting in the west away:
    Where are the clouds that seem’d to frown
      So darkly on the rising day?
    Molten is every gloomy fold,
    In yonder sea of liquid gold.

    The winds, at morn so rude and hoarse,
      Make music for an angel’s ear;
    The sun, beclouded in his course,
      Beholds the heavens, at evening, clear,
    And now doth with the tempest’s wreck
    His glorious pavilion deck.

    Lord, sure thy countenance is here;
      Thy spirit all the vale informs:
    Whatever, in this inward sphere,
      Remains to tell of _angry_ storms,
    Oh! let it melt away, and leave
    No cloud to darken life’s calm eve!
                             _Joseph Gostick._

    _Angry_ words are likely spoken
      In a rash and thoughtless hour;
    Brightest links of life are broken,
      By their deep insidious power.
    Hearts inspired by warmest feeling,
      Ne’er before by _anger_ stirred,
    Oft are rent past human healing,
      By a single _angry_ word.

    Poison drops of care and sorrow,
      Bitter poison drops are they,
    Weaving for the coming morrow,
      Saddest memories of to-day.
    _Angry_ words! oh, let them never
      From thy tongue unbridled slip;
    May the heart’s best impulse ever,
      Check them ere they soil the lip.

    Love is much too pure and holy,
      Friendship is too sacred far,
    For a moment’s reckless folly
      Thus to desolate and mar.
    _Angry_ words are lightly spoken;
      Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred;
    Brightest links of life are broken,
      By a single _angry_ word.
                              _J. Middleton._

    _Angry_ looks can do no good,
      And blows are dealt in blindness,
    Words are better understood,
      If spoken but in kindness.

    Simple love far more hath wrought,
      Although by childhood muttered,
    Then all the battles ever fought,
      Or oaths that men have uttered.

    Foolish things are frowns and sneers,
      _Angry_ thoughts revealing;
    Better far to drown in tears,
      Harsh and _angry_ feeling.
                           _J. Burbridge._


He called unto Him His disciples, and of them He chose Twelve, whom
also He named _Apostles_.--Luke, vi. 13.

And He said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel
to every creature. He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved,
but he that believeth not shall be damned.--Mark, xvi. 15, 16.

Ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea, and
in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth.--Acts, i. 8.

By the hands of the _Apostles_ were many signs and wonders wrought
among the people.--Acts, v. 12.

And He gave some, _apostles_; and some, prophets; and some,
evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers.--Ephesians, iv. 11.

And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names
of the twelve _Apostles_ of the Lamb.--Revelations, xxi. 14.

    But all his mind is bent to holiness,
    His champions are the prophets and _apostles_.

    When because faith is in too low degree,
    I thought it some _apostleship_ in me,
    To speak things which by faith alone I see.

    For them the fullness of His might is shown,
    O’erleaping the strong bounds of Nature’s law;
    Grim death for them contracts his hasty stride,
    And checks his dart, e’en in the act to strike;
    His horrid messengers, disease and pain,
    Loose their remorseless grasp unwillingly,
    And leave their prey to ease and thankfulness;
    For them bright wisdom opens all her stores,
    Her golden treasures spreading to their view,
    Whilst Inspiration’s all enlivening light
    Hangs hovering o’er their heads in glittering blaze;
    Warmed by the ray, they pour the sacred strain
    In eloquence seraphic.
                                        _Charles Jenner._

    Oh! who shall dare in this frail scene,
    On holiest, happiest thoughts to lean,
      On friendship, kindred, or on love?
    Since not _Apostles’_ hands can clasp
    Each other in so firm a grasp,
      But they shall change, and variance prove.

    Yet deem not on such parting sad,
    Shall dawn no welcome dear and glad;
      Divided in this earthly race,
    Together at the glorious goal,
    Each leading many a rescued soul,
      The faithful champions shall embrace.

    Sit down, and take thy fill of joy
      At God’s right hand a bidden guest,
    Drink of the cup that cannot cloy,
      Eat of the bread that cannot waste.

    O great _Apostle_ rightly now
      Thou readest all thy Saviour meant,
    What time his grave, yet gentle brow,
      In sweet reproof on thee was bent.

    Rash was the tongue, and unadvisedly bold,
      Which sought, Salome, for thy favoured twain
      Above their fellows, in Messiah’s reign
    On right, on left, the foremost place to hold.
    More rash, perhaps, and bolder, that which told
      Of power the Saviour’s bitter cup to drain,
    And, passing stretch of human strength, sustain
    His bath baptismal. Lord, by Thee enrolled
    Thy servant, grant me Thy Almighty grace,
      My destined portion of Thy griefs to bear,
    Ev’n what Thou wilt! But chiefly grant, Thy face
      Within Thy glory’s realm to see, whene’er
    Most meet Thy wisdom deems; whate’er the place,
      It must be blest, for Thou, my God, art there.
                                          _Bp. Mant._

    Thy eloquence, O _Paul_, thy matchless tongue,
    With strong persuasion, as with magic’s voice,
    From heathen darkness to the paths of light
    Led the benighted wanderers, who, like thee,
    Through superstition’s gloomy mazes strayed,
    Till, Heaven’s effulgence bursting on the view.
    To thy astonished and enraptured sight
    Revealed the glories of unfading day.
                                  _William Bolland._

    Whose is that sword--that voice and eye of flame,
      That heart of unextinguishable ire?
      Who bears the dungeon-keys; and bonds, and fire?
    Along his dark and withering path he came--
    Death in his looks, and terror in his name,
      Tempting the might of heaven’s Eternal Sire.
      Lo, the Light shone! the sun’s veiled beams expire--
    A Saviour’s self a Saviour’s lips proclaim!
    Whose is yon form stretched on the earth’s cold bed,
      With smitten soul, and tears of agony,
    Mourning the past? Bowed is the lofty head--
      Rayless the orbs that flushed with victory.
    Over the raging waves of human will
    The Saviour’s spirit walked--and all was still!

                                ’Tis pitiful
    To court a grin when you should woo a soul;
    To break a jest, when pity would inspire
    Pathetic exhortation; and to address
    The skittish fancy with facetious tales,
    When sent with God’s commission to the heart!
    So did not _Paul_. Direct me to a quip
    Or merry turn in all he ever wrote,
    And I consent you take it for your text,
    Your only one, till sides and benches fail.
    No, he was serious in a serious cause,
    And understood too well the mighty terms
    That he had taken in charge. He would not stoop
    To conquer those by jocular exploits,
    Whom truth and soberness assailed in vain.

    I think that look of Christ might seem to say;--
    ‘Thou _Peter_, art thou then a common stone,
    Which I at last must break my head upon,
    For all God’s charge to His high angels, may
    Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday
    Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run
    Quick to deny me ’neath the morning sun,--
    And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray?’
    The cock crows coldly.--‘Go, and manifest
    A late contrition, but no bootless fear!
    For when the deathly need is bitterest,
    Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here--
    My voice, to God and angels, shall attest,--
    Because I knew this man, let him be clear.’
                                      _Miss Barrett._

                        With sudden burst,
    A rushing noise, through all the sacred band
    Silence profound, and fixed attention claimed.
    A chilling terror crept through every heart,
    Mute was each tongue, and pale was every face.
    The rough roar ceased; when, borne on fiery wings,
    The dazzling emanation from above
    In brightest vision round each sacred head
    Diffused its vivid beams: mysterious light!
    That rushed impetuous through th’ awaking mind,
    Whilst new ideas filled th’ impassive soul,
    Fast crowding in, with sweetest violence.
    ’Twas then amazed, they caught the glorious flame;
    Spontaneous flowed their all-persuasive words,
    Warm from the heart, and to the heart addressed.
                                      _Charles Jenner._

    A Cæsar’s title less my envy moves,
    Than to be styled the man whom Jesus loves;
    What charms, what beauties in his face did shine,
    Reflected ever from the face divine!

    Ye hallowed martyrs, who with fervent zeal,
    And more than mortal courage, greatly dared
    To preach the name of Jesus; ye, who stood
    The undaunted champions of eternal truth,
    Though maddened priests conspired, though princes frowned,
    And persecution, with ingenious rage,
    Prepared ten thousand torments.
                                             _William Bolland._

                        These, O Lord,
    Were all Thy scanty followers; by Thee
    First called, first rescued from a world of woe,
    To spread salvation into distant climes!
    And tell the meanest habitant of earth
    “Glad tidings of great joy.”


Lift up your heads, O ye gates, even lift them up, ye everlasting
doors, and the King of glory shall come in.

Who is this King of glory? The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of
glory.--Psalm xxiv. 9, 10.

Thou hast _ascended_ on high, thou hast led captivity captive; thou
hast received gifts for men; yea, for the rebellious also, that the
Lord God might dwell among them.--Psalm lxviii. 18.

While they beheld, He was taken up, and a cloud received Him out of
their sight.

And while they looked steadfastly toward Heaven, as He went up, behold
two men stood by them in white apparel;

Which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into Heaven?
This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into Heaven, shall so come
in like manner as ye have seen Him go into Heaven.--Acts, i. 9, 10, 11.

Now that he _ascended_, what is it but that he also descended first
into the lower parts of the earth?

He that descended is the same also that _ascended_ up far above all
heavens, that he might fill all things.--Ephesians, iv. 9, 10.

    Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,
    And give the King of glory to come in;
    Who is the King of glory? He who left
    His throne of glory for the pang of death;
    Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,
    And give the King of glory to come in;
    Who is the King of glory? He who slew
    The ravenous foe that gorged all human race!
    The King of glory, He whose glory filled
    Heaven with amazement at His love to man,
    And with divine complacency beheld
    Powers most illumined wildered in the theme.

    Lift up your heads, ye gates, and O prepare,
    Ye living orbs, your everlasting doors,
    The King of glory comes!
    What King of glory? He, whose puissant might
    Subdued Abaddon, and the infernal powers
    Of darkness bound in adamantine chains:
    Who, wrapt in glory, with the Father reigns,
    Omnipotent, immortal, infinite!
                                   _James Scott._

                            Majestical He rose
    Upborne, and steered a flight of gentlest wing
    His native Heaven to gain; whilst from their eye,
    That to its centre fixed, in mute survey
    Pursued the _ascending_ glory, a bright cloud,
    Of bidden access, his latest presence caught:
    By angel forms supported, who in song,
    Not unperceived, and choral symphony,
    Through Heaven’s wide empyrean loud rejoiced.
                                      _Thomas Hughes._

                          Now, O my soul,
    On the blest summit light a holy flame!
    From the last foot-print of the Prince of Peace,
    The conqueror of death, let incense rise,
    And enter Heaven with thine _ascending_ Lord!
    Shake off the chains, and all the dust of earth!
    Go up and breathe in the sweet atmosphere
    His presence purified, as He arose!
                                   _Hannah F. Gould._

    Oh! what a night was that which wrapt
      The heathen world in gloom:
    Oh! what a sun that broke this day
      Triumphant from the tomb!

    Jesus, the friend of human kind,
      With strong compassion moved,
    Descended, like a pitying God,
      To save the souls He loved.

    The powers of darkness leagued in vain
      To bind His soul in death;
    He shook their kingdom, when He fell,
      With His expiring breath.

    And now His conquering chariot wheels
      _Ascend_ the lofty skies;
    While broke beneath His powerful cross,
      Death’s iron sceptre lies.
                            _Mrs. Barbauld._


The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after
God: God is not in all his thoughts.--Psalm x. 4.

The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.--Psalm xiv. 1.

And they say, How doth God know; and is there knowledge in the Most
High?--Psalm lxxiii. 11.

Is not God in the height of Heaven? and behold the height of the stars,
how high they are!

And thou sayest, How doth God know? can he judge through the dark
cloud?--Job, xxii. 12, 13.

For this they willingly are ignorant of, that by the word of God the
heavens were of old, and the earth standing out of the water, and in
the water.--II. Peter, iii. 5.

Having no hope, and without God in the world.--Ephesians, ii. 12.

    “There is no God,” the fool in secret said:
    “There is no God that rules or earth or sky.”
    Tear off the band that binds the wretch’s head,
    That God may burst upon his faithless eye!
    Is there no God?--The stars in myriads spread,
    If he look up, the blasphemy deny;
    While his own features, in the mirror read,
    Reflect the image of Divinity.
    Is there no God?--The stream that silver flows,
    The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees,
    The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,
    All speak of God; throughout, one voice agrees,
    And, eloquent, His dread existence shows:
    Blind to thyself, ah, see him, fool, in these!
                                            _Giovanni Cotta._

    Hardening by degrees, till double steel’d,
    Take leave of Nature’s God, and God reveal’d--
    Then laugh at all you trembled at before;
    And joining the freethinker’s brutal war.
    Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense--
    That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense;
    If clemency, revolted by abuse
    Be damnable, then damn’d without excuse.

                          These are they
    That strove to pull Jehovah from His throne,
    And in the place of Heaven’s Eternal King,
    Set up the phantom Chance.

                          The owlet _Atheism_,
    Sailing on obscene wings across the noon,
    Drops his blue-fringed lids, and shuts them close,
    And, hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,
    Cries out, “Where is it?”

                        They eat
    Their daily bread, and draw the breath of Heaven
    Without or thought or thanks; Heaven’s roof, to them,
    Is but a painted ceiling hung with lamps,
    No more, that lights them to their purposes.
    They wander loose about; they nothing see,
    Themselves except, and creatures like themselves,
    Short-lived, short-sighted, impotent to save.
    So on their dissolute spirits, soon or late,
    Destruction cometh, like an armed man,
    Or like a dream of murder in the night,
    Withering their mortal faculties, and breaking
    The bones of all their pride.
                                           _Charles Lamb._

    No God! Who warms the heart to heave
      With thousand feelings, soft and sweet,
    And prompts the aspiring soul to leave
      The earth we tread beneath our feet,
      And soar away on pinions fleet,
    Beyond the scene of mortal strife,
      With fair ethereal forms to meet,
    That tell us of an after life?
                               _William Knox._

    “There is no God,” the foolish saith--
      But none, “there is no sorrow:”
    And Nature oft the cry of Faith
      In bitter need will borrow.
    Eyes which the preacher could not school,
      By way-side graves are raised;
    And lips say “God be pitiful,”
      That ne’er said, “God be praised.”
                               _Miss Barrett._

    An _Atheist’s_ laugh’s a poor exchange,
        For Deity offended.


As he hath done this day, so the Lord hath commanded to do, to make an
_atonement_ for you.--Leviticus, viii. 34.

Wherewith shall I make the _atonement_, that ye may bless the
inheritance of the Lord?--II. Samuel, xxi. 3.

We also joy in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we have now
received the _atonement_.--Romans, v. 11.

Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his
blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are
past.--Romans, iii. 25.

He is the propitiation for our sins; and not for ours only, but for the
sins of the whole world.--I. John, ii. 2.

Who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree, that we
being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye
were healed.--I. Peter, ii. 24.

                    So Man, as is most just,
    Shall satisfy for man, be judged and die,
    And dying, rise, and rising, with Him raise
    His brethren, ransomed with His own dear life.

           *       *       *       *       *

                            Nor can this be,
    But by fulfilling that which Thou didst want,
    Obedience to the law of God, imposed
    On penalty of death, and suffering death,
    The penalty to Thy transgression due:
    So only can high justice rest appaid.

    ’Tis nothing thou hast given; then add thy tears
    For a long race of unrepenting years;
    ’Tis nothing yet, yet all thou hast to give;
    Then add those may-be years thou hast to live;
    Yet nothing still; then poor and naked come;
    Thy Father will receive his unthrift home,
    And thy blest Saviour’s blood discharge the mighty sum.

    Look humbly upward, see His will disclose
    The forfeit first, and then the fine impose;
    A mulct thy poverty could never pay,
    Had not eternal wisdom found the way,
    And with celestial wealth supplied thy store;
    His justice makes the fine, His mercy quits the score.
    See God descending in the human frame;
    The offended suffering in the offender’s name:
    All thy misdeeds to Him imputed see,
    And all his righteousness devolved on thee.

    Thou, rather than thy justice should be stained,
    Did stain the cross.

           *       *       *       *       *

    O, what a groan was there! a groan not His.
    He seized our dreadful right; the load sustained,
    And heaved the mountain from a guilty world.

    What needs my blood, since thine will do,
    To pay the debt to justice due?
    O, tender mercy’s art divine!
    Thy sorrow proves the cure of mine!
    Thy dropping wounds, thy woeful smart,
    Allay the bleedings of my heart:
    Thy death, in death’s extreme of pain,
    Restores my soul to life again!

                          The Son of God
    Only begotten, and well-beloved, between
    Men and His Father’s justice interposed;
    Put human nature on, His wrath sustained,
    And in their name suffered, obeyed, and died;
    Making His soul an offering for sin,
    Just for unjust, and innocence for guilt.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Thus Truth with Mercy met, and Righteousness,
    Stooping from highest heaven, embraced fair Peace,
    That walked the earth in fellowship and love.

    God’s own son, unblemished victim, gave
    Himself a sacrifice, and by His blood,
    Upon the cross poured forth, washed out the stain
    Of primal sin.
                                       _Samuel Hayes._

    And shall the sinful heart, alone,
      Behold, unmoved, the _atoning_ hour,
    When Nature trembles on her throne,
      And death resigns his iron power?
    O, shall the heart,--whose sinfulness
    Gave keenness to His sore distress,
    And added to His tears of blood--
    Refuse its trembling gratitude?

    Jesus, thy name beyond all nature loud,
    Peals like the trumpet of eternity,
    Through all the chambers of responsive faith,
    Making them echo with the name of Christ!
    Nature was forfeit when the first man fell
    To sin, and whatsoe’er in nature lives,
    In reason, morals, or in mind enacts
    Dominion, from His vast _atonement_ flows.
                                  _R. Montgomery._

    Advance, O hopeless mortal, steeled in guilt,
    Behold, and if thou canst, forbear to melt!
    Shall Jesus die, thy freedom to regain,
    And wilt thou drag the voluntary chain?
    Wilt thou refuse thy kind assent to give,
    When, dying, He looks down to bid thee live?
    Perverse, wilt thou reject the proffered good,
    Bought with His life, and streaming in His blood?
    Whose virtue can thy deepest crimes efface,
    Re-heal thy nature, and confirm thy peace!
    Can all the errors of thy life _atone_,
    And raise thee from a rebel to a son.

    Lamb of God! Our Priest and Pastor,
      Who canst bid all evil cease,
    Ever dear and holy Master,
      Make our feeble love increase!
    So that when we seek Thee, owning
      That Thy wrath is our deserts,
    Thou, blest Lord, at whose _atonement_
      All iniquity departs,
    Mayest speak forth from Thine enthronement,
      To our rent and wearied hearts,
          “Sinner, go in peace!”
                               _C. D. Mc’ Leod._

    Tune your harps anew, ye seraphs,
      Join to sing the pleasing theme;
    All on earth and all in heaven
      Join to praise Immanuel’s name!
      Glory to the bleeding Lamb!
                            _J. Evans._


Some remove the landmarks; they violently take away flocks, and feed

They drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widow’s ox for
a pledge.

They turn the needy out of the way; the poor of the earth hide
themselves together.--Job, xxiv. 2, 3, 4.

Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till
there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the
earth!--Isaiah, v. 8.

Your gold and silver is cankered, and the rust of them shall be a
witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have
heaped treasure together for the last days.

Behold, the hire of the labourers who have reaped down your fields,
which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth: and the cries of them which
have reaped, are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.--James,
v. 3, 4.

    For of his wicked pelf his god he made,
      And unto hell himself for money sold:
    Accursed usury was all his trade,
    And right and wrong alike in equal balance weighed.

              If thou art rich, thou art poor;
    For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
    Thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey,
    And death unloads thee.

    Woe to the worldly man, whose covetous
    Ambition labours to join house to house;
    Lay field to field, till the enclosures edge
    The plain, girdling a country with one hedge:
    They leave no place unbought; no piece of earth
    Which they will not engross; making a dearth
    Of all inhabitants; until they stand
    Unneighboured as unblest within the land.
                                      _Bishop King._

    Gold glitters most where virtue shines no more,
    As stars from absent suns, have leave to shine.

    O cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake
    The fool throws up his interest in both worlds;
    First starved in this, then damned in that to come.

    Starve beside the chests, whose every corn
    At the last day, shall in the court of Heaven
    Witness against thee.
                               _Sir E. B. Lytton._

                    _Avarice_ o’ershoots
    Its destined mark; and with abundance cursed,
    In wealth, the ills of poverty endures.
                                   _George Bally._

                    The thirst for gold
    Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels
    The impulse of impartial love, nor kneels
    In worship foul to Mammon, is contemned.
                                   _W. H. Burleigh._

    But should my destiny be quest of wealth,
    Kind Heaven, oh! keep my tempted soul in health!
    And should’st thou bless my toil with ample store,
    Keep back the madness that would seek for more!
                                         _Thomas Ward._

    Oh! life misspent--Oh! foulest waste of time!
    No time has he his grovelling mind to store
    With history’s truths, or philosophic lore.
    No charms for him has God’s all-blooming earth--
    His only question this--“What are they worth?”
    Art, nature, wisdom, are no match for gain;
    And even religion bids him pause in vain.
                                       _Thomas Ward._

    The miser comes, his heart to mammon sold--
    His life, his hope, his god, his all is gold.
    “To-morrow, and to-morrow,” he will say,
    “Soul, take thine ease, for thou hast many a day
    Whose smiling dawns will make thee to rejoice.”
    Hush! Hark the echoes of that awful voice!
    “Thou fool! This night yield up thy earthly trust!”
    Gaze once again, his treasures are but dust.
                                        _B. D. Winslow._

    Gold! gold! in all ages the curse of mankind,
    Thy fetters are forged for the soul and the mind:
    The limbs may be free as the wings of a bird,
    And the mind be the slave of a look or a word.
    To gain thee, men barter eternity’s crown,
    Yield honour, affection, and lasting renown.
                                      _Park Benjamin._


_Awake up_, my glory; _awake_ psaltery and harp; I myself will _awake_
early.--Psalm lvii. 8.

_Arise_, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is
_risen_ upon thee.

And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness
of thy _rising_.--Isaiah, lx. 1, 3.

_Arise_ ye, and depart, for this is not your rest; because it is
polluted.--Micah, ii. 10.

    _Awake_, my soul, and with the sun,
    Thy daily stage of duty run;
    Shake off dull sloth, and early _rise_,
    To pay thy morning sacrifice.

    _Wake_, and lift up thyself, my heart,
    And with the angels bear a part,
    Who all night long unwearied sing
    High praises to the eternal King.

    Glory to God, who safe hath kept,
    And hath refreshed me while I slept,
    Grant Lord, when I from death shall _wake_,
    I may of endless life partake.

    _Awake_ our souls, and bless his name,
      Whose mercies never fail;
    Who opens wide a door of hope,
      In Achor’s gloomy vale.

    Behold the portal wide displayed,
      The buildings strong and fair;
    Within are pastures fresh and green,
      And living streams are there.

    Enter my soul with cheerful haste,
      For Jesus is the door;
    Nor fear the serpent’s wily arts,
      Nor fear the lion’s roar.

    O may thy grace the nations lead,
      And Jews and Gentiles come,
    All travelling in one narrow path,
      To one eternal home.

    _Arise_, thou bright and morning star,
    And send thy silvery beams afar;
    Dispel the shades of dreary night,
    And let me hail the dawning light.

    Blinded by sin I went astray,
    And, wand’ring, left the heavenly way;
    Dart forth thy soul-reviving rays,
    And guide me all my future days.

    With growing strength may I pursue
    The course which heavenly wisdom drew,
    Till I shall reach the blissful shore,
    Where pilgrims rest, and stray no more.

    Deathless principle _arise_!
    Soar thou native of the skies!
    Pearl of price by Jesus bought,
    To his glorious likeness wrought;
    Go, to shine before his throne,
    Deck his mediatorial crown,
    Go, his triumphs to adorn,
    Made for God, to God return.

    See the haven full in view,
    Love divine shall bear thee through;
    Trust to that propitious gale,
    Weigh thy anchor, spread the sail,
    Saints in glory perfect made,
    Wait thy passage through the shade,
    Ardent for thy coming o’er,
    See they throng the distant shore!

    Mount, their transports to improve,
    Join the longing choirs above,
    Swiftly to their wish be given,
    Kindle higher joys in heaven!
    --Such the prospects that _arise_
    To the dying christian’s eyes!
    Such the glorious vista, faith
    Opens through the shades of death.


Stand in _awe_ and sin not; commune with your own heart upon your bed,
and be still.--Psalm iv. 4.

Princes have persecuted me without a cause: but my heart standeth in
_awe_ of thy word.--Psalm cxix. 161.

    ’T is dreadful!
    How reverend is the place of this tall pile,
    Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
    To bear aloft the arched and pond’rous roof,
    By its own weight made steadfast and immoveable!
    Looking tranquillity; it strikes an _awe_
    And terror to my aching sight. The tombs
    And monumental caves of death look cold,
    And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.

    So in the faces of all these there grew,
    As by one impulse, a dark, freezing _awe_,
    Which, with a fearful fascination, drew
    All eyes towards the altar; damp and raw
    The air grew suddenly, and no man knew
    Whether perchance his silent neighbour saw
    The dreadful thing, which all were sure would rise
    To scare the strained lids wider from their eyes.

    The incense trembled as it upward sent
    Its slow, uncertain thread of wandering blue,
    As ’twere the only living element
    In all the church, so deeply the stillness grew;
    It seemed one might have heard it, as it went,
    Give out an audible rustle, curling through
    The midnight silence of the _awe_-struck air,
    More hushed than death, though no such life was there.
                                          _Jas. R. Lowell._

    When on Sinai’s top I see
    God descend in majesty,
    To proclaim His holy law,
    All my spirit sinks with _awe_.
                    _J. Montgomery._

    With sacred _awe_ pronounce His name,
      Whom words nor thoughts can reach.


Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, _baptizing_ them in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.--Matthew, xxviii. 19.

One Lord, one Faith, one _Baptism_.--Ephesians, iv. 5.

Buried with Him in _Baptism_, wherein also ye are risen with Him
through the faith of the operation of God, who hath raised Him from the
dead.--Colossians, ii. 12.

The like figure whereunto, even _Baptism_ doth also now save us, not
the putting away the filth of the flesh, but the answer of a good
conscience toward God.--I. Peter, iii. 21.

                      Then who shall believe
    _Baptizing_ in the profluent stream, the sign
    Of washing them from guilt of sin, to life
    Pure, and in mind prepared, if so befal,
    For death like that which the Redeemer died.

        Since Lord to Thee
      A narrow way and little gate
    Is all the passage; on my infancy
      Thou didst lay hold, and antedate
        My faith in me.

        O let me still
      Write Thee, great God, and me, a child:
    Let me be soft and supple to Thy will,
      Small to myself, to others mild,
        Be-hither ill.
                             _George Herbert._

    _Baptized_ as for the dead, He rose
      With prayer from Jordan’s hallowed flood:
    Ere long by persecuting foes,
      To be _baptized_ in His own blood:
    The Father’s voice proclaimed the Son,
    The Spirit witnessed;--these are one.
                             _James Montgomery._

    Thus, made partakers of Thy love,
      The _Baptism_ of the Spirit ours,
    Our grateful hearts shall rise above,
      Renewed in purposes and powers;
    And songs of joy again shall ring
      Triumphant through the arch of heaven;--
    The glorious song which angels sing,
      Exulting over souls forgiven!
                              _W. H. Burleigh._

    The heir of Heaven, henceforth I dread not Death!
    In Christ I live, in Christ I draw the breath
    Of the true life. Let Sea, and Earth, and Sky,
    Wage war against me: on my front I show
    The mighty Master’s seal! In vain they try
    To end my life, who can but end its woe.

    Ere Christ ascended to his throne,
      He issued forth his great command--
    Go preach the gospel to the world,
      And spread my name to every land.

    To men declare their sinful state,
      The methods of my grace explain;
    He that believes, and is _baptized_,
      Shall everlasting life obtain.

    Dear Saviour, we thy will obey,
      Not of constraint, but with delight;
    Hither thy servants come to-day,
      To honour thine appointed rite.

    Descend again, celestial Dove,
      On these dear followers of the Lord;
    Exalted head of all the Church,
      Thy promised aid to them afford.

    Let faith, assisted now by signs,
      The mysteries of thy love explore;
    And washed, in thy redeeming blood,
      Let them depart, and sin no more.

    The cross of Christ! The cross of Christ!
      While yet my days were few,
    ’Twas traced upon my infant brow,
      Fresh with life’s morning dew;
    In token that in after years,
      Strong in its power and might,
    I should beside Christ’s followers stand,
      Under His banners fight.
                             _Matilda F. Dana._

                          BAPTIST, JOHN THE.

In those days came _John the Baptist_, preaching in the wilderness of
Judea.--Matthew, iii. 1.

And it came to pass in those days, that Jesus came from Nazareth of
Galilee, and was _baptized_ of _John_ in Jordan.

And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the Heavens opened,
and the Spirit like a dove descending upon Him:

And there came a voice from Heaven, saying, Thou art My Beloved Son, in
whom I am well pleased.--Mark, i. 9, 10, 11.

I say unto you, among those that are born of women, there is not a
greater prophet than _John the Baptist_; but he that is least in the
kingdom of God is greater than he.--Luke, vii. 28.

    Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
    More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
    Repentance, and Heaven’s kingdom nigh at hand
    To all _baptized_: to his great _baptism_ flocked
    With awe, the regions round, and with them came
    From Nazareth, the Son of Joseph deemed,
    To the flood Jordan, came as then obscure,
    Unmarked, unknown: but him the _Baptist_ soon
    Descried, divinely warned; and witness bore
    As to his worthier, and would have resigned
    To Him this heavenly office, nor was long
    His witness unconfirmed; on Him _baptized_
    Heaven opened, and in likeness of a dove
    The Spirit descended, while the Father’s voice
    From heaven pronounced Him His Beloved Son.

    Well mayest thou tremble, _Baptist_; well thy cheek,
    Now flushed, now pale, thy labouring soul bespeak!
    ’Tis He, the Christ, by every bard foretold!
    Hear Him, ye nations, and ye Heavens behold!
    The Virgin-born, to bruise the Serpent’s head,
    The Paschal Lamb, to patient slaughter led,
    The King of kings, to crush the gates of Hell,
    Messiah, Shiloh, Jah, Emmanuel!
    See, o’er His head, soft sinking from above,
    With hovering radiance hangs the mystic Dove:
    Dread from the cloud Jehovah’s voice is known,
    “This is my Son, my own, my well-loved Son!”
                                         _C. H. Johnson._

    Why crowd ye cities forth? some reed to find,
    Some vain reed trembling to the careless wind?
    Or throng ye here to view with doting eye,
    Some chieftain stand in purple pageantry?
    Some dwell in kingly domes--no silken form
    Woos the stern wind and braves the mountain storm.
    What rush ye there to seek? some Prophet-seer?
    One mightier than the Prophets find ye here--
    The loftiest bard that waked the sacred lyre,
    To him in rapture poured his lips of fire;
    Attuned to him the voice of Sion fell--
    Thy name, Elias, closed the mystic shell.
                                       _C. H. Johnson._

    In Judah’s rugged wilderness,
      Where Jordan rolls his flood,
    In manners strict, and rude of dress,
      The holy _Baptist_ stood.

    And while upon the river’s side,
      The people thronged to hear,
    “Repent,” the sacred preacher cried,
      “The heavenly kingdom’s near.”

    Now Jesus to the stream descends;
      His feet the waters lave;
    And o’er his head, that humbly bends,
      The _Baptist_ pours the wave.

    When, lo! a heavenly form appears,
      Descending as a dove;
    And wondrous sounds the assembly hears,
      Proclaiming from above.--

    “This is my well-beloved Son,
      On him my spirit rests;
    Now is his reign of grace begun,
      Attend his high behests.”

    The sacred voice has reached our ear,
      And still through distant lands
    Shall sound, till all His name revere,
      And honour His commands.
                              _T. Fletcher._


One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I
may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold
the _beauty_ of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.--Psalm xxvii. 4.

When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his
_beauty_ to consume away like a moth.--Psalm xxxix. 11.

Favour is deceitful, and _beauty_ is vain: but a woman that feareth the
Lord, she shall be praised.--Proverbs, xxxi. 30.

I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be
exercised in it.

He hath made every thing _beautiful_ in his time.--Ecclesiastes, iii.
10, 11.

        Oh, what is _Beauty’s_ power?
          It flourishes and dies;
        Will the cold earth its silence break.
        To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek
          Beneath its surface lies?
            Mute, mute is all,
            O’er _Beauty’s_ fall;
    Her praise resounds no more, when mantled in her pall.

        The most beloved on earth
          Not long survives to-day;
        So music past is obsolete,
        And yet ’twas sweet, ’twas passing sweet,
          But now ’tis gone away.
            Thus does the shade
            In evening fade,
    When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid.
                                             _H. K. White._

    At Thy rebuke, the bloom
      Of man’s vain _beauty_ flies;
    And grief shall, like a moth, consume
      All that delights our eyes.
                          _J. Montgomery._

    A sinful soul possessed of many gifts,
    A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,
    A glorious devil, large in heart and brain.
    That did love _beauty_ only, (_beauty_ seen
    In all varieties of mould and mind,)
    And knowledge for its _beauty_; or if good,
    Good only for its _beauty_.

    The _beautiful_, the _beautiful_!
      Where do we find it not?
    It is an all-pervading grace,
      And lighteth every spot.

    It sparkles on the ocean-wave--
      It glitters in the dew;
    We see it in the glorious sky,
      And in the flow’ret’s hue.

    On mountain-top, in valley deep,
      We find its presence there;
    The _beautiful_, the _beautiful_!
      It liveth every where.

    The glories of the noontide-day,
      The still and solemn night,
    The changing seasons, all can bring
      Their tribute of delight.

    There’s _beauty_ in the dancing beam
      That brightens childhood’s eye,
    And in the Christian’s parting glance,
      Whose hope is fix’d on high.

    And in the being whom our love
      Hath chosen for its own,
    How _beautiful_! how _beautiful_!
      Is every look and tone.

    ’Twas in that glance that God threw o’er
      The young created earth,
    When he pronounced it “very good,”
      The _beautiful_ had birth.

    Then who shall say this world is dull,
      And all to sadness given,
    While yet there lives on every side
      The smile that came from heaven?

    If so much loveliness is sent
      To grace our earthly home,
    How _beautiful_--how _beautiful_
      Will be the world to come!


If ye will not _believe_, surely ye shall not be established.--Isaiah,
vii. 9.

Lord, I _believe_; help thou mine _unbelief_.--Mark, ix. 24.

Let not your heart be troubled: ye _believe_ in God, _believe_ also in
me.--John, xiv. 1.

For what, if some did not _believe_? shall their _unbelief_ make the
faith of God without effect? God forbid.--Romans, iii. 3, 4.

God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation, through
sanctification of the Spirit and _belief_ of the truth.--II.
Thessalonians, ii. 13.

    Such my _belief_. Oh, that thou would’st thy bold,
    Infatuated, withering doubt discard!
    The flower would be more sweet, the moon more fresh,
    The sun more bright, the sky more blue, the night
    (The natural season for deep thought) less dark:
    Life’s cares, and wan disease, would blessings be,
    And death (annihilation’s herald now)
    The harbinger of everlasting bliss.
    Dare then be wise. Dash down the subtle web,
    Thy pride of intellect had round thee wove,
    Despised into the dust; _believe_ in God;
    Obey His will;--and then thy rescued soul
    Shall, on angelic pinions, wing its way
    To heaven’s bright realms of pure beatitude.
                                         _T. L. Merritt._

    _Believe_ and fear not! In the blackest cloud
    A sunbeam hides; and from the deepest pang
    Some hidden mercy may a God declare!
                                  _R. Montgomery._

    Since fools alone all things _believe_
      In cloister hatch’d, or college,
    Some, by believing nothing, think
      They’re at the height of knowledge.
    And yet to have no faith demands
      More faith than is supposed,
    For sceptics have their creed,--of things
      Incredibly composed.
    Some truths above our reason, we
      Reject not, but receive:
    Against all reason, infidels
      Unnumber’d lies _believe_.
                               _C. C. Colton._


And beneath upon the hem of it, thou shalt make pomegranates of blue,
and of purple, and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof; and _bells_
of gold between them round about.

And it shall be upon Aaron to minister: and his sound shall be heard
when he goeth in unto the holy place before the Lord, and when he
cometh out, that he die not.--Exodus, xxviii. 33, 35.

In that day shall there be upon the _bells_ of the horses, Holiness
unto the Lord.--Zechariah, xiv. 20.

    What a deep murmur on the night-air swells,
      What a clear tone draws irresistibly
    The goblet from my mouth. Ye hollow _bells_,
      Proclaim ye Easter’s dawn is drawing nigh?
    The word of hope in that sweet music ringing,
      That once, when o’er his sepulchre did close
      The shades of night, from angel lips arose,
    Assurance of a covenant renew’d to mortals bringing.

           *       *       *       *       *

    What in your mighty sweetness, do you seek,
      Ye tones of Heaven, with me that dwell in dust?
    Seek elsewhere mortals flexible and weak.
      I hear the message, but I cannot trust;
    Faith’s chosen child is the miraculous.
      I dare not strive those distant spheres to gain,
    From whence these holy tidings came to us;
      And yet it seems that long-remembered strain,
      In youth, recalls me back to life again.
    The kiss of heavenly love upon me fell,
      In the deep stillness of the sabbath calm,
    The heartfelt fullness of the sabbath _bell_,
      A prayer to my glad soul sufficient balm,
    Beyond conception sweet; a holy longing
      Drove me to wander forth through wood and mead;
    And in the thousand tear-drops warmly thronging,
      I felt a world grow up, mine own indeed.
    The joyous sports of youth those tones revealing,
      Of the spring feast once more the joy unfolds,
    And recollection, fraught with childish feeling,
      Me from the last dread step of all withholds.
    Oh sound, sound on, thou sweet celestial strain,
    The tears well forth, the earth hath me again.
                                    _Goethe’s “Faust.”_

    List not those cries! How strangely do they blend
    With the sweet _bells_ from yonder gothic tower,
    Pealing athwart the water. Such the contrast
    Of wild religious awe to earthly clamour,
    For on the morrow, and the morrow’s morrow,
    At this still hour those _bells_ will still peal on;
    But these harsh sinful cries, the moment’s offspring,
    Will with the moment pass to nought away,
    They, and the passions, even as briefly raging;
    And, as the echo of those cries, borne far
    Up the deep silvery Thames, there dies in air
    In the dim distance, seeming well to blend
    With the calm beauty of the hour, and heighten
    The melody of silence; so the thought
    On this vain uproar shall in future years
    Prove but a gentle memory! since we shared
    The cares it wooed to life, together.
                                          _Archer Gurney._

    Stop, O stop the passing _bell_!
        Painfully, too painfully,
    It strikes against the heart, that knell,
    I cannot bear its tones--they tell
        Of misery, of misery!
    All that soothed and sweetened life,
    In the mother and the wife--
    All that would a charm have cast
    O’er the future, as the past--
    All is torturing in that knell!
    Stop, O stop the passing _bell_!

    Stop it! no--but change the tone,
        And joyfully, ah, joyfully,
    Let the altered chimes ring on,
    For the spirit that hath flown,
        Exultingly, exultingly!
    She hath left her couch of pain,
    She shall never feel again,
    But as angels feel!--afar,
    Chimed beyond the morning star,
    Agony and death unknown!
    Let the joyful chimes ring on!
                               _Robert Story._


Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.--Psalm civ. 28.

Give, and it shall be given unto you.--Luke, vi. 38.

Let the husband render unto the wife due _benevolence_: and likewise
also the wife unto the husband.--I. Corinthians, vii. 3.

Be rich in good works, ready to distribute.--I. Timothy, vi. 18.

                            Nature all
    Is blooming and _beneficent_, like Thee.

      Some high or humble enterprise of good
      Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind,
      Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
      And kindle in thy heart a flame refined.
      Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
      To this thy purpose--to begin, pursue,
      With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind;
      Strength to complete, and with delight review,
    And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.

      Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
      And thou an angel’s happiness shalt know,--
      Shall bless the earth, while in the world above
      The good begun by thee shall onward flow
      In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
      The seed that in these few and fleeting hours
      Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow,
      Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
    And yield thee fruits divine in heaven’s immortal bowers.
                                             _Charles Wilcox._

    The heart has tendrils like the vine,
    Which round another’s bosom twine,
    Outspringing from the parent tree
    Of deeply-planted sympathy,
    Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss;
    _Beneficence_ its harvest is.
                                     _J. Bowring._

                  Trees, and flowers, and streams,
    Are social and _benevolent_; and he
    Who oft communeth in their language pure,
    Roaming among them at the cool of day,
    Shall find, like him who Eden’s garden dressed,
    His Maker there to teach his listening heart.
                                   _Mrs. Sigourney._


Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with _benefits_, even the God
of our salvation.--Psalm lxviii. 19.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his _benefits_.--Psalm
ciii. 2.

Without thy mind would I do nothing; that thy _benefit_ should not be
as it were of necessity, but willingly.--Philemon, 14.

                        Offered life
    Neglect not, and the _benefit_ embrace
    By faith, not void of works.

    I gaze upon the thousand stars
      That fill the midnight sky;
    And wish, so passionately wish,
      A light like theirs on high.
    I have such eagerness of hope
      To _benefit_ my kind;
    I feel as if immortal power
      Were given to my mind.
                      _Miss Landon._

    Why are springs enthroned on high,
    Where the mountains kiss the sky?
    ’Tis that thence their streams may flow,
    Fertilizing all below.

    Why have clouds such lofty flight,
    Basking in the golden light?
    ’T is to send down genial showers
    On this lower world of ours.

    Why does God exalt the great?
    ’T is that they may prop the state;
    So that toil its sweets may yield,
    And the sower reap the field.

    Riches why doth He confer?
    That the rich may minister
    To the children of distress,
    To the poor and fatherless.

    Does He light a Newton’s mind?
    ’T is to shine on all mankind.
    Does He give to Virtue birth?
    ’T is the salt of this poor earth.
                        _Josiah Conder._


Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my
life.--Psalm xxiii. 6.

Thou Lord art good, and ready to forgive, and plenteous in mercy unto
all them that call upon thee.--Psalm lxxxvi. 5.

The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his
works.--Psalm cxlv. 9.

    This turn hath, made amends! Thou hast fulfilled
    Thy words, Creator bounteous and _benign_,
    Giver of all things fair!

    He comes not in the pride of martial pomp,
    High in triumphal chariot, while around
    The poor remains of vanquished kingdoms grace
    The trophied car; not such as Judah’s sons,
    By empire’s flattering dreams misled, conceived,
    Vindictive monarch over prostrate Rome.
    Beyond the confines of this nether world.
    At the right hand of the Almighty Sire,
    Enthroned he sits; no partial King, to all
    Who unfeigned homage offer, He, _benign_,
    The treasure of his boundless love vouchsafes.
                                      _Samuel Hayes._

    Divinest creed! and worthy to be taught
    By Him, the Saviour, who thy tidings brought;
    Thou wert the first, descending from above,
    To teach the nations that their God was love;
    That ire eternal dwelt not on His face,
    But love and pity, and redeeming grace.
    And all the joy this world since then has known,
    Springs from this creed, and springs from this alone;
    Whatever triumphs have been gained by mind
    O’er Error, Hate, and Ignorance combined;
    Whatever progress man may yet have made,
    Owes all its worth to Thy _benignant_ aid.
                                              _C. Mackay._

    O, Saviour, gracious and _benign_,
    Warm and illume this heart of mine,
    Disperse the fogs and mists of sin,
    And let no evil lurk therein:
    Let me Thy love and goodness see--
    Thy merciful _benignity_.

                              THE BIBLE.

And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in
all the scriptures the things concerning Himself.--Luke, xxiv. 27.

Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and
they are they which testify of me.--John, v. 39.

The holy scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation,
through faith which is in Christ Jesus.

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable
for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in
righteousness.--II. Timothy, iii. 15, 16.

For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our
learning, that we, through patience and comfort of the scriptures,
might have hope.--Romans, xv. 4.

The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.--Ephesians, vi. 17.

    Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts,
    In several ages born, in several parts,
    Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,
    Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie!
    Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice,
    Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.

    So has this book entitled us to Heaven.
    And rules to guide us to that mansion given;
    Tells the conditions how our peace was made,
    And is our pledge for the great Author’s aid.
    His power in nature’s ample book we find,
    But the less volume doth express his mind.

    A critic on the sacred book should be
    Candid and learned, dispassionate and free:
    Free from the wayward bias bigots feel,
    From fancy’s influence, and intemperate zeal.

    Within this ample volume lies
    The mystery of mysteries;
    Happiest they of human race
    To whom their God has given grace,
    To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
    To lift the latch, to force the way:
    And better had they ne’er been born,
    That read to doubt, or read to scorn.
                       _Sir Walter Scott._

    Most wondrous book! bright candle of the Lord!
    Star of eternity! the only star
    By which the bark of man could navigate
    The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss
    Securely; only star which rose in time
    And on its dark and troubled billows, still
    As generation driving swiftly by,
    Succeeding generation, threw a ray
    Of heaven’s own light, and to the hills of God--
    The everlasting hills--pointed the sinner’s eye.
    By prophets, seers, and priests, and sacred bards,
    Evangelists, apostles, men inspired,
    And by the Holy Ghost anointed, set
    Apart and consecrated to declare
    On earth the counsels of the Eternal one,
    This book--this holiest, this sublimest book
    Was sent. Heaven’s will, Heaven’s code of laws entire
    To man, this book contained; defined the bounds
    Of vice and virtue, and of life and death;
    And what was shadow, what was substance taught.
    This book--this holy book, in every line
    Marked with the seal of high divinity,
    On every leaf bedewed with drops of love
    Divine, and with the eternal heraldry
    And signature of God Almighty stamped,
    From first to last; this ray of sacred light,
    This lamp from off the everlasting throne,
    Mercy brought down, and in the night of time
    Stands casting on the dark her gracious bow,
    And evermore beseeching men with tears
    And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live.

                        Hast thou ever heard
    Of such a book? The author God Himself;
    The subject, God and man, salvation, life,
    And death--eternal life--eternal death.

      The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
        How Abram was the friend of God on high;
      Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
        With Amalek’s ungracious progeny;
      Or how the Royal Bard did groaning lie,
        Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
      Or Job’s pathetic plaint and wailing cry;
        Or wrapt Isaiah’s wild seraphic fire;
    Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

      Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
        How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
      How He who bore in Heaven the second name,
        Had not, on earth, whereon to lay His head;
      How His first followers and servants sped;
        The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
      How he who, lone in Patmos banished,
        Saw, in the sun, a mighty angel stand;
    And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounced by Heaven’s command.

    Look, Christian! in thy _Bible_, and that glass
      Which sheds its sands through minutes, hours, and days,
      And years; it speaks not: yet methinks it says
    To every human heart--“so mortals pass
    On to their dark and silent grave!” Alas!
      For man:--an exile upon earth he stays,
      Weary, and wandering through benighted ways;
    To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass
    That withers at his feet. Lift up thy head,
      Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears;
    That book declares whose blood for thee was shed,
      Who died to give thee life; and though thy years
    Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed,
      Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears,
    And by his guiding hand to heaven thy steps are led.
                                            _W. Lisle Bowles._

    A book there is, of ancient date,
    Where all the truly wise and great
    Have found the pearls of wisdom spread,
    Like gems upon the ocean-bed.
    Brighter than Californian gold,
    Are deeds inspired apostles told,
    Greater than all that Milton thought,
    Are truths that saints and prophets taught.
    Oh! be it ours from tender age,
    To gather wisdom from its page.
                                  _J. Burbidge._

                        The sacred page
    With calm attention scan! If on thy soul,
    As thou dost read, a ray of purer light
    Break in, O, check it not, give it full scope!
    Admitted, it will break the clouds which long
    Have dimmed thy sight, and lead thee, till at last,
    Convictions like the sun’s meridian beams,
    Illuminate thy mind.
                                         _Samuel Hayes._

                        Father! that book
    With whose worn leaves the careless infant plays,
    Must be the _Bible_. Therein thy dim eyes
    Will meet a cheering light; and silent words
    Of mercy breathed from Heaven, will be exhaled
    From the blest page unto thy withered heart.
                                        _John Wilson._

    What is this world? a wildering maze
    Where sin hath tracked ten thousand ways,
      Her victims to ensnare.
    All broad, all winding, and aslope,
    All tempting with perfidious hope,
      All ending in despair.

    Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,
    Bearing their baubles or their loads,
      Down to eternal night;
    Our humble path that never bends,
    Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends
      From darkness into light.

    Is there a guide to show that path?
    The _Bible_! He alone who hath
      The _Bible_, need not stray;
    Yet he who hath, and will not give
    That heavenly guide to all that live,
      Himself shall lose the way.
                              _J. Montgomery._

    The _Bible_? That’s the Book, The Book indeed,
          The Book of Books;
          On which who looks,
    As he should do, aright, shall never need
          Wish for a better light
          To guide him in the night.

    Or, when he hungry is, for better food
          To feed upon,
          Than this alone,
    If he bring stomach and digestion good:
          And if he be amiss,
          This the best physic is.

    It is the looking-glass of souls, wherein
          All men may see,
          Whether they be
    Still, as by nature they are, deform’d with sin;
          Or in a better case,
          As new adorn’d with grace.

    ’Tis the great Magazine of spiritual arms,
          Wherein doth lie
          The Artillery
    Of heaven, ready charged against all harms,
          That might come by the blows
          Of our infernal foes.

    God’s cabinet of reveal’d counsel ’tis:
          Where weal and woe
          Are order’d so,
    That every man may know which shall be his;
          Unless his own mistake
          False application make.

    It is the index of Eternity.
          He cannot miss
          Of endless bliss,
    That takes this chart to steer his voyage by,
          Nor can he be mistook,
          That speaketh by this Book.

    A Book to which no other Book can be compared
          For excellence;
    Is proper to it, and cannot be shared.
          Divinity alone
          Belongs to it, or none.

    It is the Book of God. What if I should
          Say, God of Books?
          Let him that looks
    Angry at this expression, as too bold
          His thoughts in silence smother,
          Till he find such another.
                                 _George Herbert._

    But to outweigh all harm, the sacred book,
    In dusty sequestration wrapped too long,
    Assumes the accent of our native tongue;
    And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook,
    With understanding spirit now may look
    Upon her records, listen to her song,
    And sift her laws--much wondering that the wrong
    Which faith hath suffered, Heaven could calmy brook.
    Transcendent Boon! nobler than earthly King
    Ever bestowed to equalize and bless,
    Under the weight of mortal wretchedness!
    But passions spread like plagues, and thousands wild
    With bigotry shall tread the offering
    Beneath their feet, detested and defiled.

    What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,
    Cling reverently! Of anxious looks beguiled.
    My mother’s eyes upon thy page divine
    Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild,
    Breathed out thy love;--whilst I a dreaming child,
    On breeze-like fancies wandered oft away
    To some lone tuft of gleaming spring flowers wild,
    Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play,
    Some secret nest: yet would the solemn word
    At times with kindlings of young wonder heard,
    Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be
    A seed not lost; for which in darker years,
    O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
    Heart-blessings on the holy dead and thee.
                                            _Mrs. Hemans._

    Friend of my early days,
      Thou old, brown, folio tome,
    Oft opened with amaze,
      Within my childhood’s home;
    Thy many-pictured pages,
      Beheld with glad surprise,
    Would lure me from my playmates,
      To oriental skies.

    I found in thee for friends,
      The wise and valiant men
    Of Israel, whose heroic deeds
      Are writ with holy pen;
    And dark brown Jewish maidens,
      With festive dance and song,
    Or fairly dressed for bridal,
      Thy pictured leaves among.

    The old life patriarchal
      Did beautifully shine,
    With angels hovering over,
      The good old men divine;
    Their long long pilgrimages
      I traced through all the way;
    While on the stool before me
      The pages open lay.
               _From the German of Freiligrath._

    Fancy, Hope, and Conscience could not prove
    A future state, without the Word of God.
    This is Hope’s charter, this gives Fancy power,
    And this arms Conscience with authority.
    This partly lifts the veil which else had hung
    Before our eyes, concealing from our view
    The Spirit Land.
                                 _Joseph H. Wythes._

    Thou truest friend man ever knew,
      Thy constancy I’ve tried;
    When all were false I found thee true,
      My counsellor and guide.
    The mines of earth no treasures give
      That could this volume buy:
    In teaching me the way to live,
      It taught me how to die.
                          _Geo. P. Morris._


And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature
that hath life, and _fowl_ that may fly above the earth in the open
firmament of heaven.

And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the
waters in the seas, and let _fowl_ multiply in the earth.--Genesis, i.
20, 22.

Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night; who teacheth us
more than the beasts of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the _fowls_
of heaven?--Job, xxxv. 10, 11.

In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul. Flee as a _bird_ to
your mountain?--Psalm xi. 1.

I know all the _fowls_ of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the
field are mine.--Psalm l. 11.

Our soul is escaped as a _bird_ out of the snare of the fowlers.--Psalm
cxxiv. 7.

As a _bird_ hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his
life.--Proverbs, vii. 23.

As the _bird_ by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse
causeless shall not come.--Proverbs, xxvi. 2.

Curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a _bird_ of the air
shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the
matter.--Ecclesiastes, x. 20.

Behold the _fowls_ of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap,
nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye
not much better than they?--Matthew, vi. 26.

The foxes have holes, and the _birds_ of the air have nests; but the
Son of man hath not where to lay his head.--Matthew, viii. 20.

Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap: which neither have
storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better
than the _fowls_?--Luke, xii. 24.

    Sweet _bird_! thou sing’st away the early hours
    Of winter past, or coming, void of care,
    Well pleased with delights, which present are,--
    Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling flowers,
    To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers,
    Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare,
    And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
    A stain to human sense in sin that lowers;
    What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
    (Alter’d in sweetness,) sweetly is not driven
    Quite to forget earth’s turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
    And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
      Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
    To air of spheres, yes, and to angels’ lays.
                                            _W. Drummond._

    Behold! and look away your low despair,
    See the light tenants of the barren air:
    To them no stores nor granaries belong,
    Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
    Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
    On the least wing that flits along the sky;
    He hears their gay and their distressful call,
    And with unsparing bounty fills them all.

    What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
    That in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
    Instructs the _fowls_ of Heaven?
                            What but God!
    Inspiring God! whose boundless spirit all
    And unremitting energy pervades,
    Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.

    Like an unfledged hungry _bird_, that in its nest
      Hears its returning mother flap her wings,
      Circling around when some choice food she brings;
    The nestling’s love for both is then exprest--
    It strives to reach the food and be carest,
      And rustles to begin its wanderings,
      And thanks her with unwonted chiruppings,
    In notes that seem too sweet for its young breast:--
    So do I feel whene’er the brilliant light
      Of the almighty sun to which I gaze,
        Cheers with unusual warmth my fainting soul;
      Urged by internal love to bless and praise,
        I take the pen, with joy beyond controul,
    And fluttering, praise my God with all my might.
                                      _Vittoria Colonna._

    Beautiful _birds_ of lightsome wing,
    Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring;
    We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn,
    Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn,
    Though rainbow splendour around you glows,
    Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows:
    Oh! what a lesson for glory are ye,
    How ye preach the grace of humility.

    Swift _birds_ that skim o’er the stormy deep,
    Who steadily onward your journey keep,
    Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay,
    But press still forward, by night or day--
    As on your unwearying course ye fly,
    Beneath the clear and unclouded sky;
    Oh! may we, without delay, like you,
    The path of duty and right pursue.

    Sweet _birds_ that breathe the spirit of song,
    And surround heaven’s gate in melodious throng;
    Who rise with the earliest beams of day,
    Your morning tribute of thanks to pay,
    You remind me that we should likewise raise
    The voice of devotion, and song of praise;
    There’s something about you that points on high,
    Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky.
                                    _C. W. Thompson._

    _Birds_, joyous _birds_, of the wandering wing!
    Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
    --“We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
    From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
    From the palms that wave through the Indian sky,
    From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby.

    A change we have found, and many a change!
    Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange!
    Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
    And the young that were have a brow of care,
    And the place is hushed where the children played--
    Nought looks the same, save the nests we made!”

    Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
    _Birds_ that o’ersweep it in power and mirth!
    Yet through the wastes of the trackless air
    _Ye_ have a guide, and shall _we_ despair?
    _Ye_ over desert and deep have passed--
    So shall _we_ reach our bright home at last.
                                    _Mrs. Hemans._

    What time thy heavenly voice preludes
      Unto the fair and silent night,
    Winged minstrel of my solitudes,
      Unknown to thee I trace its flight.

    Thy voice so touching and sublime,
      Seems far too pure for this gross earth;
    Surely we well may deem the chime
      An instinct which with God has birth.

    Thy warblings and thy murmurs sweet,
      Into melodious union bring
    All fair sounds that in nature meet,
      Or float from heaven on wand’ring wing.

    And that mysterious voice, that sound
      Which angels listen to with me,--
    That sigh of pious night is found
      In thee, melodious _bird_, in thee.

    Ye gentle _birds_, that perch aloof,
    And smooth your pinions on my roof,
    Preparing for departure hence,
    Ere winter’s angry threats commence:
    Like you my soul would smooth her plume,
    For longer flights beyond the tomb.

    May God, by whom is seen and heard
    Departing man and wandering _bird_,
    In mercy mark me for His own,
    And guide me to the land unknown!

    The _bird_, let loose in eastern skies,
      When hastening fondly home,
    Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
      Where idler warblers roam.

    So grant me, Lord! from every stain
      Of sinful passion free,
    Aloft through virtue’s purer air,
      To steer my course to Thee.

    No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
      My soul, as home she springs;
    The sunshine on her joyful way;
      Thy freedom on her wings.

    The wild _bird’s_ song is a song of praise,
      Which, thankful, he uplifts;
    Ever, like him, thy voice upraise,
      To the giver of all good gifts.


Judah prevailed above his brethren, and of him came the chief ruler;
but the _birthright_ was Joseph’s.--I. Chronicles, v. 2.

Shall I bring to the _birth_, and not cause to bring forth? saith the
Lord.--Isaiah, lxvi. 9.

And thou shalt have joy and gladness; and many shall rejoice at his
_birth_.--Luke, i. 14.

Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be _born_ again.

The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof,
but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every
one that is _born_ of the spirit.--John, iii. 7, 8.

My little children, of whom I travail in _birth_ again until Christ be
formed in you.--Galatians, iv. 19.

Whosoever is _born_ of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth
in him: and he cannot sin, because he is _born_ of God.--I. John, iii.

                              Orient light,
    Exhaling first from darkness, they beheld,
    _Birthday_ of heaven and earth.

                    Thou hast been found
    By merit, more than _birthright_, Son of God.

    While no baseness in my breast I find,
    I have not lost the _birthright_ of my mind.

    They tell me ’tis my _birthday_, and I’ll keep it
    With double pomp of sadness;
    ’Tis what the day deserves which brought me forth.

    Mysterious love! that thou must recommence
    Life and existence, and be _born_ anew,
    _Born_ both of water and of spirit, whence
    Spirit comes only, as flesh must flesh ensue:
    And where it lists the wind shall blow, whose sound
    Thou hearest, but know’st not--none--
    Whence cometh it, nor whither it is bound;
    And no man hath ascended into heaven
    But he who thence came down, and bore the wound,
    And perished that the world might be forgiven.
                                         _J. A. Heraud._

    Let us learn the wondrous story,
      Of our great Redeemer’s _birth_;
    Spread the brightness of His glory,
      Till it cover all the earth.
    Hasten mortals to adore Him,
    Till in heaven ye sing before Him.

    Are all the memories of life
      Buried when life has fled?
    Are we forbid to keep again
      The _birthdays_ of the dead?

    Time was when each successive year
      Brought one bright day of mirth,
    The looked-for anniversary
      Of some belov’d one’s _birth_.

    The _birthday_ feasts of childhood’s age,
      The feasts of riper years,
    Remind us of like youthful joys
      Remembered now with tears.

    For they with whom those days were spent,
      Have done with all on earth,
    The fond home circle’s broken up
      That hailed each day of _birth_.

    Yet as the days come round again
      Marked with affection’s seal,
    Once more we think of those we’ve lost,
      Once more their presence feel.

    The blessed spirits now in Heaven,
      May not such cycles keep,
    Time metes not out their happiness,
      They know not night or sleep.

    Yet may they still retain the thoughts
      Commemorating _birth_,
    And haply still they keep in Heaven
      The calender of Earth.

    Far off are they, but still towards them
      Our loving arms we spread,
    And ever in our hearts we’ll keep
      The _birthdays_ of the dead.
                          _George E. Shirley._


I will _bless_ the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be
in my mouth.--Psalm xxxiv. 1.

_Blessed_ are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising

_Blessed_ is the man whose strength is in thee.--Psalm lxxxiv. 4, 5.

_Blessings_ are upon the head of the just, but violence covereth the
mouth of the wicked.--Proverbs, x. 6.

The _blessing_ of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow
with it.--Proverbs, x. 22.

_Blessed_ are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.--Matthew, v. 8.

I say unto you, love your enemies, _bless_ them that curse you, do
good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use
you.--Matthew, v. 44.

_Blessing_; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should
inherit a _blessing_.--I. Peter, iii. 9.

          O All-Sufficient, All-Beneficent!
    Thou God of Goodness and of glory, hear!
    Thou who to lowest minds dost condescend,
    Assuming passions to enforce thy laws,
    Adopting jealousy to prove thy love!
    Thou who resigned humility upholdest,
    E’en as the florist props the drooping rose;
    But quellest tyrannic pride with peerless power,
    E’en as the tempest drives the stubborn oak!
    O All-Sufficient, All-Beneficent!
    Thou God of goodness and of glory, hear!
    _Bless_ all mankind, and bring them in the end
    To heaven, to immortality, and Thee!

    O my soul, with all thy powers,
      _Bless_ the Lord’s most holy name;
    O my soul, till life’s last hours,
      _Bless_ the Lord, his praise proclaim;
        Thine infirmities He healed;
        He thy peace and pardon sealed.

    As in Heaven, His throne and dwelling.
      King on earth He holds his sway;
    Angels, ye in strength excelling,
      _Bless_ the Lord, his voice obey;
        All his works beneath the pole,
        _Bless_ the Lord, with thee, my soul.
                              _J. Montgomery._

    Author of being! life-sustaining king!
    Lo! want’s dependant eye from Thee implores
    The seasons, which provide nutritious stores;
    Give to her prayers the renovating spring,
    And summer’s heats all perfecting, that bring
    The fruits which autumn, from a thousand shores
    Selecteth provident! when earth adores
    Her God, and all her vales exultory sing.
    Without thy _blessing_ the submissive steer
    Bends to the ploughman’s galling yoke in vain;
    Without thy _blessing_ on the varied year,
    Can the swarth reaper grasp the golden grain?
    Without thy _blessing_ all is blank and drear;
    With it the joys of Eden bloom again.

    _Blessed_ be thy name for ever,
    Thou of life the guard and giver;
    Thou canst guard the creatures sleeping,
    Heal the heart long broke with weeping.
    God of stillness and of motion,
    Of the desert and the ocean,
    Of the mountain, rock, and river,
    _Blessed_ be thy name for ever.

    Thou who slumberest not, nor sleepest,
    _Blest_ are they thou kindly keepest;
    God of evening’s parting ray,
    Of midnight’s gloom, and dawning day,
    That rises from the azure sea,
    Like breathings of eternity;
    God of life! that fade shall never,
    _Blessed_ be thy name for ever.
                                _James Hogg._

    Oh! ’tis a sight the soul to cheer,
    The promise of the fruitful year,
    When God abroad his bounty flings,
    And answering nature laughs and sings!
    He, “for the evil and the good,”
    For them, who with heart’s gratitude,
    For them, who thanklessly receive
    The _blessings_ He vouchsafes to give,
    Bids from his storehouse in the skies,
    “His rain descend, his sun arise.”

        Thrice _blessed_ they who dwell
          Within thine house, my God,
        Where daily praises swell,
          And still the floor is trod
    By those who in thy presence bow,
    By those whose King and God art thou.
                          _J. Montgomery._

    _Blessed_ are the pure in heart,
      For they shall see our God;
    The secret of the Lord is theirs,
      Their soul is Christ’s abode.

    Spotless their robes and pure,
      Dipped in the sea of light,
    That hides the unapproached shrine
      From men’s and angels’ sight.

    From darkness here, and dreariness,
      We ask not full repose,
    Only be thou at hand to _bless_
      Our trial hour of woes.
    Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid
    By the clear rill and palmy shade?
    And see we not, up earth’s dark glade,
      The gate of Heaven unclose?

    Thou that created’st all! Thou fountain
      Of our sun’s light--who dwellest far
      From man, beyond the farthest star,
    Yet, ever present; who dost heed
    Our spirits in their human need;
      We _bless_ thee, Father, that we are!

    We _bless_ thee for our inward life;
      For its immortal date decreeing;
    For that which comprehendeth thee,
    A spark of thy divinity,
      Which is the being of our being!

    We _bless_ thee for this bounteous earth;
      For its increase--for corn and wine;
    For forest-oaks, for mountain-rills;
    For cattle “on a thousand hills;”
      We _bless_ thee--for all good is thine!
                                _Mary Howitt._

    We have the promise of th’ eternal truth,
      Those who live well, and pious paths pursue,
      To man and to their Maker true;
    Let them expire in age or youth,
                    Can never miss
      Their way to everlasting _bliss_;
    But from a world of misery and care,
    To mansions of eternal ease repair;
      Where joy in full perfection flows,
      And in an endless circle moves
        Through the vast round of beatific love,
      Which no cessation knows.
                                    _John Pomfret._

    No, ’tis in vain to seek for _bliss_,
      For _bliss_ can ne’er be found
    Till we arrive where Jesus is,
      And tread on heav’nly ground.

    When we have slept that dreamless sleep,
      Which dearest hearts must sever;
    O may we wake no more to weep,
      But live in _bliss_ for ever.
                               _John Linden._

    True _bliss_, the flower of Paradise,
      Lives not in this ungenial clime;
    It blossoms in celestial skies,
      Beyond the ravages of time;
    The joy to christian pilgrims given,
    Is but the rich perfume of heaven.
                            _W. J. Brock._

    True _bliss_, the flower of Paradise,
      Why seek it here below?
    It groweth only ’neath those skies
      With love divine that glow.
    Warmed by the sun of righteousness,
      And watered by the dews
    Of mercy, and redeeming grace,
      How lively are its hues!
    In heaven, an amaranthine flower,
    On earth, it blossoms but an hour.


The Lord openeth the eyes of the _blind_.--Psalm cxlvi. 8.

Then the eyes of the _blind_ shall be opened.--Isaiah, xxxv. 5.

He hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to
the captives, and recovering of sight to the _blind_.--Luke, iv. 18.

Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God
through the ignorance that is in them, because of the _blindness_ of
their heart.--Ephesians, iv. 18.

    When I consider how my light is spent
    Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
      And that one talent which is death to hide,
    Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
    To serve therewith my Maker, and present
      My true account, lest he returning chide;
    “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
    I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent
      That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
    Either man’s works, or his own gifts; who best
      Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state
      Is kingly, thousands at his bidding speed,
    And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
      They also serve, who only stand and wait.”

    There is a poor _Blind_ Man, who every day,
      In summer sunshine, or in winter’s rain,
      Duly as tolls the bell to the high fane,
    Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,
    To kneel before his Maker, and to hear
    The chanted service pealing full and clear.

    Ask why, alone, in the same spot he kneels
      Through the long year? Oh! the wide world is cold,
    As dark to him; here, he no longer feels
      His sad bereavement--Faith and Hope uphold
    His heart--he feels not he is poor and _blind_,
    Amid the unpitying tumult of mankind:
      As thro’ the aisles the choral anthems roll,
    His soul is in the choirs above the skies,
    And songs, far off, of angel companies.

    Oh! happy, if the Rich--the Vain--the Proud--
    The plumed Actors in life’s motley crowd,--
    Since pride is dust, and life itself a span,--
    Would learn one Lesson from a poor _Blind_ Man.
                                          _Lisle Bowles._

    I see, and yet I see not; outward things
      Are visible unto me: I behold
    The fresh, cool verdure of succeeding springs;
      The glories of the summer manifold;
      The forests rich with their autumnal gold;
    The creatures beautiful, that spread their wings
      In the warm sunshine; blossoms that unfold
    Bright as man’s hopes and vain imaginings.
    The glories of the universe are spread
      Before me, and I see them with delight:
    Yet am I _blind_ of heart, and cold, and dead
      To spiritual things. God grant me light
    To understand, and warmth to feel, and grace
    Thy message to receive--Thy wondrous power to trace.

      But in God’s temple the great lamp is out,
      And he must worship glory in the dark!
      Till death, in midnight mystery, hath brought
      The veiled soul’s re-illuminating spark--
      The pillar of the cloud enfolds the Ark!
      And, like a man that prayeth underground
      In Bethlehem’s rocky shrine, he can but mark
      The lingering hours by circumstance and sound,
    And break, with gentle hymns, the solemn silence round.

      Yet still life’s better light shines out above!
      And in that village church, where first he learned
      To bear his cheerless doom, for heaven’s dear love,
      He sits, with wistful face, for ever turned
      To hear of those who heavenly pity earned;
      _Blind_ Bartimæus, and him desolate,
      Who for Bethesda’s waters vainly yearned:
      And only sighs, condemned so long to wait,
    Baffled and helpless still, beyond the Temple gate!
                                            _Mrs. Norton._


And Moses took the _blood_, and sprinkled it on the people, and said,
Behold the _blood_ of the covenant, which the Lord hath made with
you.--Exodus, xxiv. 8.

Deliver me from _blood_-guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation:
and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.--Psalm li. 14.

By the _blood_ of thy covenant I have sent forth thy prisoners out of
the pit.--Zechariah, ix. 11.

God hath made of one _blood_ all nations of men for to dwell on all the
face of the earth.--Acts, xvii. 26.

Neither by the _blood_ of goats and calves, but by his own _blood_, he
entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption
for us.--Hebrews, ix. 12.

Almost all things are by the law purged with _blood_; and without
shedding of _blood_ is no remission.--Hebrews, ix. 22.

The _blood_ of Jesus Christ, his son, cleanseth us from all sin.--I.
John, i. 7.

            Strange is it that our _bloods_,
    Of colour, weight, and heat, poured all together,
    Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
    In difference so mighty.

    Ye Sacred Writings! on whose antique leaves
      The wondrous deeds of heaven recorded lie,
    Say, what might be the cause, that mercy heaves
      The dust of sin above the starry sky,
      And lets it not in dust and ashes fly?
        Could Justice be of sin so over-wooed,
        Or so great ill because of so great good,
    That, _bloody_ man to save, man’s Saviour shed his _blood_.
                                               _Giles Fletcher._

    O, thou great Power! in whom we move,
      By whom we live, to whom we die,
    Behold me through thy beams of love,
      Whilst on this couch of tears I lie,
    And cleanse my sordid soul within
    By thy Christ’s _blood_, the bath of sin.

    No hallowed oils, no gums I need,
      No new-born drams of purging fire:
    One rosy drop from David’s seed
      Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire:
    O, precious ransom! which once paid,
    The _Consummatum est_ was said.

    And said by him, that said no more,
      But sealed it with his sacred breath:
    Thou, then, thus hast dispurged our score,
      And dying wert the death of death;
    Be now whilst on thy name we call,
    Our life, our strength, our joy, our all.
                            _Sir Henry Wotton._

    Stretched on the cross, the Saviour dies,
    Hark! his expiring groans arise!
    See, how the sacred crimson tide
    Flows from his hands, his feet, his side.

    But life attends the deathful sound,
    And flows from every _bleeding_ wound;
    The vital stream, how free it flows,
    To save and cleanse his rebel foes!

    Lord! didst thou _bleed_? for sinners _bleed_?
    And could the sun behold the deed?
    No! he withdrew his sickening ray,
    And darkness veiled the mourning day.

    There is a fountain filled with _blood_,
      Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
    And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
      Lose all their guilty stains.

    The dying thief rejoiced to see
      That fountain in his day;
    O may I there, though vile as he,
      Wash all my sins away!

    Dear dying Lamb! thy precious _blood_
      Shall never lose its power,
    Till all the ransomed church of God
      Be saved, to sin no more.

    Not all the _blood_ of beasts
      On Jewish altars slain,
    Could give the guilty conscience peace,
      Or wash away the stain.

    But Christ the heavenly Lamb,
      Takes all our sins away;
    A sacrifice of nobler name,
      And richer _blood_ than they.


Therefore as the fire devoureth the stubble, and the flame consumeth
the chaff, so their root shall be as rottenness, and their _blossom_
shall go up as dust: because they have cast away the law of the Lord of
hosts, and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel.--Isaiah, v. 24.

The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the
desert shall rejoice, and _blossom_ as the rose. It shall _blossom_
abundantly.--Isaiah, xxxv. 1, 2.

    Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
        Why do you fall so fast?
        Your date is not so past
    But you may stay yet here awhile,
        To blush and gently smile,
          And go at last.

    What! were ye born to be
        An hour and half’s delight
        And so to bid good-night?
    ’Twas pity nature brought ye forth
        Merely to show your worth,
          And lose you quite.

    But you are lovely leaves, where we
        May read how soon things have
        Their end, though ne’er so brave,
    And after they have shown their pride
        Like you awhile, they glide
          Into the grave.

    Our life hath many a wintry scene,
      Deciduous are our sweetest joys;
    And _blossoms_ that have loveliest been,
      Some withering demon oft destroys.

    But there are germs that inly lie,
      Waiting the touch of some kind hand,
    Germs that destruction’s power defy,
      And soon in _bloom_ of hope expand.
                               _W. J. Brock._

    Lo, the arid desert
      Shall _blossom_ as the rose,
    Wheresoe’er the messenger
      Of the Saviour goes.


I speak as concerning reproach, as though we had been weak. Howbeit
whereinsoever any is _bold_, (I speak foolishly,) I am _bold_
also.--II. Corinthians, xi. 21.

Great is my _boldness_ of speech towards you.--II. Corinthians, vii. 4.

Christ Jesus our Lord: In whom we have _boldness_ and access with
confidence by the faith of him.--Ephesians, iii. 11, 12.

Herein is our love made perfect, that we may have _boldness_ in the day
of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world.--I. John, iv.

We were _bold_ in our God to speak unto you the gospel of God with much
contention.--I. Thessalonians, ii. 2.

The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are _bold_ as a
lion.--Proverbs, xxviii. 1.

    Where high the heavenly temple stands,
    The house of God not made with hands,
    A great High Priest our nature wears,
    The guardian of mankind appears.

    He who for men their surety stood,
    And poured on earth His precious blood,
    Pursues in heaven His mighty plan,
    The Saviour and the friend of man.

    With _boldness_, therefore, at the throne
    Let us make all our sorrows known,
    And ask the aid of heavenly power
    To help us in the evil hour.

    Jesus! Thy blood and righteousness
    My beauty are my glorious dress;
    ’Midst flaming worlds, in these array’d,
    With joy shall I lift up my head.

    _Bold_ shall I stand in Thy great day;
    For who aught to my charge shall lay?
    Fully absolv’d through these I am
    From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.

    The man is _bold_ who fronts the cannon’s mouth,
    And trembles not when danger leads the way;
    But _bolder_ far is he who speaks the truth
    Regardless who may stand around and hear,
    And with a kindly spirit dares reprove
    The fool that cavils at a world to come.
                                       _J. Burbidge._


The _bondage_ was heavy upon this people.--Nehemiah, v. 18.

They answered him, We be Abraham’s seed, and were never in _bondage_ to
any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free.--John, viii. 33.

And God spake on this wise, That his seed should sojourn in a strange
land: and that they should bring them into _bondage_, and entreat them
evil four hundred years.--Acts, vii. 6.

The creature itself also shall be delivered from the _bondage_ of
corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.--Romans,
viii. 21.

Put on charity, which is the _bond_ of perfectness.--Colossians, iii.

Deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject
to _bondage_.--Hebrews, ii. 15.

    Get up, my soul; redeem thy sluggish eyes
    From drowsy _bondage_: O beware; be wise:
    Thy foe’s before thee; thou must fight or fly:
    Life lies most open in a closed eye.

    Lamb of God, for sinners slain,
      To thee I feebly pray;
    Heal me of my grief and pain,
      O take my sins away;

    From this _bondage_ Lord release;
      No longer let me be opprest;
    Jesus, Master, seal my peace,
      And take me to thy breast.

    My God, what silken cords are thine!
      How soft, and yet how strong!
    While power, and truth, and love combine,
      To draw our souls along.

    Thou sawest us crushed beneath the yoke
      Of Satan and of sin:
    Thy hand the iron _bondage_ broke,
      Our worthless hearts to win.

    Drawn by such cords, we onward move,
      Till round thy throne we meet;
    And, captive in the chains of love,
      Embrace our conqueror’s feet.


And he took the _book_ of the covenant, and read in the audience of the
people.--Exodus, xxiv. 7.

Ezra opened the _book_ in the sight of all the people; (for he was
above all the people;) and when he opened it, all the people stood
up.--Nehemiah, viii. 5.

Oh that my words were now written! oh that they were printed in a
_book_!--Job, xix. 23.

Of making many _books_ there is no end; and much study is a weariness
of the flesh.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 12.

There shall in no wise enter into it (the holy city) any thing that
defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie: but
they which are written in the Lamb’s _book_ of life.--Revelation, xxi.

    Thy glass will shew thee how thy beauties wear,
      Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste,
    Thy vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear,
      And of this _book_ this learning may’st thou taste:
    The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show,
      Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
    Thou by the dial’s shady stealth may’st know
      Time’s thievish progress to eternity;
    Look, what thy memory cannot contain,
      Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shall find
    Those children nursed delivered from thy brain
      To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
    These offices so oft as thou wilt look,
    Will profit thee, and much enrich thy _book_.

    But what strange art, what magic can dispose
    The troubled mind to change its native woes,
    Or lead us willing from ourselves, to see
    Others more wretched, more undone than we?
    This _books_ can do;--nor this alone, they give
    New views of life, and teach us how to live.
    They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise,
    Fools they admonish, and confound the wise;
    Their aid they lead to all; they never shun
    The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone.
    Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud,
    They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd;
    Nor tell to various people various things,
    But show to subjects what they show to kings.
    Blessed be the gracious Power! who taught mankind
    To stamp a lasting image of the mind.
    Beasts may convey and tuneful birds may sing
    their mutual feelings in the opening spring,
    But man alone has skill and power to send
    The heart’s warm dictates to a distant friend;
    ’Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise
    Ages remote, and nations yet to rise.

    I love the sacred _book_ of God,
      No other can its place supply;
    It points me to the saints’ abode,
      It gives me wings, and bids me fly.

    Blest _book_! in thee my eyes discern
      The image of my absent Lord;
    From thine instructive page I learn
      The joys his presence will afford.

    Then shall I need thy light no more,
      For nothing shall be there concealed;
    When I have reached the heavenly shore
      The Lord himself will stand revealed.

    When, ’midst the throng celestial placed,
      The bright original I see,
    From which thy sacred page was traced,
      Blest _book_! I’ve no more need of thee.

    But while I’m here thou shalt supply
      His place, and tell me of His love;
    I’ll read with faith’s discerning eye,
      And thus partake of joys above.

    There is a _book_, who runs may read,
      Which heavenly truth imparts,
    And all the lore its scholars need
      Pure eyes and Christian hearts.

    The works of God above, below,
      Within us, and around,
    Are pages in that _book_, to show
      How God Himself is found.


I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt _bountifully_ with
me.--Psalm xiii. 6.

Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt _bountifully_
with thee.--Psalm cxvi. 7.

Being enriched in every thing to all _bountifulness_, which causeth
through us thanksgiving to God.--II. Corinthians, ix. 11.

                This goodly frame of temperance,
    Formerly grounded, and fast settled
    On firm foundation of true _bountihood_.

    Those godlike men, to wanting virtue kind,
    _Bounty_ well placed preferred, and well designed,
    To all their titles.

                      How full of cheer,
    Joyous, devout, and grateful is the soul
    To see again its unexhausted God
    Thus pile the table of a world with bread!
    For what’s the globe on which we all subsist?
    The table of immortal _bounty_ ’tis,
    A feast perpetual, where unnumbered sons
    Sit down to banquet as their sires withdraw,
    And in succession generations feed,
    Contented rise, give thanks, and pass away.

    The hand that built the palace of the sky,
    Formed the light wings that decorate a fly;
    The power that wheels the circling planets round,
    Rears every infant floweret on the ground;
    That _bounty_ which the mightiest beings share,
    Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
                                      _J. Montgomery._

    I love the Lord;--he lent an ear
      When I for help implored;
    He rescued me from all my fear,
      Therefore I love the Lord.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Return, my soul, unto my rest,
      From God no longer roam;
    His hand hath _bountifully_ blest,
      His goodness called thee home.
                       _J. Montgomery._


Then said the Lord unto Moses, Behold, I will rain _bread_ from heaven
for you; and the people shall go out and gather a certain rate every
day, that I may prove them, whether they will walk in my law, or
no.--Exodus, xvi. 4.

Man doth not live by _bread_ only, but by every word that proceedeth
out of the mouth of the Lord doth man live.--Deuteronomy, viii. 3.

_Bread_ which strengtheneth man’s heart.--Psalm civ. 15.

Cast thy _bread_ upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many
days.--Ecclesiastes, xi. 1.

He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth
the gain of oppressions, that shaketh his hands from holding of bribes,
that stoppeth his ears from hearing of blood, and shutteth his eyes
from seeing evil; he shall dwell on high: his place of defence shall be
the munitions of rocks: _bread_ shall be given him; his waters shall be
sure.--Isaiah, xxxiii. 15, 16.

Give us this day our daily _bread_.--Matthew, vi. 11.

The _bread_ of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life
unto the world.--John, vi. 33.

    O King of earth, and air, and sea!
    The hungry ravens cry to thee;
    To thee the scaly tribes that sweep
    The bosom of the boundless deep.

    Thy bounteous hand with food can bless
    The bleak and lonely wilderness;
    And thou has taught us, Lord, to pray
    For daily _bread_ from day to day.

    And O, when through the wilds we roam,
    That part us from our heavenly home;
    When lost in danger, want, and woe,
    Our faithless tears begin to flow;

    Do thou thy gracious comfort give,
    By which alone the soul may live;
    And grant thy servants, Lord, we pray,
    The _bread_ of life, from day to day.

    _Bread_ of Heaven! on thee I feed,
    For thy flesh is meat indeed.
    Ever may my soul be fed
    With this true and living _bread_;
    Day by day with strength supplied,
    Through the life of Him who died.

    “Give us our daily _bread_,”--and was that prayer
    Unanswered from high Heav’n’s eternal dome?
    No, poor man, no!--its music entered there,
    And blessings dropp’d upon our earthly home:
    Let thy sad eye look round thee everywhere,
    When the rich showers or golden sunbeams come,
    And plenty greets thee from the teeming sod--
    The fruit that blossoms from the hand of God?

    “Give us our daily _bread_;” Heaven whispers, “Yes.”
    “Give us our daily _bread_;” Earth mutters, “No,”
    And mocks the weepings of her sons’ distress:
    Bright hours of change are coming, sure though slow,
    When pride, and want, and error shall be less,
    And more of Heaven be registered below;
    Even now the half of Slavery’s flag is furled,
    And Thought’s free sunshine circles the wide world.

    Kill not the flower that feeds the useful bee,
      For more than beauteous is that sweet flower’s blush;
    ’Tis toil’s reward that sweetens industry,
      As love inspires with strength th’ enraptured thrush.

    To fall’n humanity our Father said,
      That food and bliss should not be found unsought:
    That man should labour for his daily _bread_;
      But not that man should toil and sweat for nought.

    Not that the best should live a living death,
      To give the worst a beastly sense of life;
    And waste in servitude their fleeting breath,
      Weeping with care and want a hopeless strife.
                                               _E. Elliott._

    Father in heaven! thy sacred name
      In hallowed strains be sung!
    Thy kingdom spread o’er all the earth;
      Thy praise fill every tongue.

    By happy spirits round thy throne,
      As thy commands are done;
    So be thy perfect will obeyed
      By all beneath the sun.

    Our numerous wants are known to thee,
      Who canst alone supply;
    O grant each day our daily _bread_,
      Nor other good deny.


Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined from thy
way; though thou hast sore _broken_ us in the place of dragons, and
covered us with the shadow of death.--Psalm xliv. 18, 19.

The Lord doth build up Jerusalem; he gathereth together the outcasts of

He healeth the _broken_ in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.--Psalm
cxlvii. 2, 3.

The Lord hath annointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he
hath sent me to bind up the _broken_-hearted, to proclaim liberty
to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are
bound.--Isaiah, lxi. 1.

A bruised reed shall he not _break_.--Isaiah, xlii. 3.

For circumcision verily profiteth, if thou keep the law; but
if thou be a _breaker_ of the law, thy circumcision is made
uncircumcision.--Romans, ii. 25.

                          O many
    Have _broke_ their backs with laying manors on ’em
    For this great journey.

              Virtues like these
    Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
    And _break_ our fierce barbarians into men.

    Unhappy man, to _break_ the pious laws
    Of nature, pleading in his children’s cause.

    Almighty Power, by whose most wise command,
    Helpless, forlorn, uncertain, here I stand;
    Take this faint glimmering of thyself away,
    And _break_ into my soul with perfect day!

    See Heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
    And _break_ upon thee in a flood of day.

    Not streaming blood, nor purging fire,
      Thy righteous anger can appease;
    Burnt-offerings thou dost not require,
      Or gladly I would render these.

    The _broken_ heart in sacrifice,
      Alone may thine acceptance meet;
    My heart, O God, do not despise,
      _Broken_ and contrite, at thy feet.
                           _J. Montgomery._


By the blast of God they perish, and by the _breath_ of his nostrils
are they consumed.--Job, iv. 9.

Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled: thou takest away their
_breath_, they die, and return to their dust.--Psalm civ. 29.

Behold, the name of the Lord cometh from far, burning with his anger,
and the burden thereof is heavy: his lips are full of indignation, and
his tongue as a devouring fire.

And his _breath_, as an overflowing stream, shall reach to the midst of
the neck.--Isaiah, xxx. 27, 28.

Thou hast heard my voice: hide not thine ear at my _breathing_, at my
cry.--Lamentations, iii. 56.

    Since I in storms most used to be,
      And seldom yielded flowers,
    How shall I get a wreath for thee
      From those rude barren hours?
    The softer dressings of the spring,
      Or summer’s later store,
    I will not for thy temples bring,
      Which thorns, not roses, wore:
    But a twined wreath of grief and praise,
      Praise soiled with tears, and tears again
    Shining with joy, like dewy days,
      This day I bring for all thy pain,
    Thy causeless pain; and as sad death,
      Which sadness breeds in the most vain,
    O not in vain; now beg thy _breath_,
      Thy quick’ning _breath_, which gladly bears
    Through saddest clouds to that glad place
      Where cloudless quires sing without tears,
    Sing thy just praise, and see thy face.
                                  _Henry Vaughan._

    As those we love decay, we die in part,
    String after string is severed from the heart;
    Till loosened life, at last, but _breathing_ clay,
    Without one pang is glad to fall away.
    Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
    Whose eyes have wept o’er every friend, laid low,
    Dragged lingering on, from partial death to death,
    Till, dying, all he can resign is _breath_.


Through the _brightness_ before him were coals of fire kindled.--II.
Samuel, xxii. 13.

God came from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount Paran. His glory
covered the heavens, and the earth was full of his praise. And his
_brightness_ was as the light.--Habakkuk, iii. 3, 4.

Then shall that wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with
the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the _brightness_ of his
coming.--II. Thessalonians, ii. 8.

    Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain,
      In vain, alas! to tell so heavenly sight!
    So heavenly sight as none can greater feign,
      Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might:
      Could any yet compare with Infinite?
      Infinite sure these joys; my words but light:
    Light is the palace where she dwells--O then how _bright_!
                                              _Giles Fletcher._

                      Through a cloud,
    Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine,
    Dark with excessive _bright_ thy skirts appear.

                        Hope elevates, and joy
    _Brightens_ his crest.

    High in yonder realms of light,
      Far above these lower skies,
    Fair and exquisitely _bright_,
      Heaven’s unfading mansions rise.

    Built of pure and massy gold,
      Strong and durable are they;
    Deck’d with gems of worth untold,
      Subjected to no decay.

    My Father’s house on high,
      Home of my soul, how near
    At times, to faith’s foreseeing eye,
      Thy golden gates appear!

    Ah! then my spirit faints
      To reach the land I love,
    The _bright_ inheritance of saints,
      Jerusalem above.
                        _J. Montgomery._


Thou shalt not hate thy _brother_ in thine heart.--Leviticus, xix. 17.

If thy _brother_ be waxen poor, and hath sold away some of his
possession, and if any of his kin come to redeem it, then shall he
redeem that which his _brother_ sold.--Leviticus, xxv. 25.

If there be among you a poor man of one of thy _brethren_ within any of
thy gates, in thy land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt
not harden thine heart, nor shut thy hand from thy poor _brother_: but
thou shalt open thine hand wide unto him, and shalt surely lend him
sufficient for his need, in that which he wanteth.--Deuteronomy, xv. 7,

If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy
_brother_ hath aught against thee; leave there thy gift before the
altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy _brother_, and then
come and offer thy gift.--Matthew, v. 23, 24.

Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my _brother_ sin
against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?

Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but,
Until seventy times seven.--Matthew, xviii. 21, 22.

Whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth
nor his _brother_.--I. John, iii. 10.

    Come, Christian _brethren_, ere we part,
    Join every voice and every heart,
    Our solemn hymn to God we raise
    Our final song of grateful praise.

    Christians we here may meet no more,
    But there is yet a happier shore;
    And there, released from toil and pain,
    _Brethren_, we all shall meet again.
                            _H. Kirke White._

      Even now a radiant angel goeth forth,
      A spirit that hath healing in its wings--
      And flyeth east and west, and south and north,
      To do the bidding of the King of Kings;
      Stirring men’s hearts to compass better things,
      And teaching _Brotherhood_ as that sweet source,
      Which holdeth in itself all blessed springs;
      And showeth how to guide its silver course,
    When it shall flood the world with deep exulting force.
                                              _Mrs. Norton._

    A _brother’s_ grave oft leads the soul
      Up to a _brother’s_ joys;
    Joys which ne’er yield to time’s controul,
      Beyond the jewelled skies.
                                 _W. J. Brock._

    Oh, if the thought be beautiful, if it be wise and kind,
    To weave the bond of _brotherhood_, the whole wide world to bind;
    And if to sheathe the murderous sword be called a holy deed,
    Let all the praise be given to Thee, from whom all such proceed!
    Hail, manifested Saviour King! _Brother_ of every man!
    Of the poor negro in his chains, the roving mountain clan;
    Redeemer of the forest child, and of the fettered slave;
    Lover of every human soul, in city, waste, or wave.
                                                        _Emma Tatham._

    Give me thy hand, _brother_--give me thy hand,
      But not as our fathers did, dropping with gore;
    Dash down the gauntlet, and shiver the brand,
      But not in the fashion they did so of yore;
    Throw away war’s array,--come let us prove
    Which has the heart that is strongest in love.

    Dost thou come from Columbia, afar o’er the deep,
      Where the forest its requiem sings in the storm;
    Where the bison and elk o’er the broad prairie sweep,
      And the hero of labour has conquered a farm?
    Ah, then come away, as a _brother_ should come,
    For our fathers had birth in the same island home.
                                             _J. B. Syme._

    Oh! never let us lightly fling
      The barb of woe to wound another;
    Oh! let us never haste to bring
      The cup of sorrow to a _brother_.

    Each has the power to wound, but he
      Who wounds that he may witness pain,
    Has learnt no law of charity,
      Which ne’er inflicts a pang in vain.

    ’Tis godlike to awaken joy,
      Or sorrow’s influence to subdue:
    But not to wound, nor to annoy,
      Is part of virtue’s lesson too;--

    Peace, winged in fairer worlds above,
      Shall lend her dawn and brighten this,
    When all man’s labour shall be love,
      And all his thoughts a _brother’s_ bliss.
                                   _J. Bowring._

                      In all around we see
    Links of the chain that binds the soul of man
    Unto his _brother_ man. No human eye
    Can gaze undazzled where those links begin,
    Nor trace them to their end. Alone to Faith,
    With her far eagle-gaze, ’tis given to see
    That the all-loving heart of Nature’s God,
    And man’s Redeemer, is the burning clasp
    That joins in one that all-embracing zone,
    Round as the circle of eternity.

           *       *       *       *       *

    This truth, more beautiful than all beside,
    That He, whose name is Love, and from whose heart,
    As from a living and immortal root,
    The whole fair universe hath budded forth,
    Hath granted him the high and holy right
    To call him “Father”--So all things speak
    God’s Fatherhood, and _Brotherhood_ of man.
                                             _H. M. P._

    Not with the flashing steel,
    Not with the cannon’s peal,
      Nor stir of drum;
    But in the bonds of love,
    Our white flag floats above;
    Its emblem is the dove,--
      Thus we come.

    Oh, then! in God’s great name,
    Let each pure spirit’s flame
      Burn bright and clear;
    Stand firmly in your lot,
    Cry ye aloud, doubt not,
    Be every fear forgot,
      Christ leads us here.

    So shall earth’s distant lands,
    In happy, holy bands,
      One _brotherhood_,
    Together rise and sing,
    Gifts to one altar bring,
    And heaven’s eternal King
      Pronounce it good.
                   _Elnathan Davis._

    In these romantic regions man grows wild:
    Here dwells the Negro, nature’s outcast child;
    Scorned by his _brethren_; but his mother’s eye,
    That gazes on him from her warmest sky,
    Sees in his flexile limbs untutored grace,
    Power on his forehead, beauty in his face;
    Sees in his breast, where lawless passions rove,
    The heart of friendship, and the home of love;
    Sees in his mind, where desolation reigns,
    Fierce as his clime, uncultured as his plains,
    A soil where virtue’s fairest flowers might shoot,
    And trees of science bend with glorious fruit;
    Sees in his soul, involved in thickest night,
    An emanation of eternal light,
    Ordained,’midst sinking worlds, his dust to fire,
    And shine for ever when the stars expire.
    Is he not man, though Knowledge never shed
    Her quickening beams on his neglected head?
    Is he not man, though sweet Religion’s voice
    Ne’er made the mourner in his God rejoice?
    Is he not man, by sin and suffering tried?
    Is he not man, for whom the Saviour died?
    Belie the Negro’s powers:--in headlong will,
    Christian! thy _brother_ thou shalt prove him still:
    Belie his virtues; since his wrongs began,
    His follies and his crimes have stamped him man.
                                         _J. Montgomery._

    For God, who made this teeming earth so full,
    And made the proud dependent on the dull--
    The strong upon the weak, thereby would show
    One common bond should link us all below.
                                     _Mrs. Norton._

    If I were a voice, a convincing voice,
      I’d travel with the wind,
    And wherever I saw the nations torn
    By warfare, jealousy, or scorn,
      Or hatred of their kind,
    I’d fly, I’d fly, on the thunder crash,
    And into their blinded bosoms flash;
    And all their evil thoughts subdued,
    I’d teach them Christian _Brotherhood_.
                                _C. Mackay._


They prevented me in the day of my _calamity_: but the Lord was my
stay.--II. Samuel, xxii. 19.

Oh that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my _calamity_ laid in the
balances together!--Job, vi. 2.

Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth
in thee: yea, in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until
these _calamities_ be overpast.--Psalm lvii. 1.

He that is glad at _calamities_ shall not be unpunished.--Proverbs,
xvii. 5.

                        Strict necessity
    Subdues me, and _calamitous_ constraint!
    Lest in my hand both sin and punishment,
    However insupportable, be all

                  Much rather I shall choose
    To live the poorest in my tribe, than richest
    To be in that _calamitous_ prison left.

    From adverse shores in safety let her hear
    Foreign _calamity_, and distant war;
    Of which, great heav’n, let her no portion bear.

    Friends counsel quick dismission of our grief;
    Mistaken kindness! Our hearts heal too soon,
    Are they more kind than He who struck the blow?
    Who bids it do His errand in our hearts,
    And banish peace till nobler guests arrive,
    And bring it back, a true and endless peace?
    _Calamities_ are friends.

    When great _calamities_ afflict the soul,
      Then, God of Mercy, then, we cry to Thee!
    Thou the physician art to make us whole;
      Thou art the help in our _calamity_.
    But when the clouds of grief be overpast,
      And we may bask in sunshine once again,
    Then praise and prayer become a weary task;
    Thee we forget, and so neglect to ask
    The aid we implored amid our grief and pain.
    _Calamities_ are links of that bright chain
    Of love divine around us ever cast,
    Weaning us from the world, and all things light and vain.


Then said they unto him, What shall we do unto thee, that the sea may
be _calm_ unto us? for the sea wrought, and was tempestuous.

And he said unto them, Take me up, and cast me forth into the sea; so
shall the sea be _calm_ unto you: for I know that for my sake this
great tempest is upon you.

So they took up Jonah, and cast him forth into the sea: and the sea
ceased from her raging.--Jonah, i. 11, 12, 15.

As they sailed he fell asleep: and there came down a storm of wind on
the lake; and they were filled with water, and were in jeopardy.

And they came to him, and awoke him, saying, Master, master, we perish!
Then he arose, and rebuked the wind and the raging of the water: and
they ceased, and there was a _calm_.--Luke, viii. 23, 24.

    Be _calm_ in arguing--for fierceness makes
    Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.
    Why should I feel another man’s mistakes,
    More than his sicknesses or poverty?
      In love I should, but anger is not love,
      Nor wisdom neither: therefore gently move.
    _Calmness_ is great advantage--he that lets
    Another chafe, may warm him at his fire,
    Mark all his wanderings, and enjoy his frets,
    As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire.
      Truth dwells not in the clouds: the bow that’s there
      Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere.

    There is a _calm_ the poor in spirit know,
    That softens sorrow, and that sweetens woe;
    There is a peace that dwells within the breast,
    When all without is stormy and distrest;
    There is a light that gilds the darkest hour,
    When dangers thicken, and when tempests lower;
    That _calm_ is faith, and hope and love is given;
    That peace remains when all beside is riven,
    That light shines down to man direct from heaven.
                                     _James Edmeston._

    The roaring tumult of the billowed sea
    Awakes him not: high on the crested surge,
    Now heaved, his locks flowed streaming to the blast:
    And now descending, ’tween the sheltering waves,
    The falling tresses veil the face divine:
    Meek through that veil, a momentary gleam,
    Benignant shines; he dreams that he beholds
    The opening eyes,--that hopeless long had rolled
    In darkness,--look around bedimmed with tears
    Of joy; but suddenly the voice of fear
    Dispelled the happy vision. Awful he rose,
    Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea,
    “Peace, be thou still!” and straight there was a _calm_.
    With terror-mingled gladness in their looks,
    The mariners exclaim--“What man is this,
    That even the wind and sea obey his voice?”

    Earth has not anything to show more fair!
      Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
      A sight so touching in its majesty!
    This city now doth like a garment wear
    The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
      Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
      Open unto the fields and to the sky--
    All bright and glittering in the smokeless air,
    Never did sun more beautifully steep
      In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
    Ne’er saw I, never felt, a _calm_ so deep!
      The river glideth at its own sweet will;
    Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
      And all that mighty heart is lying still.

    Like a frail bark upon an angry sea
      Is man, o’erburdened with a weight of sin;
    Tossed to and fro, and like to perish, he
      Seeks how he best may ’scape, and safety win:
      What trembling Jonah is it hides within,
    That from the Lord would vainly strive to flee?
      Seek till ye find him, straight the quest begin!
    And cast him forth that ye may lightened be.
    Then with a prayer approach the throne of grace,
      The Saviour’s with thee, though he seems to sleep;
    Have ye but faith, and wait a little space,
      He will arise, and say unto the deep--
    “Be still!” The waves will sink, like your alarm,
    O’er troubled heart and soul will come a mighty _calm_.


And when they were come to the place which is called _Calvary_, there
they crucified him.--Luke, xxiii. 33.

    O _Calvary_! how blessed are thy borders,
    More holy than God’s sanctuary mount,
    Of whose high praise be Angels the recorders;
    But grateful Man thy praises shall recount,
    There Jesus is adored, but here he died!
    O _Calvary_! that road is as a fount,
    Whence with a sanguine stream thou art supplied,
    Yet healing as Bethesda.--_Calvary!_
                                      _J. A. Heraud._

    From _Calvary_ a cry was heard,
      A long reiterated cry;
    My Saviour’s every mournful word
      Bespeaks thy soul’s deep agony.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Let the dumb world her silence break;
      Let pealing anthems rend the sky!
    Awake, my sluggish soul, awake!
      He died, that we may never die.

    When on Sinai’s top I see
    God descend in Majesty,
    To proclaim His holy law,
    All my spirit sinks with awe.

    When, in ecstacy sublime,
    Tabor’s glorious steep I climb,
    At the too transporting light,
    Darkness rushes o’er my sight.

    When on _Calvary_ I rest,
    God, in flesh made manifest,
    Shines in my Redeemer’s face,
    Full of beauty, truth, and grace.

    Here I would for ever stay,
    Weep and gaze my soul away;
    Thou art heaven on earth to me,
    Lovely, mournful _Calvary_.
                      _J. Montgomery._


And I have also established my covenant with them, to give them the
land of _Canaan_, the land of their pilgrimage, wherein they were
strangers.--Exodus, vi. 4.

Behold the land of _Canaan_, which I give unto the children of Israel
for a possession.--Deuteronomy, xxxii. 49.

Unto thee will I give the land of _Canaan_, the lot of your
inheritance.--I. Chronicles, xvi. 18.

    O! could we make our doubts remove
      Those gloomy doubts that rise,
    And see the _Canaan_ that we love,
      With unbeclouded eyes.

    Could we but climb where Moses stood,
      And view the landscape o’er;
    Nor Jordan’s streams, nor death’s cold flood,
      Should fright us from the shore.

    On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,
      And cast a wishful eye
    To _Canaan’s_ fair and happy land,
      Where my possessions lie.

    O the transporting, rapt’rous scene,
      That rises to my sight!
    Sweet fields, arrayed in living green,
      And rivers of delight.

    All o’er those wide extended plains,
      Shines one eternal day;
    There God the Son for ever reigns,
      And scatters night away.

    When shall I reach that happy place,
      And be for ever blest?
    When shall I see my Father’s face,
      And in his bosom rest?

    Tell me, where is the promised land--
      The _Canaan_ of our earthly hopes,
    Where Peace and Joy go hand in hand,
      By sparkling streams, and flowery slopes?
    It may be far, it may be near,
      Oh, Pilgrim, faith must be thy guide
    Across the desert wild and drear,
      And o’er the Jordan’s swelling tide.


By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we
remembered Zion.

We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.

For there they that carried us away _captive_ required of us a song,
saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.

How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?--Psalm cxxxvii. 1,
2, 3, 4.

The Lord their God shall visit them, and turn away their
_captivity_.--Zephaniah, ii. 7.

That they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil who are
taken _captive_ by him at his will.--II. Timothy, ii. 26.

He that leadeth into _captivity_ shall go into
_captivity_.--Revelations, xiii. 10.

    We sat by Babel’s waters; and our tears
      Mingled in silence with the silent stream;
    For, oh! our hearts went back to happier years,
      And brighter scenes, that faded like a dream.

    Our harps, neglected, hung upon the trees,
      That threw their shadows o’er the wave’s dark rest,
    And sighed, responsive to each passing breeze
      That stirred a ripple on its slumbering breast.

    But they who led us _captive_ touched the string,
      And waked its music with unhallowed hand,
    And--mocking all our sadness--bade us sing
      The song of Zion in a foreign land.

    Oh! never, never!--hushed be now its strains,
      Far, far away her exiled children roam;
    And never will they sound on other plains,
      The holy music of their native home.
                                           _T. K. Hervey._

    Thousands of Angels at Thy gate,
      And great archangels stand,
    And twenty thousand chariots wait,
      Great Lord, Thy dread command!
    Through all Thy great, Thy vast domain,
      With Godlike honours clad,
    _Captivity_ in _captive_ chains
      Triumphing Thou hast led.


And the _cares_ of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, and
the lusts of other things entering in, choke the word, and it becometh
unfruitful.--Mark, iv. 19.

That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should
have the same _care_ one for another.--I. Corinthians, xii. 25.

Be _careful_ for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and
supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto
God.--Philippians, iv. 6.

Casting all your _care_ upon him; for he _careth_ for you.--I. Peter,
v. 7.

    Esteem none happy by their outward air;
    All have their portion of allotted _care_,
    Though wisdom wears the semblance of content,
    When the full heart with agony is rent,
    Secludes its anguish from the public view,
    And by secluding, learns to conquer too;
    Denied the fond indulgence to complain,
    The aching heart its peace may best regain.
    By love directed, and in mercy meant,
    Are trials suffer’d, and afflictions sent;
    To stem imperious passion’s furious tide,
    To curb the insolence of prosperous pride,
    To wean from earth, and bid our wishes soar
    To that blest clime where pain shall be no more;
    Where wearied virtue shall for refuge fly,
    And every tear be wiped from every eye.
                                       _Hannah More._

    The insect that with puny wing,
      Just shoots along one summer ray;
    The flow’ret, which the breath of spring
      Wakes into life for half a day.
    The smallest mote, the tenderest hair,
    All feel our heavenly Father’s _care_.

    E’en from the glories of His throne,
      He bends to view this earthly ball;
    Sees all as if that all were one,
      Loves as if that one were all;
    Rolls the swift planets in their spheres,
    And counts the sinner’s lonely tears.

      Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race
      With his own image, and who gave them sway
      O’er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face,
      Now that our flourishing nations far away
      Are spread, where’er the moist earth drinks the day,
      Forget the ancient _care_ that taught and nursed
      His latest offspring? will he quench the ray
      Infused by his own forming smile at first,
    And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed?

      Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give
      Hope of yet happier days whose dawn is nigh.
      He who has tamed the elements, shall not live
      The slave of his own passions; he whose eye
      Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky,
      And in the abyss of brightness dares to span
      The sun’s broad circle, rising yet more high,
      In God’s magnificent works his will shall scan--
    And love and peace shall make their paradise with man.
                                            _W. C. Bryant._

    Father of earth and heaven,
      Whose arm upholds creation,
    To thee we raise the voice of praise,
      And bend in adoration.
    We praise the Power that made us,
      We praise the love that blesses,
    While every day that rolls away,
      Thy gracious _care_ confesses.
                        _Henry Ware, Jun._

    Faithful servant of the Lord,
    Sower of the gracious Word,
    Scattering thy seed abroad,--

    Much of it will fall, and sink
    Where the cattle come to drink,
    Trodden in the river’s brink;

    Much of it on bogs unsound,
    Much on hard and stony ground,
    Much where thorns and briers abound.

    In the path of daily life
    Worldly _cares_, like thorns, are rife,
    Ever with the word at strife.


Because they have no _changes_, therefore they fear not God.--Psalm lv.

My son, fear thou the Lord and the king: and meddle not with them that
are given to _change_.--Proverbs, xxiv. 21.

For I am the Lord, I _change_ not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not
consumed.--Malachi, iii. 6.

Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all
be _changed_.--I. Corinthians, xv. 51.

    Emblem of life! see _changeful_ April sail
      In varying vest along the shadowy skies,
      Now bidding summer’s stormy zephyrs rise,
    Anon, recalling winter’s softest gale,
    And pouring from the cloud her sudden hail;
      Then, smiling through the tear that dims her eyes,
      While Iris with her braid the welkin dyes,
    Promise of sunshine, not so prone to fail.
    So to us sojourners in life’s low vale,
      The smiles of fortune flatter to deceive,
      While still the fates the web of misery weave;
    So hope exultant spreads her airy sail,
      And from the present gloom the soul conveys
      To distant summers, and far happier days.
                                           _H. K. White._

    Still on its march, unnoticed and unfelt,
    Moves on our being. We do live and breathe,
    And we are gone. The spoiler heeds us not.
    We have our spring-time and our rottenness;
    And as we fall, another race succeeds,
    To perish likewise. Meanwhile nature smiles--
    The seasons run their round--the sun fulfils
    His annual course--and heaven and earth remain
    Still _changing_, yet _unchang’d_--still doomed to feel
    Endless mutation in perpetual rest.
                                              _H. K. White._

    Not seldom, clad in radiant vest,
      Deceitfully goes forth the morn;
    Not seldom, evening in the west,
      Sinks smilingly forsworn.
    The smoothest seas will sometimes prove
      To the confiding bark untrue;
    And if she trust the stars above,
      They can be treacherous too.
    The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread,
      Full oft when storms the welkin rend,
    Draws lightening down upon the head
      It promised to defend.
    But Thou art true, incarnate Lord!
      Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
    Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
      No _change_ can falsify.
    I bent before Thy gracious throne,
      And asked for peace with suppliant knee;
    And peace was given,--nor peace alone,
      But faith, and hope, and ecstacy!

    Of chance, or _change_, O let not man complain,
      Else shall he never, never cease to wail;
    For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
      Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,
      All feel the assault of fortune’s fickle gale;
    Art, empire, earth itself, to _change_ are doomed;
      Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale,
    And gulfs the mountain’s mighty mass entombed,
    And where the Atlantic rolls, wide continents have bloomed.

    The day was dark and stormy; but the night
      Dawns into brightness, and the silvery moon
    Pours over sea and land her urn of light,
      Making of midnight a most pleasant noon.
    The autumn blasts were withering, and their blight
      Brought desolation: but a richer boon
    The balmy showers and breathing zephyrs bring;
    And the cold earth, fanned by the breath of spring,
      Again shall start into luxuriant life,
    Deformity and beauty--storm and calm--
    The day-dawn and the darkness--quiet and calm--
      Throughout all nature, mix and mingle rife.
    Then why should man expect a fixed state,
    Where all is _change_--or shrink beneath his fate?
                                          _A. Bethune._


_Charity_ suffereth long and is kind; _charity_ envieth not; _charity_
vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily
provoked, thinketh no evil;

Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;

Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth
all things.

And now abideth faith, hope, _charity_, these three; but the greatest
of these is _charity_.--I. Corinthians, xiii. 4, 5, 6, 7, 13.

Above all these things put on _charity_, which is the bond of
perfectness.--Colossians, iii. 14.

Now the end of the commandment is _charity_.--I. Timothy, i. 5.

Above all things have fervent _charity_ among yourselves; for _charity_
shall cover the multitude of sins.--I. Peter, iv. 8.

                      Attain the sum
    Of Wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars
    Thou knew’st by name, and all the ethereal powers,
    All secrets of the deep, all Nature’s works,
    Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, and sea,
    And all the riches of the world enjoyedst,
    And all the rule, one empire; only add
    Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add faith,
    Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love,
    By name to some called _charity_, the soul
    Of all the rest.

    Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue
    Than ever man pronounced, or angel sung;
    Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
    That thought can reach, or Science can define:
    And had I power to give that knowledge birth
    In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
    Did Shadrach’s zeal my glowing breast inspire,
    To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire:
    Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,
    When Moses gave them miracles and law;
    Yet gracious _Charity_, indulgent guest,
    Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
    Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer,
    That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
    A tymbal’s sound were better than my voice;
    My faith were form; my eloquence were noise.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
    Its proper bounds and due restriction knows,
    To one fixt purpose dedicates its power,
    And finishing its act, exists no more.
    Thus in obedience to what heaven decrees,
    Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy decrease,
    But lasting _Charity’s_ more ample sway,
    Ne’er bound by time, nor subject to decay,
    In happy triumph shall for ever live,
    And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.

    Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence,
    The reign of genuine _charity_ commence.
    Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears,
    She still is kind and still she perseveres;
    The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme,
    ’Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream;
    The danger they discern not, they deny;
    Laugh at their only remedy, and die.
    But still a soul thus touch’d can never cease,
    Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace.
    Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild,
    Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child:
    She makes excuses where she might condemn,
    Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them;
    Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast,
    The worst suggested, she believes the best;
    Not soon provoked, however stung and teazed,
    And if perhaps made angry, soon appeased,
    She rather waives than will dispute her right,
    And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight.

    Man is dear to man; the poorest poor
    Long for some moments in a weary life,
    When they can know and feel what they have been;
    Themselves the fathers and the dealers out
    Of some small blessings, have been kind to such
    As needed kindness, for this single cause
    That we have all of us one human heart.
    Such pleasure is to one kind being known,
    My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week
    Duly as Friday comes, though press’d herself
    By all her wants, she from her store of meal
    Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip
    Of this old mendicant, and from her door
    Returning with exhilarated heart,
    Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven.

    Gentle reader, see in me,
    An emblem of true _charity_;
    That while my bounty I bestow,
    I’m neither heard nor seen to flow;
    And I have fresh supplies from heaven
    For every cup of water given.
             _Bishop Hoadly, on a Spring._

    Were we as rich in _charity_ of deed
    As gold--what rock would bloom not with the seed?
    We give our alms, and cry “What can we more?”
    One hour of time were worth a load of ore!
    Give to the ignorant our wisdom!--give
    Sorrow our comfort!--lend to those who live
    In crime, the counsels of our virtue!--share
    With souls our souls, and Satan shall despair!
    Alas! what converts one man, who would take
    The cross, and staff, and house with Guilt, could make!

           *       *       *       *       *

    Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air,
    And the fierce SELF, which strives and slays, is there;
    What but that SELF to man doth Nature teach?
    Where the charmed link that binds the all to each?
    Where the sweet law, (doth Nature boast its birth?)
    “Good will to man, and _charity_ on earth?”
                                         _Sir E. B. Lytton._

    What though to poverty’s imploring voice
    I give my earthly goods; though to the pile
    I yield my body, if thy genuine love
    Inspire not, this alike is void and vain.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Thou, mild and gentle nature, art estranged
    From envy, hatred, insolence, or pride;
    Thou seekest not thy own, but others’ weal;
    Slow to reprove, but studious to applaud,
    And from the eyes of malice to conceal
    The weakness thou lamentest to behold:
    For thou of each forgiv’st and hop’st the best,
    Forbearing and forgiving every ill.

           *       *       *       *       *

    The time shall come when prophecy itself,
    And all the knowledge which exalts mankind,
    Shall lose their use; these, while the state of man
    In imperfection lies, by Heaven are made
    To compass ends sublime; but when that state
    Imperfect, for perfection shall be changed,
    Shall fade away, and boast that use no more.
    But, subject to no change, through endless time
    Shall Faith, and Hope, and _Charity_ endure;
    And thou, O _Charity_, of these the chief,
    In high pre-eminence shalt ever reign!
                                         _C. P. Layard._

    The consciousness of wrong, in wills not evil
    Brings _charity_.
                                     _Leigh Hunt._

                    When prophecies shall fail,
    When tongues shall cease, when knowledge is no more,
    And the Great Day is come, thou by the throne
    Shalt sit triumphant.

    “Chief grace below, and all in all above!”
    What shall I call thee? _Charity_ or Love?
    Thy name is bliss; for let but grace remove
    The Serpent, Selfishness, and lo! the Dove,
    Cover’d with silver wings, or plumes of gold,[1]
    Enters the rescued heart, and keeps her hold:
    Then love to God on high, good will to men,
    With all the gentle virtues in their train,
    Flourish together, and together prove
    That bliss is but another name for Love!
    Blest affluence of that bright flame that glows
    Amid the Seraphim, “in burning rows,”
    Fill my whole soul! since who has most of Love,
    Knows most of Heaven, and of the joys above.
                                      _Mary Milner._

[1] Psalm lxviii. 13.


The Lord spake unto Moses and unto Aaron, and gave them a _charge_ unto
the children of Israel.--Exodus, vi. 13.

He shall give his angels _charge_ over thee, to keep thee in all thy
ways.--Psalm xci. 11.

Who shall lay any thing to the _charge_ of God’s elect. It is God that
justifieth.--Romans, viii. 33.

    A _charge_ to keep I have,
      A God to glorify;
    A never-dying soul to save,
      And fit it for the sky.

    To serve the present age,
      My calling to fulfil;--
    O may it all my powers engage
      To do my Master’s will.

    Arm me with jealous care,
      As in thy sight to live;
    And Oh! thy servant Lord prepare,
      A strict account to give.

    Help me to watch and pray,
      And on thyself rely;
    Assured if I my trust betray,
      I shall for ever die.

    Since, with pure and firm affection,
      Thou on God hast set thy love,
    With the wings of His protection,
      He will shield thee from above:
    Thou shalt call on Him in trouble,
      He will hearken, He will save,
    Here for grief reward thee double,
      Crown with life beyond the grave.

    He shall _charge_ His angel legions
      Watch and ward o’er thee to keep,
    Though thou walk through hostile regions,
      Though in desert wilds thou sleep;
    On the lion vainly roaring,
      On his young, thy foot shall tread,
    And, the dragon’s den exploring,
      Thou shalt bruise the serpent’s head.
                              _J. Montgomery._


O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither _chasten_ me in thy hot
displeasure.--Psalm vi. 1.

Blessed is the man whom thou _chastenest_, O Lord, and teachest him out
of thy law.--Psalm xciv. 12.

Whom the Lord loveth he _chasteneth_, and scourgeth every son whom he
receiveth.--Hebrews, xii. 6.

    O keep up life and peace within,
      If I must feel thy _chastening_ rod!
    Yet kill not me, but kill my sin;
      And let me know Thou art my God.
    O give my soul some sweet foretaste
      Of that which I shall shortly see!
    Let faith and love cry to the last,
      “Come, Lord, I trust myself with Thee!”

    When urged by strong temptation to the brink
    Of guilt and ruin, stands the virtuous mind
    With scarce a step between; all-pitying Heaven,
    Severe in mercy, _chastening_ in its love,
    Ofttimes in dark and awful visitation,
    Doth interpose, and call the wanderer back
    To the straight path, to be for ever after
    A firm, undaunted, onward-bearing traveller,
    Strong in humility, who swerves no more.
                                   _Joanna Baillie._

    So, Christian! though gloomy and sad be thy days,
      And the tempest of sorrow encompass thee black;
    Though no sunshine of promise or hope sheds its rays
      To illumine and cheer thy life’s desolate track:
    Though thy soul writhes in anguish, and bitter tears flow
      O’er the wreck of fond joys from thy bleeding heart riven,
    Check thy murmuring sorrows, thou lorn one, and know
      That the _chastened_ on earth are the purest for Heaven;
    And remember, though gloomy thy present may be,
    That “the Master is coming,” and coming to thee.
                                               _S. D. Patterson._


Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel, thou that leadest Joseph like a flock;
thou that dwellest between the _cherubims_, shine forth.--Psalm lxxx. 1.

I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up.... Above
it stood the _seraphims_.... And one cried unto another, and said,
Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his
glory.--Isaiah, vi. 1, 2, 3.

And the sound of the _cherubims’_ wings was heard even to the outer
court, as the voice of the Almighty God when he speaketh.--Ezekiel, x.

    Thou shepherd that doth Israel keep,
      Give ear in time of need,
    Who leadeth like a flock of sheep
      Thy loved of Joseph’s seed;
    That sitt’st between the _cherubs_ bright--
      Between their wings outspread,
    Shine forth, and from Thy cloud give light,
      And on Thy foes Thy dread.

    The Lord descended from above,
      And bowed the heavens most high;
    And underneath His feet He cast
      The darkness of the sky.

    On _cherub_ and on _cherubim_
      Full royally He rode;
    And on the wings of mighty winds
      Came flying all abroad.

    High on a throne of burnish’d gold,
      With rays of Godhead crown’d,
    Jehovah sat; His thunders roll’d,
      And glory sparkled round.

    His flowing train, of glittering white,
      The spacious temple fill’d;
    The angels, dazzled at the sight,
      With wings their faces veil’d.

    Around the throne, in burning row,
      The six-winged _seraphs_ stood;
    While millions, flying to and fro,
      Tun’d all their harps to God.

    Thrice holy, holy, Lord, they cry,
      The God of Sabaoth’s Thou;
    Thy glory fills the worlds on high,
      And fills the world below.


Verily I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little
_children_, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.--Matthew,
xviii. 3.

Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto
you, That in Heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father
which is in Heaven.--Matthew, xviii. 10.

Have ye never read, Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast
perfected praise?--Matthew, xxi. 16.

And they brought unto him also _infants_, that he would touch them: but
when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.

But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little _children_
to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of
God.--Luke, xviii. 15, 16.

    When little tripping _children_ follow God,
    And leave old doting sinners to his rod,
    ’Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried,
    Hosanna! while the old ones did deride.

    At his first aptness the maternal love
    Those rudiments of wisdom did improve;
    The tender age was pliant to command;
    Like wax it yielded to the forming hand:
    True to the artificer, the laboured mind
    With ease was pious, generous, just, and kind;
    Soft for impression, from the first prepared,
    Till virtue, with long exercise, grew hard;
    With every act confirmed and made at last,
    So durable as not to be effaced,
    It turned to habit; and from vices free,
    Goodness resolved into necessity.

    The _child_ between her parents knelt,
      Who prayed the more to God above,
    Because so close to them they felt
      The dearest gift of Heavenly love.

           *       *       *       *       *

    To her new beauty largely given
      From deeper fountains, looked and smiled,
    And, like a morning dream from heaven,
      The woman gleamed within the _child_.
                                _John Sterling._

    O! how I love the prattling of that _child_,
      Frisking so blithely in its nurse’s hand!
    Fair as her face who first in Eden smiled,
      Ere blissful innocence had left the land!
    Thy dimpled cheeks remind me of a time,
      When first I ventured on life’s thorny way!
    May no false joys consume thy early prime,
      No friend mislead thee, and no friend betray;
    Thy bark, like mine, is on a rocky sea;
      For life’s a voyage far from shore to shore,
    No resting-place, unless thine anchor be
      The hope of glory when the course is o’er;
    Blest hope for thee, just entering into bloom,
    Thrice blessed hope for me just hast’ning to the tomb.
                                                _J. Mayne._

    “Suffer these little ones to come to me,”
    Was the command of Him who, on the cross,
    Bowed His anointed head, and with His blood
    Purchased redemption for our fallen race--
    And blessed they, who to that holy task
    Devote the energies of their young years,
    Teaching, with pious care, the dawning light
    Of _infant_ intellect to know the Lord.
                                 _C. Huntingdon._

    The life that makes the heart to beat,
      The light that from the heavens doth shine,
    My daily strength,--the bread I eat,--
      All, all, great Lord of Life, are thine.
    Then let me seek Thee daily, Lord,
      At morn, at noontide, and at even;
    And do Thy will, and know Thy word,
      That I may be Thy _child_ in heaven!
                                      _W. Martin._

    I remember, I remember,
      The fir-trees dark and high,
    I used to think their tiny tops
      Were close against the sky:
    It was a _childish_ ignorance,
      But now ’tis little joy,
    To know I’m farther off from heaven
      Than when I was a boy!
                              _T. Hood._

        Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace
    The innocent brightness of an _infant’s_ face;
        He raised them in His holy arms;
    He blessed them from the world and all its harms:
        Heirs though they were of sin and shame,
    He blessed them in His own, and in His Father’s Name.

    Christian! thy dream is now--it was not then:
      O, it were strange if _childhood_ were a dream.
    Strife, and the world, are dreams: to wakeful men
      _Childhood_ and home as jealous angels seem:
    Like shapes and hues that play in clouds at even,
      They have but shifted from Thee into Heaven!
                                        _F. W. Faber._

    Something divine about an _Infant_ seems
      To them, who watch it in that holy light
    Of meaning, caught from these celestial words
    Of Christ--“Forbid them not, but let them come.”
    Fresh buds of being! beautiful as frail.
    Types of that kingdom which our souls profess
    To enter! Symbols of that docile love
    And meek compliancy of creed and mind,
    Which Heaven hath canonized, and for its own
    Acknowledged,--well may thoughtful hearts perceive
    A mystery, beyond mere nature’s law,
    Around them girdled like a moral zone.
                                       _R. Montgomery._

    Death found strange beauty on that polished brow,
    And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose
    On cheek and lip. He touched the veins with ice,
    And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes
    There spake a wishful tenderness--a doubt
    Whether to grieve or sleep--which innocence
    Alone may wear. With ruthless hand he bound
    The silken fringes of those curtaining lids
    For ever. There had been a murmuring sound
    With which the babe would claim its mother’s ear,
    Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set
    The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile
    So fixed, so holy, from that cherub brow,
    Death gazed, and left it there. He dared not steal
    The signet-ring of heaven.
                                     _L. H. Sigourney._

    _Child_, there is One, the High above all Height,
        Who doth not scorn thee--
    Ever, from Him, may beams of Heavenly light
    Comfort--but warn thee--
        That from youth’s innocence each proud removal
    Is a departure from His best approval.
                                          _H. H. Weld._

    The Lord of Heaven, who, from his throne above,
    Governs the universe, yet deigns to hear
    The praise which from the mouths of sucklings flows,
    And from the lisping babe ordaineth strength.
                                          _C. P. Layard._

    There are smiles and tears in the mother’s eyes,
    For her new-born _infant_ beside her lies.
    O, hour of bliss! when the heart o’erflows
    With rapture a mother only knows.
    Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
    Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.
                                   _Henry Ware, Jun._

            How soft and fresh he breathes!
    Look, he is dreaming! Visions sure of joy
    Are gladdening his rest; and ah, who knows
    But waiting angels do converse in sleep
    With babes like this!
                              _Arthur C. Coxe._

    Little _children_, not alone
    On the wide earth are ye thrown,
    ’Mid its labour and its cares;
    ’Mid its sufferings and its snares,
    Free from sorrow, free from strife,
    In the world of love and life,
    Where no sinful thing has trod
    In the presence of our God!
    Spotless, blameless, glorified,
    Little _children_, ye abide!
                          _Mary Howitt._

    How oft, heart-sick and sore,
    I’ve wished I were, once more,
        A little _child_!
                    _Mrs. Southey._


We have heard out of the law that _Christ_ abideth for ever.--John,
xii. 34.

We preach _Christ_ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto
the Greeks foolishness;

But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, _Christ_ the
power of God, and the wisdom of God.--I. Corinthians, i. 23, 24.

We preach not ourselves, but _Christ_ Jesus the Lord.--II. Corinthians,
iv. 5.

_Christ_ is all, and in all.--Colossians, iii. 11.

For even hereunto were ye called: because _Christ_ also suffered for
us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow His steps;

Who did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth:

Who, when he was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered,
He threatened not; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth
righteously--I. Peter, ii. 21, 22, 23.

      With force of arms we nothing can,
        Full soon were we down-ridden;
      But for us fights the proper man,
        Whom God himself hath bidden.
    Ask ye, who is the same? _Christ_ Jesus is His name,
    The Lord Zebaoth’s Son, He, and no other one,
      Shall conquer in the battle.
                                         _Martin Luther._

    _Christ_ is a path,--if any be misled;
      He is a robe,--if any naked be;
    If any chance to hunger,--He is bread;
      If any be a bondman,--He is free;
      If any be but weak,--how strong is he!
    To dead men life he is; to sick men health;
    To blind men sight; and to the needy wealth;
    A pleasure without loss, a pleasure without stealth.
                                        _Giles Fletcher._

    He that alone would wise and mighty be,
    Commands that others love, as well as He.
    Love as He loved! how can we soar so high?
    He can add wings when He commands to fly.
    Nor should we be with this command dismayed,
    He that examples gives, will give His aid;
    For He took flesh, that where His precepts fail,
    His practice as a pattern might prevail.

    In what torn ship soever I embark,
    That ship shall be an emblem of Thy ark;
    What sea soever swallow me, that flood
    Shall be to me an emblem of Thy blood:
    Though Thou with clouds of anger do disguise
    Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes,
        Which, though they turn away sometimes,
            They never will despise.

    I sacrifice this Island unto Thee,
    And all whom I loved there, and who loved me;
    When I have put our seas ’twixt them and me,
    Put Thou Thy seas betwixt my sins and Thee:
    As the tree’s sap doth seek the root below
    In winter, in my winter now I go
        Where none but Thee, th’ eternal root
            Of true love, I may know.
                                      _Dr. Donne._

            Without _Christ_ all gain is loss,
    All hope despair, that stands not on his cross;
    Except the few his God may have impress’d,
    A tenfold phrenzy seizes all the rest.

    Father! in _Christ_ we live, and _Christ_ in Thee!
    Eternal Thou, and everlasting we.
    The heir of heaven, henceforth I fear not death:
    In _Christ_ I live! in _Christ_ I draw the breath
    Of the true life! Let then earth, sea, and sky
    Make war against me! on my front I show
    Their mighty Master’s seal. In vain they try
    To end my life, that can but end its woe.
    Is that a death-bed where the _Christian_ lies?
    Yes! but not his--’tis death itself there dies.
                                     _S. T. Coleridge._

    Heaven is within of magnitude immense;
    No human thought can its dimensions grasp;
    Yet heaven has but one door. _Christ_ is the way--
    The only way--to God. Whoever seeks
    By other ways to enter, must, ashamed,
    Confused, and disappointed, see too late
    The gates of hell expanded to his view!
    No other name is published under heaven,
    Wherein salvation can be found, but His.

    Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes
    Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,
    The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
    And then they say no spirit walks abroad;
    The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike;
    No fairy tales; no witch has power to charm;
    So hallowed and so gracious is the time!

    Sweet rest ye, happie _Christians_,
    ’Tis earlie _Christmas_ daye,
    When _Christ_ our Lord and Savioure
    Became the sinner’s staye.
    Arise, and for such benefits
    His precepts all obeye.
    Joyful tidings let us singe,
    _Christ_ our refuge, _Christ_ our kinge,
    To hallowe _Christmas_ daye.

    In Judah’s lands, in Bethlehem,
    The lovelie babe was born,
    Upon a manger poorlie laid,
    On _Christmas_ happie morn.
    God speed ye, merrie gentlemen,
    And _Christian_ grace adorn.
    Joyful tidings let us singe,
    _Christ_ our refuge, _Christ_ our kinge,
    To hallowe _Christmas_ morn.
                        _Stuart Farquharson._

    Hark! what mean those holy voices,
      Sweetly sounding through the skies?
    Lo! the angelic host rejoices;
      Heavenly hallelujahs rise.
    Listen to the wondrous story,
      Which they chant in hymns of joy:--
    “Glory in the highest, glory!
      Glory be to God most high!
    _Christ_ is born, the Great Anointed,
      Heaven and earth His praises sing;
    O receive whom God appointed,
      For your Prophet, Priest, and King!”


And the disciples were called _Christians_ first in Antioch.--Acts, xi.

Stand fast, therefore, in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us
free.--Galatians, v. 1.

Walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called.--Ephesians, iv. 1.

Yet if any man suffer as a _christian_, let him not be ashamed; but let
him glorify God on this behalf.--I. Peter, iv. 16.

    But for that contention and brave strife
    The _Christian_ hath to enjoy, the future life,
    He were the wretchedest of the race of men;
    But as he soars at that, he bruiseth then
    The serpent’s head; gets above death and sin,
    And, sure of Heaven, rides triumphing in.
                                       _Ben Jonson._

    All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend;
    Or sense indulged has made mankind their friend:
    This only doctrine does our lusts oppose;
    Unfed by nature’s soil in which it grows;
    Cross to our interests, curbing sense and sin;
    Oppressed without and undermined within,
    It thrives through pain, its own tormentors tires;
    And with a stubborn patience still aspires.
    To what can reason such effects assign,
    Transcending nature, but to laws divine,
    Which in that sacred volume are contained,
    Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordained?

                    Well hast thou fought
    The better fight, who, singly, hast maintained
    Against revolted multitudes the cause
    Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms;
    And for the testimony of truth hast borne
    Universal reproach, far worse to bear
    Than violence.

    A _Christian_ is the highest style of man;
    And is there who the blessed cross wipes of
    As a foul blot from his dishonour’d brow?--
    If angels tremble, ’tis at such a sight.

    O Antioch, thou teacher of the world!--
    From out thy portals passed the feet of those,
    Who, banished and despised, have made thy name
    The next in rank to proud Jerusalem.
    Within thy gates the persecuted few,
    Who dared to rally round the Holy Cross,
    And worship Him whose sacred form it bore,
    Were first called _Christians_. In thy sad conceit,
    Thou mad’st a stigma of reproach and shame,
    This noblest title of the sons of earth:
    While, save for this, thy name were scarcely known,
    Except among the mouldering vestiges
    Of dim antiquity. So doth our God
    Make all men’s folly ever praise His name.
                                        _J. L. Chester._

    To be an humble follower of Him,
    Who left the bliss of Heaven, to be for us
    A man on earth in spotless virtue living
    As man ne’er lived; such words of comfort speaking,
    To raise, and elevate, and cheer the heart,
    As man ne’er spake; and suffering poverty,
    Contempt, and wrong, and pain, and death itself,
    As man ne’er suffered.
                                       _Joanna Baillie._

    The _Christian’s_ faith had many mysteries too.
    The uncreated Holy Three in One;
    Divine Incarnate, Human in Divine;
    The inward call; the Sanctifying Dew;
    Coming unseen, unseen departing thence;
    Anew creating all, and yet not heard;
    Compelling, yet not felt:--mysterious these;
    Not that Jehovah to conceal them wished;
    Not that Religion wished. The _Christian_ faith,
    Unlike the timorous creeds of Pagan priest,
    Was frank, stood forth to view, invited all
    To prove, examine, search, investigate,
    And gave herself a light to see her by.
    Mysterious these--because too large for eye
    Of man, too long for human arm to mete.


Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven:
and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in
Heaven.--Matthew, xvi. 19.

Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.--Matthew,
xxviii. 20.

So were the _churches_ established in the faith, and increased in
number daily.--Acts, xvi. 5.

And God hath set some in the _church_, first, apostles, secondarily,
prophets, thirdly, teachers.--I. Corinthians, xii. 28.

And hath put all things under his feet, and gave him to be the head
over all things to the _church_,

Which is his body, the fulness of him that filleth all in
all.--Ephesians, i. 22, 23.

Christ also loved the _church_, and gave himself for it.--Ephesians, v.

That thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house
of God, which is the _church_ of the living God, the pillar and ground
of the truth.--I. Timothy, iii. 15.

Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of
some is.--Hebrews, x. 25.

                            The solemn scene
    The sun, through storied panes, surveys with awe,
    And bashfully withholds each bolder beam.

                  Think, when the bells do chime,
    ’Tis angels’ music; therefore come not late.
      God then deals blessings: if a king did so,
      Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show?

    When once thy foot enters the _church_, be bare.
    God is more there than thou: for thou art there
    Only by His permission. Then beware;
    And make thyself all reverence and fear.
      Kneeling ne’er spoil’d silk stocking. Quit thy state.
      All equal are within the _church’s_ gate.

    Resort to sermons, but to prayers most:
    Praying’s the end of preaching. O be drest;
    Stay not for the other pin: why thou hast lost
    A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest
      Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee,
      Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee.

    In time of service seal up both thine eyes,
    And send them to thy heart; that spying sin,
    They may weep out the stains by them did rise:
    Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.
      Who marks in _church_-time others’ symmetry,
      Makes all their beauty his deformity.

    Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part;
    Bring not thy plots, thy plough, thy pleasure thither.
    Christ purged His temple--so must thou thy heart.
    All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together
      To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well,
      For _churches_ either are our heaven or hell.
                                          _George Herbert._

    Dear is the ancient village _church_, which rears
      By the lone yew, or lime, or elm-girt mound,
      Its modest fabric: clear, and pleasant sound
    Of bells, the grey embattled tower that wears
    Of changeful hue the marks of bye-gone years,
      Buttress, and porch, and arch with mazy round
      Of curious feet or shapes fantastic crown’d;
    Tall pinnacles and mingled window tiers,
    Norman, or misnamed Gothic. Fairer spot
    Thou givest not, England, to the tasteful eye,
    Nor to the heart more soothing. Blest their lot!
      Know they their bliss, who own their dwelling nigh
    Such resting-place; there by the world forgot,
      In life to worship, and when dead to lie!
                                           _Bishop Mant._

                    Some there are
      Who hold it meet to linger now at home,
      And some o’er fields and the wide hills to roam,
    And worship in the temple of the air!
    For me, not heedless of the lone address,
      Nor slack to meet my Maker on the height,
    By wood, or living stream; yet not the less
      Seek I His presence in each social rite
    Of His own temple: that He deigns to bless,
      There still He dwells, and that is His delight.
                                         _Bishop Mant._

    I love to hear the sound of holy bell,
    And peaceful men, their praises lift to Heaven.
                                   _Joanna Baillie._

    Clad in a robe of pure and spotless white,
      The youthful bride, with timid steps, comes forth
      To greet the hand to which she plights her troth,
    Her soft eyes radiant with a strange delight.
    The snowy veil which circles her around,
      Shades the sweet face from every gazer’s eye,
      And thus enwrapt, she passes calmly by--
    Nor casts a look, but on the unconscious ground.
    So should the _Church_, the bride elect of Heaven,--
      Remembering whom she goeth forth to meet,
      And with a truth that cannot brook deceit,
    Holding the faith which unto her is given--
      Pass through this world, which claims her for a while,
      Nor cast about her longing look nor smile.
                                                 _Mrs. Neal._

                  Thy best type, Desire
    Of the sad heart,--the Heaven-ascending spire!
                                _Sir E. B. Lytton._

    To Thee the _churches_ here rejoice,
    The solemn organs aid the voice;
    To sacred roofs the sound we raise,
    The sacred roofs re-sound Thy praise;
    And while our notes in one agree,
    Oh! bless the _church_ that sings to Thee!

    The _Church_ of Christ, the school of grace,
      The Spirit teaching by the Word;
    In these our Saviour’s steps we trace,
      By this His living voice is heard.
                                 _J. Montgomery._

    So shall her holy bounds increase,
    With walls of praise and gates of peace;
    So shall the Vine which martyr tears
    And blood sustained, in other years,
        With fresher life be clothed upon;
    And to the world in beauty show
    Like the rose-plant of Jericho,
        And glorious as Lebanon.
                            _J. G. Whittier._

    O, prayer is good when many pour
      Their voices in one solemn tone;
    Conning their sacred lessons o’er,
      Or yielding thanks for mercies shown.
    ’Tis good to see the quiet train
      Forget their worldly joy and care,
    While loud response, and choral strain,
      Re-echo in the House of Prayer.
                               _Eliza Cook._

    There is a Presence spiritually vast
    Around Thy _Church_, arisen Saviour! cast;
    A holy effluence, an unspoken awe,
    A sanctity which carnal eye ne’er saw,--
    A pure, impalpable, almighty sense
    Of peace, by reconciled Omnipotence,--
    That hallows, haunts, and makes a Christian mind
    Rich in all grace, celestially refined:
    Mere Nature’s worshippers can never feel
    The fulness of that high seraphic zeal
    Which veileth all things with religious light,
    And works unwearied in Jehovah’s sight;
    Thought, dream, and action, ev’ry pulse of soul
    The awe of Christ will solemnly control:
    Girt by the Spirit, wheresoe’er they rove,
    True faith is feeding on His breath of love.
                                     _R. Montgomery._

    How sweetly wide this Sabbath morn
      The chime of village bells is sent
    O’er the hamlets, o’er the fields,
      With Sabbath sunshine blent.
    The noble hears and quits his hall--
      The peasant quits his cottage-home;
    All cheerfully, all pleasantly,
      To _church_ the people come.
    They come from far-off heathy moors,
      From lonely farms, from quiet dells,
    Led strongly, irresistibly,
      By the sweet chime of Sabbath bells.
    Across the fields, across the green,
      From shades emerge they to the light;
    And seen in groups, or singly seen,
      It is a charming sight.
                           _Richard Howitt._


Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is mount Zion, the
_city_ of the great King.--Psalm xlviii. 2.

Except the Lord keep the _city_, the watchman waketh but in
vain.--Psalm cxxvii. 1.

Thou shalt be called The _city_ of righteousness; the faithful
_city_.--Isaiah, i. 26.

How doth the _city_ sit solitary that was full of people! All her gates
are desolate.--Lamentations, i. 1, 4.

For he looked for a _city_ which hath foundations, whose builder and
maker is God.--Hebrews, xi. 10.

And the _city_ had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine
in it; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light
thereof.--Revelations, 21, 23.

    Where are the _cities_ which of old in mighty grandeur rose!
    Amid the desert’s burning sands, or girt with frozen snows;
    Is there no vestige now remains their wondrous tale to tell,
    Of how they blazed, like meteor-stars, and how, like them, they
    Hark! hark! the voice of prophecy comes o’er the desert wide,
    Come down, come down, and in the dust thy virgin beauties hide;
    Oh “Daughter of Chaldea,” thou no more enthroned shall be,
    For the desert and the wilderness alone shall tell of thee.
    Though old Euphrates still rolls in his everlasting stream,
    Thy brazen gates and golden halls, as though they ne’er had been;
    Where stood thy massy tower-crowned walls, and palaces of pride,
    The dragon and the wild beast now therein securely hide.
    The “besom of destruction” o’er thee hath swept its way
    In wrath, because thine impious hand on God’s Anointed lay.
                                                        _H. Brownlee._

    This is the _city_ John did once discern
    Descend from heaven apocalyptical,
    Whereof “his thoughts do breathe, his words do burn.”

    Beautiful _city_! Mother of us all!
    Vision of Peace! white bride of Deity!
    Whose Glory clothes thine apostolic walls!
    Angels thy gates encompass lovingly,
    Equal in all dimensions as beseems,
    And like an angel’s thy capacity.
    Death is not in thee, nor the fierce extremes
    Of pain or sorrow, nor anxiety.
    Here evil comes not, neither evil dreams;
    No temple hast thou, for the Lord Most High
    Thy temple is. No sun thou hast, nor moon,
    His Glory is thy light eternally.
    Lo! every nation brings to thee a boon;
    Thy gates shall not be shut at all by day,
    Nor night be thine, land of perpetual noon;
    The kings of earth to thee their homage pay.
    But no defiled thing shall enter thee,
    Loving a lie, or tempting to betray.
                                           _J. A. Heraud._

    Jehovah is great, and great be his praise;
      In the _city_ of God He is King;
    Proclaim ye his triumphs in jubilant lays,
      On the mount of his holiness sing.

    The joy of the earth, from her beautiful height,
      Is Zion’s impregnable hill;
    The Lord in her temple still taketh delight,
      God reigns in her palaces still.

    Go walk about Zion, and measure the length,
      Her walls and her bulwarks mark well;
    Contemplate her palaces, glorious in strength,
      Her towers and her pinnacles tell.

    Then say to your children:--Our stronghold is tried;
      This God is our God to the end;
    His people for ever his counsel shall guide;
      His arm shall for ever defend.
                                         _J. Montgomery._


Then all the princes of the sea shall come down from their thrones, and
lay away their robes, and put off their broidered garments: they shall
_clothe_ themselves with trembling.--Ezekiel, xxvi. 16.

Take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink?
or, Wherewithal shall we be _clothed_? for your heavenly Father knoweth
that ye have need of all these things.--Matthew, vi. 31, 32.

For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened: not for
that we would be _unclothed_, but _clothed_ upon, that mortality might
be swallowed up of life.--II. Corinthians, v. 4.

If there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly
apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment:

And ye have respect to him that weareth the gay _clothing_, and say
unto him, Sit thou here in a good place; and say to the poor, Stand
thou there, or sit here under my footstool:

Are ye not then partial in yourselves, and are become judges of evil
thoughts?--James, ii. 2, 3, 4.

    If thou beest he; but O how fall’n! how changed
    From him who in the happy realms of light,
    _Clothed_ with transcendent brightness, did’st outshine
    Myriads, though bright!

    The golden palace of my God,
      Towering above the clouds I see;
    Beyond the cherub’s bright abode,
      Higher than angels’ thoughts can be!
    How can I in those courts appear
      Without a wedding garment on?
    Conduct me, Thou life-giver, there,
      Conduct me to thy glorious throne!
    And _clothe_ me with thy robes of light,
    And lead me through sin’s darksome night.
                  _Bowring, from the Russian._

    All _clothed_ with majesty and power,
      The Lord of glory and of might,
    He comes, who can abide the hour?
      Who can behold the dreadful sight?
    He, even he, who hath put on
      The spotless robe of righteousness,
    Washed in the blood of God’s dear Son:
      Thus _clothed_, the ransomed soul may press
    Into the presence bright with songs of thankfulness.


Behold, God is great, and we know him not, neither can the number of
His years be searched out.

For He maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain according
to the vapour thereof;

Which the _clouds_ do drop and distil upon man abundantly.

With _clouds_ He covereth the light; and commandeth it not to shine by
the _cloud_ that cometh betwixt.--Job, xxxvi. 26, 27, 28, 32.

Who maketh the _clouds_ His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the
wind.--Psalm civ. 3.

While they beheld, He was taken up; and a _cloud_ received Him out of
their sight.--Acts, i. 9.

Behold He cometh with _clouds_; and every eye shall see
Him.--Revelation, i. 7.

    A _cloud_ lay cradled near the setting sun,
      A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow,
    Long had I watch’d the glory moving on,
      O’er the still radiance of the lake below:
      Tranquil its spirit seem’d, and floated slow,
    Even in its very motion there was rest,
      While every breath of eve that chanced to blow,
    Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
      Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,
    To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,
      And by the breath of mercy made to roll
    Right onward to the golden gates of heaven,
      Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,
      And tells to man his glorious destinies.
                                          _J. Wilson._

    See’st yon light _cloud_, the wind is hurrying by?
      The eagle’s scarce more rapid in his flight,
    ’Tis thus the years of youth,--hope--rapture fly,
      Clad in attractive hues and robes of light,
    Swiftly they fly, but ah! a weary night
      Their reign succeeds--a more than midnight gloom,
    That gives no peace to morn’s uprising bright,
      Nor bids sweet Hope her wonted smile resume.
    Ah! yes; though dark our night and drear the tomb,
      Through its long vista, lo! the glorious star,
    Whose rays from heaven’s bright vestibule illume
      Death’s deepest vaults with radiance from afar,
    Sun of immortal day! victorious faith
    Eyes thy uprising blaze, and triumphs over death.
                                              _G. M. J._

    I asked the _clouds_, in their pomp of light,
    As they sat in the crimson west at night,
    Wherefore they gathered around the sun,
    And brightened although his race was run;
    When, perhaps, the breezes of night might strew
    Their fragile folds into mist and dew?
    The _clouds_ replied, “Though we should be driven
    Away from our rest, we shall still be in heaven.”
                                       _M. A. Browne._

    When gathering _clouds_ around I view,
    And days are dark, and friends are few;
    On Him I lean, who not in vain
    Experienced every human pain:
    He sees my wants, allays my fears,
    And counts and treasures up my tears.

    And, oh! when I have safely past
    Through every conflict--but the last;
    Still, still unchanging, watch beside
    My dying bed,--for thou hast died.
    Then point to realms of _cloudless_ day,
    And wipe the latest tear away.

    See where yonder _cloudlet_ lingers
      On the tranquil verge of day;
    The golden sunset with its fingers,
      Gilds it with its burnished ray;
    Swiftly, calmly, on it glides,
      Mingling, melting, into air,
    Fainter, fainter--now it hides
      In the bosom of its lair.

    So I’ve seen the gentle spirit
      Linger as it pass’d away,
    Softly, brightly glowing, ere it
      Faded in eternal day.
    Glowing with the light of Heaven--
      Light of God’s eternal love:--
    Like the _cloudlet_ of the even,
      So it pass’d to realms above.
                         _Rev. E. Case._


Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil: for Thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they
_comfort_ me.--Psalm xxiii. 4.

This is my _comfort_ in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened
me.--Psalm cxix. 50.

_Comfort_ ye, _comfort_ ye my people, saith your God.--Isaiah, xl. 1.

I, even I, am He that _comforteth_ you: who art thou, that thou
shouldest be afraid of a man that shall die, and of the Son of
Man which shall be made as grass; and forgettest the Lord thy
Maker.--Isaiah, li. 12, 13.

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed
me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the
broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of
the prison to them that are bound;

To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance
of our God; to _comfort_ all that mourn.--Isaiah, lxi. 1, 2.

Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of
mercies, and the God of all _comfort_;

Who _comforteth_ us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to
_comfort_ them which are in any trouble, by the _comfort_ wherewith we
ourselves are _comforted_ of God.--II. Corinthians, i. 3, 4.

    There is a haven yet to rest my soul on,
    In midst of all unhappiness, which I look on
    With the same _comfort_ as a distressed seaman
    Afar off views the coast he would enjoy,
    When yet the seas do toss his reeling barque,
    ’Twixt hope and danger.

    In the hour of my distress,
    When temptations me oppress,
    And when I my sins confess,
        Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!

    When I lie within my bed,
    Sick in heart and sick in head,
    And with doubts discomforted,
        Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!

    When the house doth sigh and weep,
    And the world is drowned in sleep,
    Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
        Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!

    When the priest his last hath prayed,
    And I nod to what is said,
    ’Cause my speech is now decayed,
        Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!

    When the judgment is revealed,
    And that open which was sealed,
    When to thee I have appealed,
        Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!
                         _Robert Herrick._

    The voice which I did more esteem
      Than music in her sweetest key;
    Those eyes which unto me did seem
      More _comfortable_ than the day!
    Those now by me, as they have been,
    Shall never more be heard or seen;
    But what I once enjoyed in them,
    Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

    All earthly _comforts_ vanish thus;
      So little hold of them have we,
    That we from them, or they from us,
      May in a moment ravished be.
    Yet we are neither just nor wise,
    If present mercies we despise;
    Or mind not how there may be made
    A thankful use of what we had.

    Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
    And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay’d,
    The reverend champion stood. At his control,
    Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul:
    _Comfort_ came down, the trembling wretch to raise,
    And his last, faltering accents whisper’d praise.

    _Comfort_, ye ministers of grace,
      _Comfort_ my people, saith your God!
    Ye soon shall see his smiling face,
      His golden sceptre, not his rod;
    And own, when now the cloud’s removed,
    He only chasten’d whom he loved.

    Who sow in tears, in joy shall reap,
      The Lord shall _comfort_ all that mourn,
    Who now go on their way and weep,
      With joy they doubtless shall return,
    And bring their sheaves with vast increase,
    And have their fruit to holiness.

    They sank amid the wilderness,
      The weary and forsaken;
    She gave the boy one faint caress,
      And prayed it might not waken.

    Far, far away the desert spread;
      Ah! love is fain to cherish
    The vainest hopes, but now she said,
      “Let me not see him perish.”

    Then spoke the Lord, and at his word
      Sprang forth a little fountain,
    Pure, cold as those whose crystal hoard
      Is in some pine-clad mountain.

    O blessed God! thus doth thy power,
      When, worn and broken-hearted,
    We sink beneath some evil hour,
      And deem all hope departed.

    Then doth the fountain of thy grace
      Rise up within the spirit,
    And we are strengthened for that race,
      Whose prize we shall inherit.

    When least we hope, our prayer is heard,
      The judgment is averted,
    And comes the _comfort_ of thy word,
      When most we seem deserted.
                               _Miss Landon._

    On wings of everlasting love
      The _Comforter_ is come;
    All terrors at his voice disperse,
      And endless pleasures bloom.


Moses went up unto mount Sinai, as the Lord had _commanded_ him, and
took in his hand the two tables of stone.

And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten
_commandments_.--Exodus, xxxiv. 4, 28.

Jesus said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

This is the first and great _commandment_.

And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as

On these two _commandments_ hang all the law and the
prophets.--Matthew, xxii. 37, 38, 39, 40.

                          How, in one house,
    Should many people, under two _commands_
    Hold amity?

    Whatever hypocrites austerely talk
    Of purity, and place, and innocence,
    Reforming as impure what God declares
    Pure, and _commands_ to some, leaves free to all
    Our Maker bids increase; who bids abstain
    But our destroyer, foe to God and man.

    Heralds of creation cry,
    --Praise the Lord, the Lord most high;
    Heaven and earth, obey the call,
    Praise the Lord, the Lord of all.

    For He spake, and forth from night
    Sprang the universe to light;
    He _commanded_,--Nature heard,
    And stood fast upon his word.
                           _J. Montgomery._

    What is the first and great _command_?--
      To love thy God above:
    And what the second?--As thyself
      Thy neighbour thou shalt love:
    Who is my neighbour?--He who wants
      The help that thou canst give:
    Jesus, our blessed Saviour, said--
      This do, and thou shalt live.


Thou O Lord, art a God full of _compassion_, and gracious,
long-suffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.--Psalm lxxxvi. 15.

It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his
_compassions_ fail not.--Lamentations, iii. 22.

Have _compassion_ on us, and help us.--Mark, ix. 22.

Ye had _compassion_ of me in my bonds.--Hebrews, x. 34.

Be ye all of one mind, having _compassion_ one of another.--I. Peter,
iii. 8.

    Jesus, the friend of human kind,
      With strong _compassion_ moved,
    Descended, like a pitying God,
      To save the souls he loved.

    Exalted high at God’s right hand,
      And Lord of all below,
    Through him is pardoning love dispensed,
      And boundless blessings flow.

    And still, for erring, guilty man,
      A brother’s pity flows;
    And still his bleeding heart is touched
      With memory of our woes.

    The light of love and glory
      Has shone through Christ the Saviour,
    The holy Guide, who lived and died,
      That we might live for ever.

    And since thy great _compassion_
      Thus brings thy children near thee,
    May we to praise devote our days,
      And love as well as fear thee.
                          _Henry Ware, Jun._

    Lord, what offerings shall we bring,
      At thine altars when we bow?
    Hearts, the pure unsullied spring,
      Whence the kind affections flow;
    Soft _compassion’s_ feeling soul,
      By the melting eye exprest,
    Sympathy, at whose control
      Sorrow leaves the wounded breast.
                           _John Taylor._


What _concord_ hath Christ with Belial?--II. Corinthians, vi. 15.

    But lovely _concord_, and most sacred peace,
      Doth nourish virtue, and fast friendship breedes;
    Weake she makes strong, and strong things does increase,
      Till it the pitch of highest praise exceedes--
      Brave be her warres, as honourable deedes,
    By which she triumphs over ire and pride,
      And winnes an olive garden for her meedes.

                          One shall rise
    Of proud ambitious heart, who, not content
    With fair equality, fraternal state,
    Will arrogate dominion undeserved
    Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
    _Concord_, and law of nature from the earth.

    E’en as the dew, that, at the break of morning,
    All nature with its beauty is adorning,
        And flows for Heaven, calm and still,
        And bathes the tender grass on Zion’s hill,
        And to the young and withering herb resigns
        The drops for which it pines:
    So are fraternal peace and _concord_ ever
    The cherishers without whose guidance, never
        Would sainted quiet seek the breast,--
        The life, the soul of unmolested rest,--
        The antidote to sorrow and distress,
        And prop of human happiness.

    It is not once an age two hearts are set
    So well in unison, that not a note
    Jars in their music; but a skilful hand
    Slurs lightly over the discordant tones,
    And wakens only the full power of those
    That sound in _concord_.
                      Happy, happy those
    Who thus perform in the grand concert--life.
                                  _Mrs. Southey._


As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are
accounted as sheep for the slaughter.

Nay, in all these things we are more than _conquerors_ through Him that
loved us.--Romans, viii. 36, 37.

And I saw, and behold a white horse; and he that sat on him had a bow;
and a crown was given unto him; and he went forth _conquering_ and to
_conquer_.--Revelations, vi. 2.

    The _conquered_ also, and enslaved by war,
    Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose,
    And fear of God.

    Well then, my soul, joy in the midst of pain;
      Thy Christ, that _conquered_ hell, shall from above
    With greater triumph yet return again,
      And _conquer_ his own justice with his love--
    Commanding earth and seas to render those
    Unto His bliss, for whom He paid His woes.
                                           _Henry Wotton._

    Strange _conquest_, when the _conqueror_ must die,
    And he is slain who wins the victory,
    And yet another _conquest_ he must gain,
    Or all our faith and highest hopes are vain.

    He on whose eyes sweet light revealed hath been,
    He on whose ears the mysteries of sound,
    The lame who now can walk, he who hath seen
    The gate of death and he whom death hath bound,
    Rejoice aloud--a choral company!
    And had they not, the stones from out the ground
    Witness of Him, whom Patriarchs longed to see,
    Had borne; such was the aspiration then,
    The rapture and procession. And lo, He
    Went like a _conqueror_ on his way, while men
    Cowered as before a God.
                                      _J. A. Heraud._

    To Thee, who dying, _conquerest_, all hail!
    Son of the virgin! Hero of the blest!
    Over the gates of death and hell prevail;
    Warrior who hast alone the wine-press trod.
                                 _J. A. Heraud._


And herein do I exercise myself, to have always a _conscience_ void of
offence toward God, and toward men.--Acts, xxiv. 16.

Their _conscience_ also bearing witness, and their thoughts the
meanwhile accusing or else excusing one another.--Romans, ii. 15.

Ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for _conscience_
sake.--Romans, xiii. 5.

Holding the mystery of the faith in a pure _conscience_.--I. Timothy,
iii. 9.

Purge your _conscience_ from dead works to serve the living
God.--Hebrews, ix. 14.

We trust we have a good _conscience_.--Hebrews, xiii. 18.

    Guilt still alarms, and _conscience_, ne’er asleep,
    Wounds with incessant strokes, not loud but deep;
    While the vexed mind her own tormentor flies,
    A scorpion scourge unmark’d by human eyes!
    Trust me no tortures that the poets feign,
    Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain
    He feels, who day and night, devoid of rest,
    Carries his own accuser in his breast.

    Study _conscience_, more than thou wouldst fame;
    Though both be good, the latter yet is worst,
    And ever is ill got, without the first.
                                        _Ben Jonson._

    For though the plain judge, _Conscience_, makes no show,
      But silently to her dark session comes,
    Not as red law does to arraignment go,
      Or war to execution, with loud drums;

    Though she on hills sets not her gibbets high,
      Where frightful law sets hers; nor bloody seems,
    Like war in colours spread, yet secretly
      She does her work, and many men condemns;

    Chokes in the seed what law, till ripe, ne’er sees;
      What law would punish, _Conscience_ can prevent;
    And so the world from many mischiefs frees;
      Known by her cures, as law by punishment.
                                 _Sir William Davenant._

    So gnaws the grief of _conscience_ evermore,
      And in the heart it is so deeply grave,
    That they may never sleep nor rest therefor,
      Nor think one thought but on the dread they have.
                                       _Earl of Dorset._

    The soul’s rough file that smoothness does impart;
    The hammer that does break the stony heart!
    The worm that never dies! the “thorn within,”
    That pricks and pains! the whip and scourge of sin!
    The voice of God in man! that without rest
    Does softly cry within a troubled breast--
    “To all temptations is that soul set free
    That makes not to itself a curb of me.”
                                     _Sir E. Sherburne._

    For him a waking bloodhound, yelling loud,
      (That in his bosom long had sleeping laid,
    A guilty _conscience_ lurking after blood,)
      Pursued eagerly, nor ever stayed,
      Till the betrayer’s self it had betrayed;
    Oft changed he place in hope away to wind,
    But change of place could never change his mind,
    Himself he flies to lose, but follows but to find.
                                      _Giles Fletcher._

    There is a kind of _conscience_ some men keep,
    Is like a member that’s benumbed with sleep;
    Which, as it gathers blood, and wakes again,
    It shoots, and pricks, and feels as big as ten.

    The swelling of an outward fortune can
    Create a prosperous, not a happy, man;
    A peaceful _conscience_ is the true content,
    And wealth is but her golden ornament.

    Divine authority, within man’s breast,
    Brings every thought, word, action, to the test;
    Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains,
    As reason, or as passion takes the reins.
    Heaven from above, and _Conscience_ from within,
    Cries in his startled ear,--Abstain from sin.

        From behind her secret stand,
    The sly informer minutes every fault,
    And her dread diary with horror fills.
    Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
    She reconnoitres fancy’s airy band,
    Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
    And steals our embryos of iniquity.

                  ’Tis ever thus
    With noble minds; if chance they slide to folly,
    Remorse stings deeper, and relentless _conscience_
    Pours more of gall into the bitter cup
    Of their severe repentance.

    Knowledge or wealth to few are given,
    But mark how just the ways of heaven:
        True joy to all is free.
    Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon,
    ’Tis thine, O _Conscience_! thine alone--
        It all belongs to thee.

              What terrestial woe can match
    The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought
    The bane of others, or enslaved itself
    With shackles vile? Not poison, nor sharp fire,
    Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate
    Suggested, or despotic rage imposed,
    Were at that season an unwished exchange;
    When the soul loathes herself, when flying thence,
    To crowds, on every brow she sees pourtrayed
    Fell demons, hate or scorn, which drive her back
    To solitude, her Judge’s voice divine,
    To hear in secret, haply sounding through
    The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still
    Demanding for his violated laws
    Fit recompense; or charging her own tongue
    To speak the award of justice on herself.

    _Conscience_ distasteful truths may tell,
    But mark her sacred lessons well,
    With her whoever lives at strife,
    Loses his better friend for life.

    _Conscience_, tremendous _conscience_, in his fits
    Of inspiration, whencesoe’er it came,
    Rose like a ghost, inflicting fear of death
    On those who feared not death in fiercest battle,
    And mocked him in their martyrdoms of torments;
    That secret, swift, and silent messenger,
    Broke on them in their lonely hours;--in sleep,
    In sickness; haunting them with dire suspicions
    Of something in themselves that would not die--
    Of an existence elsewhere, and hereafter;
    Of which tradition was not wholly silent,
    Yet spake not out; its dreary oracles
    Confounded superstition to conceive,
    And baffled scepticism to reject,
    What fear of death is like the fear beyond it?
                                       _J. Montgomery._

    Nothing they saw, but a low voice was heard
    Threading the ominous silence of that fear,
    Gentle and terrorless, as if a bird,
    Wakened by some volcano’s glare, should cheer
    The murk air with his song; yet every word
    In the cathedral’s farthest arch seemed near,
    As if it spoke to every one apart,
    Like the clear voice of _conscience_ to each heart.

    Lest too powerful passions should propel
    Headlong to acts immoral, nor allow
    Time for slow Reason to deduce a rule
    To curb their mad career, _Conscience_ kind heaven
    Appointed her assistant; _Conscience_ quick
    To heed the call of duty, to discern
    ’Twixt right and wrong, and bias to the best.
                                      _William Gibson._

    Oh, that folk would well consider
      What it is to lose a name,
    What this world is altogether,
      If bereft of honest fame.
    Poverty ne’er brings dishonour,
      Hardship ne’er breeds sorrow’s smart,
    If bright _conscience_ takes upon her
      To shed sunshine round the heart.
                         _Hector Mc’ Neill._


Are the _consolations_ of God small with thee?--Job, xv. 11.

Woe unto you that are rich; for you have received your
_consolation_.--Luke, vi. 24.

Barnabas, which is, being interpreted, the son of _consolation_.--Acts,
iv. 36.

For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our _consolation_ also
aboundeth by Christ.--II. Corinthians, i. 5.

    Many are the sayings of the wise,
    In ancient and in modern books enroll’d,
    Extolling patience as the truest fortitude;
    And to the bearing well of all calamities,
    All chances incident to man’s frail life
    _Consolatories_ writ
    With studied argument, and much persuasion sought
    Lenient of grief and anxious thought;
    But with the afflicted, in his pangs their sound
    Little prevails, or rather seems a time
    Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint;
    Unless he feels within
    Some source of _consolation_ from above,
    Secret refreshings, that repair his strength,
    And fainting spirits uphold.

    A faded flower, a bud of beauty blasted,
      A broken lute, a precious diamond shattered,
    A stream of purest water, early wasted,
      A priceless essence on the desert scattered,
    Like these thou hast perished, in thy beauty mild.
    To which shall we compare thee, lovely child?

    If to the faded flower, we know its fruit
      Is garner’d up midst Heaven’s holy treasures;
    If to the lovely-toned, but broken lute,
      Its echo mingleth now, in heavenly measures;
    The diamond is not lost; its fragments gather
    Into a star before the Eternal Father.

    The stream beside the stream of life is flowing,
      And ever fed from their celestial springs;
    The essence round the Throne eternal, going
      Embodied on a Seraph’s radiant wings;
    Oh, lost one!--let us call thee what we will,
    The very name hath _consolation_ still.


But godliness, with _contentment_, is great gain.

For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
nothing out.

And having food and raiment, let us be therewith _content_.--I.
Timothy, vi. 6, 7, 8.

I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be
_content_.--Philippians, iv. 11.

Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be _content_ with
such things as ye have: for He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor
forsake thee.--Hebrews, xiii. 5.

    Poor and _content_ is rich and rich enough.

      My conscience is my crown,
      _Contented_ thoughts my rest;
    My heart is happy in itself,
      My bliss is in my breast.

      Enough I reckon wealth,
      A mean the surest lot;
    That lies too high for base contempt,
      Too low for envy’s shot.
                       _Robert Southwell._

    Though still thou get’st, yet is thy want not spent,
    But, as thy wealth, so grows thy wealthy itch;
    But with my little I have much _content_--
    _Content_ hath all; and who hath all, is rich:
      Then this in reason thou must needs confess--
      If I have little, yet that thou hast less.

    Whatever man possesses, God hath lent,
    And to his audit liable is, ever,
    To reckon how, and when, and where he spent;
    Then this thou bragg’st--thou art a great receiver:
      Little my debt, when little is my store--
      The more thou hast, the debt still grows the more.
                                      _Phineas Fletcher._

    I grieve, and dare not show my dis_content_;
    I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;
    I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
    I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate:
      I am, and not, I freeze, and yet am burn’d,
      Since from myself my other self I turn’d.

    My care is like my shadow in the sun--
    Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it;
    Stands and lies by me, does what I have done,
    This too-familiar care does make me rue it.
      No means I find to rid him from my breast,
      Till by the end of things it is suppress’d.

    Some gentler passions slide into my mind,
    For I am soft, and made of melting snow;
    Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind,
    Let me or float or sink, be high or low,
      Or let me live with some more sweet _content_,
      Or die, and so forget what love e’er meant.
                                   _Queen Elizabeth._

    Welcome pure thoughts, welcome ye silent groves,
    These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves:
    Now the wing’d people of the sky shall sing
    My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring:
    A prayer book now shall be my looking-glass,
    In which I will adore sweet virtue’s face.
    Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace-cares,
    No broken vows dwell here, no pale-faced fears:
    Then here I’ll sit, and sigh my hot love’s folly,
    And learn ’t affect an holy melancholy;
      And if _Contentment_ be a stranger then,
      I’ll ne’er look for it but in Heaven again.
                                        _Sir Henry Wotton._

    There’s _discontent_ from sceptre to the swain,
    And from the peasant to the king again.
    Then whatsoever in thy will afflict thee,
    Or in thy pleasure seem to contradict thee,
    Give it a welcome as a wholesome friend,
    That would instruct thee to a better end.
    Since no condition from defect is free,
    Think not to find what here can never be.
                               _Alexander Nicholas._

    Unfit for greatness, I her snares defy,
    And look on riches with untainted eye.
    To others let the glittering baubles fall,
    _Content_ shall place us far above them all.

    O may I with myself agree,
    And never covet what I see!
    _Content_ me with an humble shade;
    My passions tamed, my wishes laid;
    For while our wishes idly roll,
    We banish quiet from the soul;
    ’Tis then we busy beat the air,
    And misers gather wealth and care.

    Happy is he, who, though the cup of bliss
    Has ever shunn’d him when he thought to kiss,
    Who still in abject poverty or pain,
    Can count with pleasure what small joys remain;
    Though, were his sight convey’d from zone to zone,
    He would not find one spot of ground his own;
    Yet as he looks around, he cries with glee,
    These bounding prospects all are made for me:
    For me yon waving fields their burden bear,
    For me yon labourer guides the shining share;
    While happy I, in idle ease recline,
    And mark the glorious visions as they shine.
    This is the charm, by sages often told,
    Converting all it touches into gold.
    _Content_ can soothe, where’er by fortune placed,
    Can rear a garden in the desert waste.
                                         _H. K. White._

    O Thou, who kindly dost provide
      For every creature’s want!
    We bless Thee, God of Nature wide,
      For all thy goodness lent;
    And if it please Thee, Heavenly Guide,
      May never worse be sent;
    But whether granted, or denied,
      Lord! bless us with _content_!

    There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy,
    No chemic art can counterfeit;
    It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
    Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
    The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain;
    Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,
    That much in little--all in nought--_content_.

    Ye venerable groves! whose open glades
    Invite the musing wanderer to your shades,
    Ye birds! whose honied notes enthral the ear,
    Wake the bright morn, the darksome evening cheer,
    Ye fountains! murmuring music as ye flow,
    Ye flowers! that on their purple margins glow,
    Ye winds! that o’er those flowers soft breathing play,
    Calm the hot sky, and mitigate the day;--
    Take me, O take me to your loved retreats;
    All, all conspire to bless me with your sweets.
    Here in your soft enclosure let me prove
    The shade and silence of the life I love!
    Not idle here;--for, as I rove along,
    I form the verse, and meditate the song;
    Or mend my mind by what the wise have taught,
    Studious to be the very thing I ought
    Here will I taste the blessings of _content_,
    No hope shall flatter, and no fear torment:
    Unlike the sea, the sport of every wind,
    And rich with wrecks, the ruin of mankind,
    My life an honest, humble praise shall claim,
    As the small stream, scarce honoured with a name,
    Whose gladdening waters through my garden play,
    Give a few flowers to smile, then glide away.
                                             _Bishop Hurd._

    The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they
    That ever walk _content_ with Nature’s way,
    God’s goodness measuring bounty as it may;
    For whom the gravest thought of what they miss,
    Chastening the fulness of a present bliss,
    Is with that wholesome office satisfied;
    While unrepining sadness is allied
    In thankful bosoms to a modest pride.

    Grant, gracious Lord, as through this troubled scene
      I walk unsafely, stumbling as I go,
    Glimpses of hope, the murky clouds between,
      May break at times, and light the way below;
    But if I may not such sweet solace find,
    Give me a prayerful and _contented_ mind.


The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such
as be of a _contrite_ spirit.--Psalm xxxiv. 18.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a _contrite_
heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise.--Psalm li. 17.

Thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name
is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a
_contrite_ and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and
to revive the heart of the _contrite_ ones.--Isaiah, lvii. 15.

To this man will I look, even to him that is poor and of a _contrite_
spirit, and trembleth at my word.--Isaiah, lxvi. 2.

    Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
    Sown with _contrition_ in his heart, than those
    Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees
    Of Paradise could have produced.

    I, who have gone so far and long astray,
      Adding to primal guilt the mountains high
      Of trespass day by day, as if to try
    Thy long forbearance, still for mercy pray;
    For mercy even yet. Look ere thou slay,
      Great God! upon my tears; look where I lie
      Repentant; give, O give, before I die,
    Thy grace, and guide my feet into thy way.
    Reveal thy sufferings, thy blood and sweat:
      Short is my time; reveal thy bitter cross
      To my dark eyes, all used to other sight.
    Quench, O my God! all that unhallowed heat
      Of former life, which now I count but loss:
      Lord, thou hast ne’er despised a heart _contrite_.
                    _From the Italian of Gabriel Fiamma._

    Where sad _contrition_ harbours, there the heart
    Is truly acquainted with the secret smart
    Of past offences, hates the bosom sin
    The most, which most the soul took pleasure in;
    No crime unsifted, no sin unpresented
    Can lurk unseen, and seen, none unlamented;
    The troubled soul’s amazed with dire aspects
    Of lesser sins committed, and detects
    The wounded conscience; it cries amain
    For mercy--mercy; cries, and cries again.

    It sadly grieves, and soberly laments,
    It yearns for grace, reforms, returns, repents.
    Aye, this is incense whose accepted savour
    Mounts up the heavenly throne, and findeth favour:
    Aye, this it is whose valour never fails--
    With God it stoutly wrestles and prevails:
    Aye, this it is that pierces heaven above,
    Never returning home, (like Noah’s dove,)
    But brings an olive leaf, or some increase,
    That works salvation and eternal peace.

    All powerful is the penitential sigh
    Of true _contrition_; like the placid wreaths
    Of incense, wafted from the righteous shrine
    Where Abel ministered, to the blest seat
    Of Mercy, an accepted sacrifice,
    Humiliation’s conscious plaint ascends.
                                   _Samuel Hayes._

    Lord! who art merciful as well as just,
    Incline thine ear to me, a child of dust!
    Not what I would, O Lord! I offer thee,
      Alas! but what I can.
    Father Almighty, who hast made me man,
    And bade me look to heaven, for thou art there,
    Accept my sacrifice and humble prayer.
    Four things which are not in my treasury,
    I lay before thee, Lord, with this petition:--
      My nothingness, my wants,
      My sins, and my _contrition_.
               _Southey, imitated from the Persian._

    O, my soul! thy lost condition
      Brought the gentle Saviour low!
    Hast thou felt one hour’s _contrition_
      For those sins that pierced him so?
    Dost thou bear the love thou owest
      For such proof of grace divine?
    Can’st thou answer,--Lord thou knowest
      That this heart is wholly Thine?
                               _C. Bowles._


Wait on the Lord: be of good _courage_.--Psalm xxvii. 14.

Be of good _courage_, and He shall strengthen your heart, all ye that
hope in the Lord.--Psalm xxxi. 24.

And he that is _courageous_ among the mighty shall flee away naked in
that day, saith the Lord.--Amos, ii. 16.

When the brethren heard of us they came to meet us: whom when Paul saw,
he thanked God, and took _courage_.--Acts, xxviii. 15.

    That _courage_ which the vain for valour take,
    Who proudly danger seek for glory’s sake,
    Is impudence; and what they rashly do,
    Has no excuse, but that ’tis madness too.
                            _Sir William Davenant._

    Stand but your ground, your ghostly foes will fly--
    Hell trembles at a heaven-directed eye;
    Choose rather to defend than to assail--
    Self-confidence will in the conflict fail:
    When you are challenged, you may dangers meet--
    True _courage_ is a fixed, not sudden heat;
    Is always humble, lives in self-distrust,
    And will itself into no danger thrust.
    Devote yourself to God, and you will find
    God fights the battles of a will resigned.
    Love Jesus! Love will no base fear endure--
    Love Jesus! And of conquest rest secure.
                                           _Bishop Ken._

    True _courage_ is not moved by breath of words;
    While the rash bravery of boiling blood,
    Impetuous, knows no settled principle.
    A feverish tide, it has its ebbs and flows,
    As spirits rise or fall, as wine inflames,
    Or circumstances change: but inborn _courage_,
    The generous child of fortitude and faith,
    Holds its firm empire in the constant soul;
    And like the steadfast pole-star, never once
    From the same fixed and faithful point declines.
                                       _Hannah More._


Blessed is the man whom Thou choosest, and causest to approach unto
Thee, that he may dwell in Thy _courts_.--Psalm lxv. 4.

Those that be planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the
_courts_ of our God.--Psalm xcii. 13.

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands.

Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His _courts_ with
praise.--Psalm c. 1, 4.

It shall be an habitation of dragons, and a _court_ for owls.--Isaiah,
xxxiv. 13.

    Gaze but upon the house where man doth live,
      With flowers and verdure to adorn his way;
    Where all the creatures due obedience give;
      The winds to sweep his chambers every day;
      The clouds to wash his rooms, the ceiling gay
        With glittering stars, that night’s dark empire brave;
        If such an house God to another gave,
    How shine those splendid _courts_ He for Himself will have?

    And if a heavy cloud, opaque at night,
      In which the sun may seem embodied,
    Deprived of all its dregs we see so white,
      Burning in liquid gold its watery head,
      Or round with ivory edges silvered;
        What lustre supereminent will HE
        Lighten on those who shall his sunshine see
    In that all-glorious _court_, in which all glories be.
                                               _Giles Fletcher._

      Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares,
      Anxious sighs, untimely tears.
          Fly, fly to _courts_;
          Fly to fond worldlings’ sports,
    Where strain’d sardonic smiles are glossing still,
    And grief is forced to laugh against her will;
          Where mirth’s but mummery;
          And sorrows only real be!
                                  _Sir Walter Raleigh._


And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me.

But with thee will I establish my _covenant_.--Genesis, vi. 13, 18.

And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that
the bow shall be seen in the cloud.

And I will remember my _covenant_, which is between me and you, and
every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become
a flood to destroy all flesh.--Genesis, ix. 14, 15.

Know therefore that the Lord thy God, he is God, the faithful God,
which keepeth _covenant_ and mercy with them that love Him and keep His
commandments to a thousand generations.--Deuteronomy, vii. 9.

For if that first _covenant_ had been faultless, then should no place
have been sought for the second.--Hebrews, viii. 7.

    Still young and fine, but what is still in view,
    We slight as old and soil’d, though fresh and new;
    How bright wert thou when Shem’s admiring eye
    Thy burnished flaming arch did first descry;
    When Zarah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,
    The youthful world’s grey fathers, in one knot,
    Did, with intentive looks, watch every hour
    For thy new light, and trembled at each shower!
    When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair;
    Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air;
    Rain gently spreads his honey-drops, and pours
    Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.
    Bright pledge of peace and sunshine, the sure tye
    Of the Lord’s hand, the object of his eye;
    When I behold thee, though my light be dim,
    Distant, and low, I can in thine see Him
    Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne,
    And minds the _covenant_ betwixt all and One.
                                         _Henry Vaughan._

    The _rainbow_ bending in the sky,
      Bedecked with sundry hues,
    Is like the seat of God on high,
      And seems to tell these news:--
    That as, thereby, He promised
      To drown the world no more,
    So, by the blood which Christ has shed,
      He will our souls restore.
                         _George Gascoigne._

    When Science from Creation’s face
      Enchantment’s veil withdraws,
    What lovely visions yield their place,
      To cold material laws!

    And yet, fair _bow_, no fabling beams,
      But words of the Most High,
    Have told why first thy robe of beams
      Was woven in the sky.

    When o’er the green undeluged earth,
      Heaven’s _covenant_ thou didst shine,
    How came the world’s grey fathers forth,
      To watch thy sacred sign!

    And when the yellow lustre smiled
      O’er mountains yet untrod,
    Each mother held aloft her child,
      To bless the _bow_ of God.

    Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
      The first-made anthem rang
    On earth delivered from the deep,
      And the first poet sang.

    Nor ever shall the Muse’s eye,
      Unraptured greet thy beam:
    Theme of primeval prophecy,
      Be still the poet’s theme!

    _Bow_ in the cloud, what token dost thou bear?
    --That justice still cries “strike,” and mercy “spare.”
                                            _J. Montgomery._

    Such thou hast shone, bright _rainbow_! when the sky
    Has clothed in clouds its blue serenity;
    And such shall shine, while, grateful for the vow.
    All nations of the earth to heaven shall bow.
    Curbing the tempest on its thunder path,
    Chaining the boisterous billows in their wrath;
    Majestic symbol of their Maker’s might!
    Girdle of beauty! coronal of light!
    God’s own blest handmark, mystic, sure, sublime,
    Graven in glory to the end of time!


In the beginning, God _created_ the heavens and the earth.--Genesis, i.

Let them praise the name of the Lord: for He commanded, and they were
_created_.--Psalm cxlviii. 5.

Remember now thy _Creator_ in the days of thy youth.--Ecclesiastes,
xii. 1.

Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath _created_ these things.

Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the
Lord, the _Creator_ of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is
weary?--Isaiah, xl. 26, 28.

Have we not all one father? hath not one God _created_ us?--Malachi,
ii. 10.

Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for
Thou hast _created_ all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were
_created_.--Revelation, iv. 11.

    Here finished he, and all that he had made
    Viewed, and behold all is entirely good;
    So even and morn accomplished the sixth day;
    Yet not till the _Creator_ from his work
    Desisting, though unwearied, up returned,
    Up to the heaven of heavens his high abode,
    Thence to behold his new _created_ world,
    Th’ addition of his empire, how it showed
    In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair,
    Answering his great idea. Up he rode,
    Followed by acclamation, and the sound
    Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tuned
    Angelic harmonies; the earth, the air,
    The heavens and all the constellations rang,
    The planets in their stations listening stood,
    While the bright pomp ascended jubilant:--
    Open, ye everlasting gates, they sang,
    Open, ye heavens, your everlasting doors; let in
    The great _Creator_ from his work returned
    Magnificent, his six days’ work--a world.

    My heart is awed within me, when I think
    Of the great miracle that still goes on,
    In silence, round me--the perpetual work
    Of thy _creation_, finished, yet renewed
    For ever.
                              _W. C. Bryant._

    From the throne of the Highest the mandate came forth,
      From the word of Omnipotent God;
    And the elements fashioned his footstool the earth,
      And the Heavens his holy abode:
    And his Spirit moved over the fathomless flood
      Of waters that fretted in darkness around,
    Until at his bidding, their turbulent mood
    Was hushed to a calm, and obedient they stood
      Where he fixed their perpetual bound.

    From the work of _creation_, which rose by his word,
      When finished the heavens and the earth;
    On the seventh day rested th’ Omnipotent Lord,
      As he looked on each beautiful birth:--
    On the firmament, stretched from the east to the west,
      On the far flowing sea, and the fast teeming land,
    And he saw they were good, and the Sabbath was blest,
    The Sabbath! the sanctified season of rest
      To the _creatures_ that came from his hand.

    Mysterious power! which guides by night
    Through darkest wood the illumined sight;
    Which prompts them, by the unerring smell,
    The appointed prey’s abode to tell;
    Bore with long bill the investing mould,
    And feel, and from the secret hold
    Dislodge the reptile spoil! But who
    Can look _Creation’s_ volume through,
    And not fresh proofs, at every turn,
    Of the _Creator’s_ mind discern:
    The end to which his actions tend,
    The means adapted to the end,
    The reasoning thought, the effective skill,
    And, ruling all, the Almighty will.
                                  _Bishop Mant._

    In the Beginning primal darkness flung
      Her veil o’er chaos, void and formless all;
    The brooding Spirit o’er the waters hung;
      The father’s fiat moved the empty pall:
    “Let there be Light!” Forthwith _Creation_ sprung
      Glad into being. Thy _Creating_ Love,
    Lord, I believe! Mine unbelief remove.
                                         _H. H. Weld._


In that day shall the Lord of Hosts be for a _crown_ of glory, and for
a diadem of beauty, unto the residue of his people.--Isaiah, xxviii. 5.

Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth
the prize?

Now they do it to obtain a corruptible _crown_; but we an
incorruptible.--I. Corinthians, ix. 24, 25.

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the

Henceforth there is laid up for me a _crown_ of righteousness.--II.
Timothy, iv. 7, 8.

    They who die in Christ are bless’d--
      Ours be, then, no thought of grieving!
    Sweetly with their God they rest,
      All their toils and troubles leaving:
    So be ours the faith that saveth,
    Hope that every trial braveth,
    Love that to the end endureth,
    And, through Christ, the _crown_ secureth!
                                _Bishop Doane._

    The way to bliss lies not on bed of down,
    And he that had no cross deserves no _crown_.

    How much do they mistake, how little know
    Of kings, and kingdoms, and the pains which flow
    From royalty, who fancy that a _crown_,
    Because it glistens, must be lin’d with down.
    With outside show, and vain appearance caught,
    They look no further, and by folly taught,
    Prize high the toys of thrones, but never find
    One of the many cares which lurk behind.
    The gem they worship, which a _crown_ adorns,
    Nor once suspects that _crown_ is lin’d with thorns.
    O might reflection folly’s place supply,
    Would we one moment use her piercing eye,
    Then should we know what woe from grandeur springs,
    And learn to pity, not to envy kings.


And he that taketh not his _cross_, and followeth after me, is not
worthy of me.--Matthew, x. 38.

Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called
Christ? They all say unto him, Let Him be _crucified_.

And the governor said, Why, what evil hath He done? But they cried out
the more, saying, Let Him be _crucified_.--Matthew, xxxvii. 22, 23.

For the preaching of the _cross_, is to them that perish, foolishness;
but unto us, which are saved, it is the power of God.--I. Corinthians,
i. 18.

But we preach Christ _crucified_, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and
unto the Greeks foolishness;

But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power
of God, and the wisdom of God.--I. Corinthians, i. 23, 24.

I am _crucified_ with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but
Christ liveth in me.--Galatians, ii. 20.

But God forbid that I should glory, save in the _cross_ of our Lord
Jesus Christ, by whom the world is _crucified_ unto me, and I unto the
world.--Galatians, vi. 14.

    Now my frail bark through this tempestuous flood
      Is steered, and full in view that port is seen,
      Where all must answer what their course has been,
    And every work be tried if bad or good.
    Now do those lofty dreams, my fancy’s brood,
      Which made of art an idol and a queen,
      Melt into air; and now I feel, how keen!
    That what I needed most I most withstood.
    Ye fabled joys, ye tales of empty love,
      What are ye now if two-fold death be nigh?
      The first is certain, and the last I dread.
    Ah! what does sculpture, what does painting prove,
      When we have seen the _cross_, and fixed our eye
      On him whose arms of love were thus outspread.
                   _From the Italian of Michael Angelo._

    My trust is in the _Cross_, there lies my rest,
          My fast, my sole delight.
    Let cold-mouthed Boreas, or the hot-mouthed East,
          Blow till they burst with spite;
    Let earth and hell conspire their worst, their best,
          And join their twisted might;
    Let showers of thunderbolts dart round and round me,
          And troops of fiends surround me:
    All this may well confront; all this shall ne’er confound me.
                                                _Francis Quarles._

            Christ, when he died,
              Denied the _cross_,
            And on death’s side,
              Threw all the loss:
    The captive world awak’d and found
    The prisoners loose, the jailor bound.

    O dear and sweet dispute,
    ’Twixt death’s and love’s far different fruit,
    Different as far
    As antidotes and poisons are:
    By the first fatal tree,
    Both life and liberty
    Were sold and slain;
    By this, they both look up and live again.

    O strange mysterious strife,
    Of open death and hidden life!
    When on the _cross_ my kind did bleed,
    Life seemed to die, death died indeed.
                                _Richard Crawshaw._

    The sun beheld it--No, the shocking scene
    Drove back his chariot: midnight veiled his face;
    Not such as this; not such as nature makes;
    A midnight nature shuddered to behold;
    A midnight new! a dread eclipse (without
    Opposing spheres.) from her Creator’s frown!
    Sun! didst thou fly thy Maker’s pain? or start
    At that enormous load of human guilt,
    Which bowed his blessed head; o’erwhelmed his _cross_;
    Made groan the centre; burst earth’s marble womb
    With pangs, strange pangs! delivered of her dead?
    Hell howled, and Heaven that hour let fall a tear;
    Heaven wept that man might smile! Heaven bled that man
    Might never die!

                My soul is caught:
    Heaven’s sovereign blessings, clustering from the _cross_,
    Rush on her in a throng, and close her round,
    The prisoner of amaze!--In his blessed life
    I see the path, and, in His death, the price,
    And in His great ascent, the proof supreme
    Of immortality.

    Man, know thyself; all wisdom centres there,
    To none man seems ignoble but to man;
    Angels that grandeur, men o’erlook, admire,
    How long shall human nature be their book,
    Degenerate mortal! and unread by thee?
    The beam dim reason sheds, shows wonders there;
    What high contents! illustrious faculties!
    But the grand comment which displays at full
    Our human height, scarce sever’d from divine,
    By heaven composed, was publish’d on the _cross_.

    There, where the _cross_ in hoary ruin nods,
      And weeping yews o’ershade the lettered stones;
    While midnight silence wraps these dark abodes,
      And soothes me, wand’ring o’er my kindred bones;
    Let kindled fancy view the glorious morn,
      When from the bursting graves the dust shall rise,
    All nature smiling; and, by angels borne,
      Messiah’s _cross_, far blazing o’er the skies.

    Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies;
    He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies;
    And he that will be cheated to the last,
    Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast.
    But if the wanderer his mistake discern,
    Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return,
    Bewildered once, must he bewail his loss
    For ever and for ever? No--the _cross_!
    There, and there only, (though the Deist rave,
    And Atheist, if earth bear so base a slave;)
    There, and there only, is the power to save.
    There no delusive hope invites despair;
    No mockery meets you, no delusion there;
    The spells and charms that blinded you before,
    All vanish there, and fascinate no more.

    The _cross_ once seen is death to every vice:
    Else He that died there suffered all His pain,
    Bled, groaned, and agonized, and died, in vain.

    Thou who for me didst feel such pain,
    Whose precious blood the _cross_ did stain,
    Let not those agonies be vain.

    Guide me there, for here I burn
    To make my Saviour some return.
    I’ll rise (if that will please thee, still,
    And sure I’ve heard thee own it will;)
    I’ll trace His steps and bear my _cross_,
    Despising every grief and loss:
    Since He, despising pain and shame,
    First took up His, and did the same.

    How blessed the man, how fully so,
    As far as man is blessed below,
    Who, taking up his _cross_, essays
    To follow Jesus all his days.

    Through _cross_ to crown! And, through the spirit’s life,
      Trials untold assail with giant strength.
    Good cheer! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter strife,
      And thou shalt reign, in peace, with Christ, at length.

    Or if, at times, wild storms shall hover, dark,
    Still fix thy gaze upon that hallowed mark
    Which gilds the tempest with hope’s bow divine--
    Cling to the _Cross_, and conquer in that sign.
                                     _B. D. Winslow._

                    Lovely was the death
    Of Him whose life was love! Holy, with power,
    He on the thought-benighted sceptic beamed
    Manifest Godhead.

    Thou palsied earth, with noon-day night o’erspread;
    Thou sickening sun, so dark, so deep, so red!
    Ye hovering ghosts, that throng the starless air,
    Why shakes the earth? Why fades the light? Declare!
    Are those His limbs, with ruthless scourges torn?
    His brows, all bleeding with the twisted thorn?
    His the pale form, the meek, forgiving eye,
    Raised from the _cross_ in patient agony?
                                         _Bishop Heber._


Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not
kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in _danger_ of the judgment:

But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a
cause shall be in _danger_ of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to
his brother, Raca, shall be in _danger_ of the council: but whosoever
shall say, Thou fool, shall be in _danger_ of hell fire.--Matthew, v.
21, 22.

                        What is _danger_
    More than the weakness of our apprehension?
    A poor cold part o’ the blood; whom takes it hold of?
    Cowards and wicked livers; valiant minds
    Were made the masters of it.
                                  _Beaumont and Fletcher._

    _Dangers_ of every shape and name
    Attend the followers of the Lamb,
    Who leave the World’s deceitful shore,
    And leave it to return no more.

    _Dangers_ stand thick through all the ground
      To push us to the tomb,
    And fierce diseases wait around
      To hurry mortals home.

    Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense
      To walk this _dangerous_ road,
    And if our souls be hurried hence,
      May they be found with God.

    When _dangers_ compass me around,
      And unto Thee I cry,
    An ark of safety will be found,
      Whereto my soul may fly.

    I know that my Redeemer’s hand
      Will be outstretched to save,
    If _dangers_ meet me on the land,
      Or on the stormy wave.

    And wheresoe’er my feet may go,
      Though perilous the road,
    My soul assured will keep, and know
      That there His feet have trod.


In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

And the earth was without form, and void; and _darkness_ was upon the
face of the deep.--Genesis, i. 1, 2.

Thou makest _darkness_, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the
forest do creep forth.--Psalm civ. 20.

The people which sat in _darkness_ saw great light; and to them which
sat in the region and shadow of death light is sprung up.--Matthew, iv.

But the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer
_darkness_: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.--Matthew,
viii. 12.

                He here with us to be
    Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
    And chose with us a _darksome_ house of mortal clay.

    When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
      And even the hope that threw
    A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears
      Is dimm’d and vanish’d too!

    O who would bear life’s stormy doom,
      Did not thy wing of love
    Come brightly wafting through the gloom
      One peace-branch from above!

    Then sorrow touched by thee grows bright
      With more than rapture’s ray,
    As _darkness_ shows us worlds of light
      We never saw by day.

    ’Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
    Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
    Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
    The last faint pulse of quivering light.

    In _darkness_ and in weariness
    The traveller on his way must press,
    No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
    Whiling away the lonesome hour.

    Thou Framer of the light and _dark_,
    Steer through the tempest thine own ark:
    Amid the howling wintry sea
    We are in port if we have Thee.


_David_, the son of Jesse, the man who was raised up on high, the
anointed of the God of Jacob, and the sweet psalmist of Israel.--II.
Samuel, xxiii. 1.

He chose _David_ also his servant, and took him from the sheep-folds:

From following the ewes great with young, he brought him to feed Jacob
his people, and Israel his inheritance.--Psalm lxxviii. 70, 71.

I have found _David_ my servant; with my holy oil have I anointed
him.--Psalm lxxxix. 20.

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for he hath visited and redeemed his

And hath raised up an horn of salvation for us in the house of his
servant _David_.--Luke, i. 68, 69.

For _David_ speaketh concerning him, I foresaw the Lord always before
my face.--Acts, ii. 25.

    Beauteous and bright is he among the tribes;
    As when the sun attired in glistering robe
    Comes dancing from his oriental gate,
    And, bridegroom-like, hurls through the gloomy air
    His radiant beams: such doth King _David_ show,
    Crowned with the honour of his enemies’ town,
    Shining in riches like the firmament,
    The starry vault that overhangs the earth:
    So looketh _David_, King of Israel.
                                         _George Peele._

    See Judah’s promised king bereft of all:
    Driven out an exile from the face of Saul.
    To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies,
    To seek that peace a tyrant’s frown denies.
    Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice;
    Hear him, o’erwhelmed with sorrows, yet rejoice;
    No womanish or wailing grief has part,
    No, not a moment, in his royal heart;
    ’Tis manly music, such as martyrs make,
    Suffering with gladness for a Saviour’s sake;
    His soul exults; hope animates his lays;
    The sense of mercy kindles into praise;
    And wilds, familiar with the lion’s roar,
    Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before.

    And lo! the glories of the illustrious line
    At their first dawn with ripened splendours shine,
    In _David_ all expressed; the good, the great,
    The king, the hero, and the man, complete.
    Serene he sits, and sweeps the golden lyre,
    And blends the prophet’s with the poet’s fire.
    See, with what art he strikes the vocal strings
    The God, his theme, inspiring what he sings!
                                        _Bishop Lowth._

    Thy living lyre alone, whose dulcet sounds
    In gentlest murmurs floating on the air,
    Could calm the fury of the woe-struck king,
    And soothe the agony which pierced his heart.
    Or when thou swept the master strings, and rolled’st
    The deep impetuous tide along with more
    Than mortal sound, could’st raise his raptured soul
    To ecstacy; or from the tortured strings
    Harsh discord shaking, sink him in the gulf
    Of dire despair, while horror chilled his blood,
    And from each pore the agonizing sweat
    Distilled! that deep-toned lyre alone can sing
    Thy fervent piety, thy glowing zeal.
                                        _William Hodson._

    One struggle of might, and the giant of Gath
    With a crash like the oak in the hurricane’s path,
    And a clangour of arms, as of hosts in the fray,
    At the feet of the stripling of Ephratah lay.

    A hush of amazement;--a calm as of death,
    When the watcher lists long for that spasm-drawn breath,
    Then a shout like the roll of artillery rose,
    And the armies of Israel swept on to their foes.

    For a space the Philistine had paused, as in doubt,
    Ere the Israelite triumph rang gloriously out;
    Then, scattering his arms on the mountains, he fled,
    Till the valley of Elah was strewn with the dead.

    The carnage moved on, and alone in the vale,
    The Shepherd knelt down by the dead in his mail,
    And there, with his arm on that still reeking sword,
    Poured forth his thanksgiving in prayer to the Lord.


And God called the light _Day_.--Genesis, i. 5.

The _day_ of the Lord is great and very terrible; and who can abide
it?--Joel, ii. 11.

But of that _day_ and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of
heaven, but my Father only.--Matthew, xxiv. 36.

The _dayspring_ from on high hath visited us.--Luke, i. 78.

Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the _day_ of
salvation.--II. Corinthians, vi. 2.

    How many hours bring about the _day_?
    How many _days_ will finish up the year?

    The breath of heaven, blowing pure and sweet,
    With _dayspring_ born, here leaves us to respire.

    Yet are we able only to survey
    Dawnings of beams, and promises of _day_.

    Once more, my soul, the rising _day_
      Salutes my waking eyes;
    Once more, my voice, thy tribute pay
      To Him that rules the skies.

    Night unto night His name repeats,
      The _day_ renews the sound,
    Wide as the heaven on which he sits,
      To turn the seasons round.

    See, where the falling _day_
    In silence steals away,
      Behind the western hills withdrawn;
    Her fires are quench’d, her beauty fled,
    With blushes all her face o’erspread,
      As conscious she had ill fulfill’d
      The promise of the dawn.

    Another morning soon shall rise,
    Another _day_ salute our eyes,
    As smiling and as fair as she,
    And make as many promises:
      But do not thou
      The tale believe.
      They’re sisters all,
      And all deceive.

                        Sudden in the sky
    Stands the great sun! Like the first glorious breath
      Of Freedom to the slave, like Hope upon
    The hush of woe, or through the mists of death
      The pardoning Angel--comes to earth the Sun.
    Ice still on land--still vapour in the air,
    But Light--the victor Lord--but Light is there!

    On siege-worn cities, when their war is spent,
      From the far hill as gleam on gleam, arise
    The spears of some great aiding armament,
      Grow the dim splendours, broadening up the skies;
    Till, bright and brighter, the sublime array
    Flings o’er the world the banners of the _Day_!
                                  _Sir E. Bulwer Lytton._

    That _day_ of wrath, that dreadful _day_,
    When heaven and earth shall pass away;
    What power shall be the sinner’s stay?
    How will ye meet that dreadful _day_?

    When shrivelling like a parched scroll,
    The flaming heavens together roll;
    When louder yet, and yet more dread,
    Swells the high trump that wakes the dead.

    O! on that _day_, that wrathful _day_,
    When man to judgment wakes from clay;
    Be Thou the trembling sinner’s stay,
    Though heaven and earth shall pass away.

    Oh! _day_ of _days_! shall hearts set free,
    No “minstrel rapture” find for thee?
    Thou art the Sun of other _days_,
    They shine by giving back thy rays:

    Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere,
    Thou shedd’st thy light on all the year,
    Sundays by thee more glorious break,
    An Easter _day_ in every week.

    And week _days_ following in their train,
    The fullness of thy blessing gain,
    Till all, both resting and employ,
    Be one Lord’s _day_ of holy joy.


Let me _die_ the _death_ of the righteous, and let my last end be like
his!--Numbers, xxiii. 10.

But now he is _dead_, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring him back
again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me. II. Samuel,
xii. 23.

What man is he that liveth, and shall not see _death_? Shall he deliver
his soul from the hand of the grave?--Psalm lxxxix. 48.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the _death_ of His saints.--Psalm
cxvi. 15.

Weep ye not for the _dead_, neither bemoan him: but weep sore for
him that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his native
country.--Jeremiah, xxii. 10.

O _death_, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

The sting of _death_ is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord
Jesus Christ.--I. Corinthians, xv. 55, 56, 57.

But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them
which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.

For if we believe that Jesus _died_ and rose again, even so them also
which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.--I. Thessalonians, iv.
13, 14.

Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, He
also himself likewise took part of the same; that through _death_ He
might destroy him that had the power of _death_, that is, the devil,

And deliver them who through fear of _death_ were all their lifetime
subject to bondage.--Hebrews, ii. 14, 15.

Blessed are the _dead_ which _die_ in the Lord from henceforth: Yea,
saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their
works do follow them.--Revelations, xiv. 13.

      Ah, but to _die_, and go we know not where;
    To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
    This sensible warm motion to become
    A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
    To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
    In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice:
    To be imprison’d in the viewless winds,
    And blown with restless violence round about
    The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
    Of those, that lawless and uncertain thoughts
    Imagine howling! ’tis too horrible!
    The weariest and most loathed worldly life
    That age, ache, penury, imprisonment,
    Can lay on nature, is a paradise
    To what we fear of _death_.

    O harmless _Death_! whom still the valiant brave,
      The wise expect, the sorrowful invite;
    And all the good embrace, who know the Grave,
      A short dark passage to eternal light.
                                    _Sir W. Davenant._

    This world _death’s_ region is, the other, life’s:
    And here it should be one of our first strifes,
    So to front _death_, as each might judge us past it:
    For good men but see _death_, the others taste it.
                                            _Ben Jonson._

    The glories of our birth and state
      Are shadows, not substantial things;
    There is no armour against fate:
      _Death_ lays his icy hands on kings:
          Sceptre and crown
          Must tumble down,
    And in the dust be equal made
    With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

    Some men with swords may reap the field,
      And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
    But their strong nerves at last must yield,
      They tame but one another still.
        Early or late
        They stoop to fate,
    And must give up their murmuring breath,
    When they, pale captives, creep to _death_.

    The garlands wither on your brow,
      Then boast no more your mighty deeds,
    Upon _death’s_ purple altar now
      See where the victor victim bleeds:
          All heads must come
          To the cold tomb:
    Only the actions of the just
    Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

    He patient show’d us the wise course to steer,
    A candid censor, and a friend sincere;
    He taught us how to live; and (Oh! too high
    The price of knowledge,) taught us how to _die_.

    That I must _die_, it is my only comfort;
    _Death_ is the privilege of human nature,
    And life without it were not worth our taking;
    Thither the poor, the prisoner, and the mourner,
    Fly for relief, and lay their burdens down.
    Come then, and take me into thy cold arms,
    Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last.
    Charmed with my Father’s pity and forgiveness,
    More than if angels tuned their golden viols,
    And sung a requiem to my parting soul.

    _Death_ comes with irrespective feet
      And beats upon the door,
    That shuts the palace of the great,
      The cabin of the poor.
                   _Howell, from Horace._

    And since ’tis certain then that we must _die_,
    No hope, no chance, no prospect of redress;
    Be it our constant aim, unswervingly,
    To tread God’s narrow path of holiness:
    For He is first, last, midst--O, let us press
    Onwards--and when _death’s_ monitory glance
    Shall summon us to join his mortal dance,
    Even then shall hope and joy our footsteps bless.
                  _From the Spanish of R. de Carrion._

          I fled and cried out _Death_--
    Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed
    From all her caves, and back resounded _Death_.

    Thou dost, O _Death_, a peaceful harbour lie
    Upon the margin of Eternity;
    Where the rough waves of Time’s impetuous tide
    Their motion lose, and quietly subside.
    Weary, they roll their drowsy heads asleep
    At the dark entrance of Duration’s deep.
    Hither our vessels in their turn retreat;
    Here still they find a safe untroubled seat,
    When worn with adverse passions, furious strife,
    And the hard passage of tempestuous life.

    Dear, beauteous _Death_, the jewel of the just,
      Shining nowhere but in the dark,
    What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
      Could man outlook that mark!
    He that hath found some fledg’d bird’s nest may know
      At first sight, if the bird be flown;
    But what fair field or grove he sings in now,
      That is to him unknown.
                                         _Henry Vaughan._

    The man, how wise, who, sick of gaudy scenes,
    Is led by choice to take his favourite walk
    Beneath _death’s_ gloomy, silent cypress shades,
    Unpierced by vanity’s fantastic ray!
    To read his monuments, to weigh his dust,
    Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs!

    Why should man’s high aspiring mind
      Burn in him, with so proud a breath:
    When all his haughty views can find
      In this world, yields to _death_;
    The fair, the brave, the vain, the wise,
      The rich, the poor, the great, and small,
    Are each, but worm’s anatomies,
      To strew his quiet hall.

    Power may make many earthly gods,
      Where gold, and bribery’s guilt, prevails;
    But _death’s_ unwelcome honest odds,
      Kicks o’er the unequal scales.
    The flatter’d great, may clamours raise
      Of power,--and their own weakness hide;
    But _death_ shall find unlooked-for ways
      To end the farce of pride.

    _Death_ levels all things, in his march
      Nought can resist his mighty strength;
    The palace proud,--triumphal arch,
      Shall mete their shadow’s length:
    The rich, the poor, one common bed
      Shall find, in the unhonoured grave,
    Where weeds shall crown alike the head
      Of tyrant, and of slave.
                                _Andrew Marvell._

    The prince, who kept the world in awe,
    The judge, whose dictate fix’d the law,
    The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
    Are levell’d: _death_ confounds them all.

    There was, ’tis said, and I believe, a time
    When humble Christians _died_ with views sublime;
    When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
    And few to write or wrangle for their creed;
    When lively faith upheld the sinking heart,
    And friends assured to meet prepared to part;
    When love felt hope, when sorrow grew serene,
    And all felt comfort in the _death_-bed scene.

    On this side, and on that, men see their friends
    Drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out
    Into fantastic schemes, which the long-livers,
    In the world’s hale and degenerate days,
    Could scarce have leisure for: fools that we are!
    Never to think of _death_, and of ourselves,
    At the same time! As if, to learn to _die_,
    Were no concern of ours!

    Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
      Bridal of earth and sky,
    The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
      For thou, alas! must _die_!

    Sweet rose, in air whose odours wave,
      And colour charms the eye,
    Thy root is ever in its grave,
      And thou, alas! must _die_!

    Sweet spring, of days and roses made,
      Whose charms for beauty vie;
    Thy days depart, thy roses fade--
      Thou, too, alas! must _die_!

    Be wise, then, christian, while you may,
      For swiftly time is flying;
    The thoughtless man may laugh to-day,
      To-morrow may be _dying_!
                             _Bishop Horne._

    _Death_ distant!--no alas! he’s ever with us,
    And shakes the dart at us in all our actings;
    He lurks within our cup, while we’re in health;
    Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines;
    We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel,
    But _death_ is by to seize us when he lists.
                                 _Sir Walter Scott._

    Since we can _die_ but once, and after _death_
      Our state no alteration knows,
    But when we have resign’d our breath,
      Th’ immortal spirit goes
    To endless joys, or everlasting woes;
    Wise is the man who labours to secure
      That mighty and important stake;
    And by all methods strives to make
    His passage safe, and his reception sure.
                                       _J. Pomfret._

    _Death_ rides on every passing breeze,
      He lurks in every flower;
    Each season has its own disease,
      Its perils every hour!
    Our eyes have seen the rosy light
      Of youth’s soft cheek decay,
    And fate descend in sudden night
      On manhood’s middle day.

    _Death_’s but a path that must be trod,
    If man would ever pass to God;
    A port of calms, a state to ease
    From the rough rage of swelling seas.

    Happy the babe, who, privileged by fate
    To shorter labour, and a lighter weight,
    Received but yesterday the gift of breath,
    Ordered to-morrow to return to _Death_.

      Leaves have their time to fall,
    And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath,
      And stars to set--but all,
    Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O _Death_!
                                        _Mrs. Hemans._

    O what is _Death_? ’Tis life’s last shore,
    Where vanities are vain no more!
    Where all pursuits their goal obtain,
    And life is all retouched again;
    Where, in their bright results, shall rise
    Thought, virtues, friendships, griefs, and joys.
                                    _Leigh Richmond._

    Cold hand, I touch thee! Perished friend! I know
      What years of mutual joy are gone with thee;
    And yet from those benumbed remains there flow
      Calm thoughts, that best with chastened hopes agree.

    How strange is _Death_ to life! and yet how sure
      The law which dooms all living things to _die_!
    Whate’er is outward cannot long endure,
      And all that lasts, eludes the subtlest eye.
                                           _John Sterling._

    Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade,
      _Death_ came with friendly care,
    The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
      And bade it blossom there.

    O _Death_! Thou great invisible,
      Pale monarch of the unending Past,
    Who shall thy countless trophies tell,
      Or when shall be thy last!
    By thee high thrones to earth are flung--
      By thee the sword and sceptre rust--
    By thee the beautiful and young
      Lie mouldering in the dust.
    Into thy cold and faded reign
      All glorious things of earth depart;
    The fairest forms are early slain,
      And quenched the fiery heart.
    But in yon world thou hast not been,
      Where joy can fade, nor beauty fall:
    O, mightiest of the things unseen,
      Save One that ruleth all!
                             _Geo. H. Colton._

    To _die_ is landing on some peaceful shore,
    Where billows never beat, nor tempests roar,
    Ere well we feel the friendly stroke ’tis o’er.

    The air of _death_ breathes through our souls,
      The _dead_ all round us lie;
    By day and night the _death_-bell tolls,
      And says, “Prepare to _die_!”

    The loving ones we love the best,
      Like music all are gone!
    And the wan moonlight bathes in rest
      Their monumental stone.

    But not when the _death_-prayer is said,
      The life of life departs;
    The body in the grave is laid,
      Its beauty in our hearts.
                                _Professor Wilson._

    Sleep on, sleep on, ye resting _dead_;
      The grass is o’er ye growing
    In dewy greenness. Ever fled
    From you hath Care; and in its stead
    Peace hath with you its dwelling made,
      Where tears do cease from flowing--
                              Sleep on!
                            _Robert Nicol._

    All at rest now--all dust!--wave flows on wave;
    But the sea dries not!--what to us the grave?
    It brings no real homily; we sigh,
    Pause for awhile and murmur, “all must _die_!”
    Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more,
    Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore.
                             _Sir E. Bulwer Lytton._

    Ah! it is sad when one thus link’d departs!
    When _Death_, that mighty sev’rer of true hearts,
    Sweeps through the halls so lately loud in mirth,
    And leaves pale Sorrow weeping by the hearth!
                                        _Mrs. Norton._

    So live, that when thy summons comes,
    The innumerable caravan that moves
    To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
    His chamber in the silent halls of _death_,
    That thou, sustained and soothed, approach thy grave
    Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
    Around him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
                                          _W. C. Bryant._


Be thou my strong rock, for an house of _defence_ to save me.--Psalm
xxxi. 2.

Deliver me from my enemies, O my God: _defend_ me from them that rise
up against me.--Psalm lix. 1.

    Who trust in thee, O let not shame deject!
      Thou ever just, my chased soule secure:
    Lord lend a willing eare, with speede protect;
      Be thou my rock; with thy strong arme immure.

    My rock, my fortresse, for thy honour aid,
      And my engaged feet from danger guide,
    Pull from their subtile snares in secret laid,
      O thou, my only strength, so often try’d.

    O let thy face upon thy servant shine;
      Save for thy mercies sake, from shame _defend_.
    Shame cover those who keepe no lawes of thine,
      And undeplored to the grave descend!

    How are thy servants blest O Lord!
      How sure is their _defence_!
    Eternal wisdom is their guide,
      Their help omnipotence.

    In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
      Thy goodness I’ll adore;
    And praise thee for thy mercies past,
      And humbly hope for more.

    My life, if thou preserv’st my life,
      Thy sacrifice shall be;
    And death, if death must be my doom,
      Shall join my soul to Thee.

    From common accidents of life
      His care shall guard thee still;
    From the blind strokes of chance, and foes
      That lie in wait to kill.

    At home, abroad, in peace, in war,
      Thy God shall thee _defend_;
    Conduct thee, through life’s pilgrimage,
      Safe to thy journey’s end.
                              _Brady and Tate._


_Delight_ thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desire
of thine heart.--Psalm xxxvii. 4.

Then I was by him, as one brought up with him; and I was daily his
_delight_, rejoicing always before him; rejoicing in the habitable part
of his earth; and my _delights_ were with the sons of men.--Proverbs,
viii. 30, 31.

Correct thy son, and he shall give thee rest; yea, he shall give
_delight_ unto thy soul.--Proverbs, xxix. 17.

                O voice! once heard
    _Delightfully_, increase and multiply;
    Now death to him.

    Holy and reverend is the name
      Of our Eternal King:
    Thrice holy Lord! the angels cry;
      Thrice holy let us sing.

    Holy is He in all His works,
      And truth is His _delight_!
    But sinners and their wicked ways,
      Shall perish from His sight.

    And was the day of my _delight_
      As pure and perfect as I say?
      We know the very Lord of Day
    Is dash’d with wandering isles of night.

    If all was good and fair we met,
      This earth had been a paradise;
      It never look’d to human eyes
    Since Adam left his garden yet.

    Amid a round of vain _delights_ he lived,
    And took his fill of pleasure; never thought
    That life had higher objects, nobler aims
    Than just to eat, and drink, and pass away
    The precious hours in revelry and mirth.
    Born to a priceless heritage, he went
    Down to his grave, and knew it not, and all
    The everlasting pleasures and _delights_
    Of heaven he forfeited--great loss was his!


Thou art my King, O God: command _deliverances_ for Jacob.--Psalm xliv.

_Deliver_ me, O my God, out of the hand of the wicked, out of the hand
of the unrighteous and cruel man.--Psalm lxxi. 4.

And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the
Lord shall be _delivered_: for in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be
_deliverance_, as the Lord hath said.--Joel, ii. 32.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me
to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the
broken-hearted, to preach _deliverance_ to the captives, and recovering
of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.--Luke,
iv. 18.

    Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell
      How high our great _Deliverer_ reigns;
    Sing how He spoiled the hosts of hell,
      And led the monster, Death, in chains.

    Lord, I have put my trust in Thee,
      Turn not my confidence to shame;
    Thy promise is a rock to me,
      A tower of refuge is Thy name.

    Thou hast upheld me from the womb;
      Thou wert my strength and hope in youth;
    Now, trembling, bending o’er the tomb,
      I lean upon Thine arm of truth.

    Cast me not off in mine old age,
      Forsake me not in my last hour;
    The foe hath not forgone his rage,
      The lion ravens to devour.

    Me, through what troubles hast Thou brought!
      Me, with what consolations crown’d!
    Now be Thy last _deliverance_ wrought:
      My soul in peace with Thee be found!
                                 _J. Montgomery._

    Open now the crystal fountain,
      Whence the healing streams do flow;
    Let the fiery cloudy pillar
      Lead me all my journey through:
            Strong _Deliverer_,
    Be thou still my strength and shield.


I also will choose their _delusions_, and will bring their fears upon
them; because when I called, none did answer; when I spake, they did
not hear: but they did evil before mine eyes, and chose that in which I
delighted not.--Isaiah, lxvi. 4.

God shall send them strong _delusion_, that they should believe a
lie.--II. Thessalonians, ii. 11.

            Who therefore seeks in these
    True wisdom, finds her not, or by _delusion_.

            Dreams and _delusions_ play
        With man: he thinks not of his mortal fate:
            Death treads his silent way;
            The earth turns round, and then, too late,
    Man finds no beam is left of all his fancied state.

            Rise from your sleep, vain men!
        Look round, and ask if spirits born of Heaven,
            And bound to Heaven again,
            Were only lent or given
    To be in this mean round of shades and follies driven.

            Turn your unclouded eye
        Up to yon bright, to yon eternal spheres;
            And spurn the vanity
            Of time’s _delusive_ years,
    And all its flattering hopes, and all its frowning fears.

            What is the ground ye tread
        But a mere point compared with that vast space
            Around, above you spread--
            Where, in the Almighty’s face,
    The present, future, past, hold an eternal place?
                     _From the Spanish of Luis Ponce de Leon._

    We walk amid _delusions_ here,
      Our joys are unsubstantial things,
    Though glorious our dreams appear,
      They have their quick evanishings;
    They cheat the sense, with vain pretence,
      The heart that on them leans deceive;
    _Delusive_ all, they rise and fall,
      And nought but sad remembrance leave.


Whosoever shall _deny_ me before men, him will I also _deny_ before my
Father which is in heaven.--Matthew, x. 33.

Peter answered and said unto him, Though all men shall be offended
because of thee, yet will I never be offended.

Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, that this night, before
the cock crow, thou shalt _deny_ me thrice.

Peter said unto him, Though I should die with thee, yet will I not
_deny_ thee. Likewise also said all the disciples.--Matthew, xxvi. 33,
34, 35.

    I think that look of Christ might seem to say:--
    “Thou, Peter! art thou then a common stone,
    Which I at last must break my heart upon,
    For all God’s charge to His high angels may
    Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday
    Wash my feet, my beloved, that they should run
    Quick to _deny_ me, ’neath the morning sun,--
    And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray?
    The cock crows coldly,--Go, and manifest
    A late contrition, but no bootless fear!
    For when thy deathly need is bitterest,
    Thou shalt not be _denied_, as I am here--
    My voice to God and angels shall attest,--
    ‘Because I know this man let him go clear.’”
                                 _Elizabeth Barrett._

            She in her Saviour’s ranks had done
    A veteran’s service, and with Polycarp
    Might say to Death, “For more than fourscore years
    He was my Lord--shall I _deny_ Him now?”
    No! no! thou could’st not turn away from Him
    Who was thy hope in youth, and on whose arm
    The feebleness of hoary hairs were staid.
    Before His Father, and the Angel host,
    He will adjudge thee faithful. So farewell,
    Blessed and full of days.
                                      _Mrs. Sigourney._

      Numbers before have try’d,
        And found the promise true;
      Nor yet one been _deny’d_,
        Then why should I or you?
    Let us by faith our footsteps trace,
    And hasten to the throne of grace.
                           _John Newton._


Lord, all my _desire_ is before thee; and my groaning is not hid from
thee.--Psalm xxxviii. 9.

And I will shake all nations, and the _desire_ of all nations shall
come: and I will fill this house with glory, saith the Lord of
hosts.--Haggai, ii. 7.

For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a _desire_ to depart, and to
be with Christ; which is far better.--Philippians, i. 23.

    But our _desires’_ tyrannical extortion
    Doth force us there to set our chief delightfulness,
    When but a baiting-place is all our portion.
                                         _Sir P. Sidney._

    Thou blind man’s mark; thou fool’s self-chosen snare,
    Fond fancy’s scum, and dregs of scatter’d thought;
    Band of all evils; cradle of causeless care;
    Thou web of ill, whose end is never wrought,
    _Desire! Desire!_ I have too dearly bought,
    With price of mangled mind thy worthless ware;
    Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought,
    Who should’st my mind to higher things prepare.
                                          _Sir P. Sidney._

    _Desire_’s the vast extent of human mind,
    It mounts above, and leaves poor hope behind.

    How large are our _desires_! and yet how few
    Events are answerable! So the dew,
    Which early on the top of mountains stood,
    Meaning, at least, to imitate a flood;
    When once the sun appears, appears no more,
    And leaves that parch’d which was too moist before.

    Sages leave your contemplations,
      Brighter visions beam afar;
    Seek the great _Desire_ of nations,
      Ye have seen its natal star;
            Come and worship,
    Worship Christ the new-born King.
                        _J. Montgomery._

    The _desire_ of the moth for the star--
      Of the night for the morrow--
    The devotion to something afar
      From the sphere of our sorrow.


Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the _desolation_ of the
wicked, when it cometh.--Proverbs, iii. 25.

And what will ye do in the day of visitation, and in the _desolation_
which shall come from far? to whom will ye flee for help? and where
will ye leave your glory?--Isaiah, x. 3.

O my God, incline thine ear, and hear; open thine eyes and behold our
_desolations_, and the city which is called by thy name.--Daniel, ix.

How is Babylon become a _desolation_ among the nations!--Jeremiah, l.

      Let us seek some _desolate_ shades, and there
    Weep our sad bosoms empty.

    My _desolation_ does begin to make
    A better life.

                    God hath created nights
    As well as days to deck the varied globe;
    Grace comes as oft clad in the dusky robe
    Of _desolation_, as in white attire.
                              _John Beaumont._

    ’Tis well to be a mourner, well to feel
        My glad hope die;
    And sicken at the tears that daily steal
        O’er the dimmed eye,
    If this strong _desolation_ should reveal
        Where my sins lie.
                             _E. L. Montague._

    I sometimes deem their pleasant smiles
      Still on me sweetly fall,
    Their tones of love I faintly hear
      My name in sadness call.
    I know that they are happy
      With their angel plumage on,
    But my heat is very _desolate_,
      To think that they are gone.
                           _Park Benjamin._

    But this was like those sudden blasts that
    Unlook’d for, wonder on the face of spring;
    And worst woe for the heart, whose early fate
    Leaves it so young, and, oh, so _desolate_.
                                    _Miss Landon._


Is not _destruction_ to the wicked? and a strange punishment to the
workers of iniquity?--Job, xxxi. 3.

O thou enemy, _destructions_ are come to a perpetual end; and thou hast
_destroyed_ cities; their memorial is perished with them.--Psalm ix. 6.

Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is
the way that leadeth to _destruction_, and many there be which go in
thereat.--Matthew, vii. 13.

    ’Tis safer far to be that which we _destroy_,
    Than by _destruction_ swell in doubtful joy.

            What a scene of misery
    Hath thine obdurate frowardness, old man,
    Drawn on thy country’s bosom! and, for that,
    Thy proud ambition could not mount so high
    As to be styled thy country’s only patron;
    Thy malice hath descended to the depth
    Of hell, to be renowned in the title
    Of her _destroyer_.
                         _Beaumont and Fletcher._

            To _destruction_, sacred and devote,
    He with his whole posterity must die.

    Thus saith the righteous Lord,
    My vengeance shall unsheath the flaming sword,
    O’er all thy realms my fury shall be poured.
          Where yon proud city stood,
          I’ll spread the stagnant flood!
    And there the bittern in the sedge shall lurk,
          Moaning with sullen strain,
          While sweeping o’er the plain,
          _Destruction_ ends her work.

    While like a tide our minutes flow,
      The present and the past,
    He fills his own immortal now,
      And sees our ages waste.

    The sea and sky must perish too,
      And vast _destruction_ come;
    The creatures--look, how old they grow,
      And wait their fiery doom!


No _devoted_ thing, that a man shall _devote_ unto the Lord of all that
he hath, both of man and beast, and of the field of his possession,
shall be sold or redeemed: every _devoted_ thing is most holy unto the
Lord.--Leviticus, xxvii. 28.

A _devout_ man, and one that feared God with all his house, which gave
much alms to the people, and prayed to God alway.--Acts, x. 2.

For as I passed by, and beheld your _devotions_, I found an altar with
this inscription, To the Unknown God. Whom therefore ye ignorantly
worship, him declare I unto you.--Acts, xvii. 23.

                An aged holy man,
    That day and night said his _devotion_,
    No other worldly business did apply.

    One grain of incense with _devotion_ offer’d,
    ’S beyond all perfumes or Sabæan spices,
    By one that proudly thinks he merits it.

                                        I fly
    Those wicked tents _devoted_, lest the wrath
    Impendent, raging into sudden flame,
    Distinguish not.

    In vain doth man the name of just expect,
    If he _devotion_ to his God neglect.

    Man at home, within himself, may find
    The Deity immense, and in that frame
    So fearfully, so wonderfully made,
    See and adore His providence and power.
    I see, and I adore! O God most bounteous!
    O Infinite of goodness and of glory!
    The knee that Thou hast shaped, shall bend to Thee;
    The tongue which Thou hast tuned, shall chant Thy praise.
    And Thine own image, the immortal soul,
    Shall consecrate herself to Thee, for ever!
                                          _Christopher Smart._

    _Devotion_, when lukewarm, is un_devout_;
    But when it glows, its heat is struck to heaven:
    To human hearts her golden harps are strung;
    High Heaven’s orchestra chants Amen to man.


Therefore God give thee of the _dew_ of heaven, and the fatness of the
earth, and plenty of corn and wine.--Genesis, xxviii. 28.

My doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the
_dew_.--Deuteronomy, xxxii. 2.

As the _dew_ of Hermon, and as the _dew_ that descended upon the
mountains of Zion: for there the Lord commanded the blessing, even life
for evermore.--Psalm cxxxiii. 3.

O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto
thee? For your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early _dew_
it goeth away.--Hosea, vi. 4.

    See how the orient _dew_,
      Shed from the bosom of the morn,
    Into the blowing roses,
    Yet careless of its mansion new,
      For the clear region where ’twas born,
    Round in itself incloses:
    And in its little globe’s extent,
    Frames as it can its native element.
    How it the purple flower does slight!
      Scarce touching where it lies;
      But gazing back upon the skies,
    Shines with a mournful light,
      Like its own tear,
    Because so long divided from the sphere.
    Restless it rolls and insecure,
    Trembling lest it grow impure,
    Till the warm sun pities its pain,
    And to the skies exhales it back again.

    So the soul, that drop, that ray
    Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
    Could it within the human flower be seen,
    Remembering still its former height,
    Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green.
    And recollecting its own light,
    Does in its pure and circling thoughts express
    The greater heaven in an heaven less.
    In how coy a figure wound,
      Every way it turns away;
    So the world excluding round,
      Yet receiving in the day;
    Dark beneath but bright above,
    Here disdaining, there in love:
    How loose and easy hence to go;
    How girt and ready to ascend;
    Moving but on a point below,
    It all about does upwards bend,
    Such did the manna’s sacred _dew_ distil,
    White and entire although congeal’d and chill;
    Congeal’d on earth; but does dissolving run
    Into the glories of the Almighty sun.
                                  _Andrew Marvell._

                        The starlight _dews_
    All silently their tears of love instil,
    Weeping themselves away, till they infuse,
    Deep into nature’s breast, the spirit of her hues.

    Within these leaves the holy _dew_
    That falls from heaven, hath won anew
    A glory--in declining.
                           _Miss Barrett._

    Those verdant hills now bathed in morning _dews_,
    Whose every drop outvies Golconda’s gem.
    Lo! one hangs glittering on yon blade of grass:
    Spurn not that lucid trembler, but admire
    Its glorious hues, and trace them to their source;
    The nice arrangement of its particles.
    Draw nigh;--through microscopic lens inspect
    That single drop’s profound elaborateness--
    Most delicate, and wonderfully wrought.
    Is it a work of chance? It is a world
    Replete with life, and love, and feud. Its crowds
    Dart swift from verge to verge (their ocean depths.)
    How nervous and minute each supple fin!
    What made that film-like hinge on which it plays?
    What hand, what eye, save God’s could fashion it?
                                         _T. L. Merritt._

    _Dews_ of the morning! wherefore were ye given?
    --To shine on earth, then rise to heaven.
                                    _J. Montgomery._

    See how the _dewdrops_ in the morning flowers
      Stand glistening, brighter than the precious gem
      Whose worth exalts the kingly diadem!
    Clear, tiny droplets, which some April showers
      Born of big, listed clouds, did weep o’er them,
    In their pure joy that summer’s rosy bowers
      Were bursting into bloom. Oh! _dewdrops_ pale,
    How bountiful His hand, who sends the blessing
    Of your surpassing coolness to th’ oppressing
      Thirst of the dying flowers, whose juices fail
    (But for such timely aid) ’neath noontide’s sun.
      There is no storm-wind with its rushing wail,
    There is no storm-cloud lowers o’er the vale,
    But scatters blessings as it passeth on.
                                    _G. J. O. Allmann._

    But, ah! what numbers still are dead,
      Though under means of grace they lie!
    The _dew_ still falling round their head,
      And yet their heart untouched and dry.
    Dear Saviour! hear us when we call,
      To wrestling pray’r an answer give;
    Pour down thy _dew_ upon us all,
      That all may feel, and all may live.
                                _John Newton._

    One morn I mark’d two _dewdrops_ bright,
      Impendent on a thorny spray:
    The gems had caught my roving sight,
      Gay glittering in the sunny ray.

    A sudden breeze pass’d o’er the ground,
      And shook their faithless resting-place;
    They trembled--waver’d--with a bound,
      Commingled in a kind embrace,

    ’Tis thus, thought I, with loving hearts,
      When adverse storms sweep o’er their sky,
    In closer union, each imparts
      To each, aid, comfort, soothing joy.

    The mingled _dewdrops_ by the sun
      Were cherish’d, then exhaled together:
    Thus virtuous love, on earth begun,
      Renew’d in Heaven, exists for ever.
                                _George Taylor._


Let us arise, and go up to Bethel; and I will make there an altar unto
God, who answered me in the day of my _distress_, and was with me in
the way which I went.--Genesis, xxxv. 3.

I called upon the Lord in _distress_: the Lord answered me, and set me
in a large place.--Psalm cxviii. 5.

There shall be great _distress_ in the land, and wrath upon this
people.--Luke, xxi. 23.

    Through all the changing scenes of life,
      In trouble and in joy,
    The praises of my God shall still
      My heart and tongue employ.

    Of His deliverance I will boast,
      Till all who are _distrest_
    From my example comfort take,
      And charm their griefs to rest.
                            _Brady and Tate._

    He can, He will, from out the dust,
    Raise the blest spirits of the just;
    Heal every wound, hush every fear,
    From every eye wipe every tear;
    And place them where _distress_ is o’er,
    And pleasures dwell for evermore.
                               _Bishop Mant._

    Lo! through the gloom of guilty fears,
      My faith discerns a dawn of grace;
    The Sun of Righteousness appears
      In Jesus’ reconciling face.

    My suffering, slain, and risen Lord!
      In deep _distress_ I turn to Thee--
    I claim acceptance in thy word,
      My God! my God! forsake not me!
                        _James Montgomery._

    Teach me in times of deep _distress_
      To own Thy hand, my God!
    And in submissive silence learn
      The lessons of Thy rod.


And when they saw him, they worshipped him: but some
_doubted_.--Matthew, xxviii. 17.

Then came the Jews round about Him, and said unto Him, How long dost
thou make us to _doubt_? If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly.--John,
x. 24.

Now when the high priest and the captain of the temple, and the chief
priests heard these things, they _doubted_ of them whereunto this would
grow.--Acts, v. 24.

    Attempt the end, and never stand to _doubt_;
    Nothing’s so hard, but search will find it out.

    But desperate is their doom whom _doubt_ has driven
      To censure fate, and pious hope forego;
    Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven,
      Perfection, beauty, life, they never know,
    But frown on all who pass, a monument of woe.

    Ah! thou knowest not the war of struggling thought
    That agitates my soul. I find in all
    Some peril still to dread. I choose, and then
    My choice repent; and then again regret
    Having repented; while protracted _doubt_
    Wearies her mind, so that the ill from good
    No longer I distinguish; till at length
    The flight of time impels me to the worst!
               _From the Italian of Pietre Metastasio._

    _Doubt!_ anarch old, that staggers all--
    The mighty vulgar as the small,
    Claims from all hearts th’ allegiance won,
    Yet satisfaction gives to none;

    And still resisted, still must reign,
    Dreaded, abhorred, reviled in vain;
    Sole tyrant he, that still must thrive,
    While any of his subjects live;

    The stoutest arm he fastest binds,
    Still strongest in the strongest minds;
    Who struggles hardest, suffers most;
    And tightens bands be cannot burst.
                                _C. C. Colton._


Shall not his excellency make you afraid? and his _dread_ fall upon
you?--Job, xiii. 11.

Withdraw thine hand far from me: and let not thy _dread_ make me
afraid.--Job, xiii. 21.

They were so high, that they were _dreadful_.--Ezekiel, i. 18.

I am a great King, saith the Lord of hosts, and my name is _dreadful_
among the heathen.--Malachi, i. 14.

    Next saw we _Dread_, all trembling, how he shook,
    With foot uncertain, proffer’d here and there;
    Benumb’d with speech; and with a ghastly look,
    Search’d every place, all pale and _dread_ for fear;
    His cap borne up with starting of his hair;
    ’Stoun’d and amazed at his own share for _dread_,
    And fearing greater dangers than was need.

    Thou attended gloriously from Heaven,
    Shall in the sky appear, and from thee send
    The summoning archangels to proclaim
    Thy _dread_ tribunal.

    Who the Creator love, created might
    _Dread_ not; within their tents no terrors walk.

    As if a lark should suddenly drop dead
    While the blue air yet trembled with his song,
    So snapped at once that music’s golden thread,
    Struck by a nameless fear, that leapt along
    From heart to heart, and like a shadow sped
    With instantaneous shiver through the throng;
    So that some glanced behind, as half aware
    A hideous shape of _dread_ were standing there.

    As when a crowd of pale men gather round,
    Watching an eddy in the leaden deep,
    From which they deemed the body of one drowned
    Will be cast forth; from face to face doth creep
    An eager _dread_, that holds all tongues fast bound,
    Until the horror, with a ghastly leap,
    Starts up, its dead blue arms stretched aimlessly,
    Heaved with the swinging of the careless sea.
                                          _J. R. Lowell._


In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto
the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for _dust_ thou art, and
unto _dust_ shalt thou return.--Genesis, iii. 19.

All flesh shall perish together, and man shall turn again unto
_dust_.--Job, xxxiv. 15.

All go unto one place; all are of the _dust_, and all turn to _dust_
again.--Ecclesiastes, iii. 20.

Then shall the _dust_ return to the earth as it was: and the spirit
shall return unto God who gave it.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 7.

    Fear no more the frown o’ the great,
      Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
    Care no more to clothe and eat,
      To thee the reed is as the oak.
    The sceptre, learning, physic, must
    All follow this, and come to _dust_.

    Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?
    What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame,
    Earth’s highest station ends in “here he lies;”
    And “_dust_ to _dust_” concludes her noblest song.

        What is this passing scene?
          A peevish April day!
        A little sun--a little rain,
        And then night sweeps along the plain,
          And all things fade away.
            Man (soon discussed,)
            Yields up his trust,
    And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the _dust_.

        Then, since this world is vain,
          And volatile and fleet,
        Why should I lay up worldly joys,
        When _dust_ corrupts, and moth destroys,
          And cares and sorrows eat?
            Why fly from ill
            With anxious skill,
    When soon the hand will freeze, the throbbing heart be still?
                                                    _H. K. White._


Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole _duty_ of
man.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 13.

So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which are
commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that
which was our _duty_ to do.--Luke, xvii. 10.

    Who shall, O God! ascend thy holy hill?
    Ev’n he whose hands are clean, whose heart is pure,
    Faithful of Word, and _dutiful_ of Will.
                                         _J. A. Heraud._

    Between ourselves and our desires, too oft,
      We build a wall impassable. We mar
        By futile artifice what honest skill
          In either would alone effect.--Straight on,
    And up the mountain, heavenwards aloft,
      Should be the chosen path; however far
        The goal may be; to reach it wants but will
          To trust in God, and prudent courage drawn
    From honourable purpose. Hard may be
      The track, and steep to climb, but walls are none
        To scale, nor ladders lack we, ’midst the chill
    Of mental Alps, but only eyes to see
      These words of truth light-written in the sun--
        “The path of _duty_ aye runs up the hill.”
                                      _Calder Campbell._

    Rugged strength and radiant beauty--
      These were one in nature’s plan;
    Humble toil and heavenward _duty_--
      These will form the perfect man.
                             _Mrs. Hale._

    Stern daughter of the voice of God!
      O _Duty_! if that name thou love
    Who art a light to guide, a rod
      To check the erring, and reprove;
    Thou who art victory and law
    When empty terrors overawe,
    Give unto me, made lowly wise,
    The spirit of self-sacrifice.


Depart from evil, and do good; and _dwell_ for evermore.--Psalm xxxvii.

My people shall _dwell_ in a peaceable habitation, and in sure
_dwellings_, and in quiet resting-places.--Isaiah, xxxii. 18.

No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another, God
_dwelleth_ in us, and his love is perfected in us.

Hereby know we that we _dwell_ in him, and he in us, because he hath
given us of his Spirit.--I. John, iv. 12, 13.

    I prais’d the sea, whose ample field
    Shone glorious as a silver shield;
    I prais’d the earth in beauty seen,
    With garlands gay of various green;
    And earth and ocean seem’d to say,
    “Our beauties are but for a day.”

    I prais’d the sun, whose chariot roll’d
    On wheels of amber and of gold:
    I prais’d the moon, whose softer eye
    Gleam’d sweetly through the summer sky;
    And moon and sun in answer said,
    “Our days of light are numbered.”

    O God! O good beyond compare!
    If thus thy meaner works are fair;
    If thus thy bounties gild the span
    Of ruin’d earth and sinful man,
    How glorious must the mansion be,
    Where thy redeem’d shall _dwell_ with thee.
                                 _Bishop Heber._

    O, come and _dwell_ with me,
      Spirit of power within,
    And bring the glorious liberty
      From sorrow, fear, and sin.

        Think on th’ eternal home
        The Saviour left for you;
    Think on the Lord most holy, come
        To _dwell_ with hearts untrue.
    So shall ye tread untired his pastoral ways,
    And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.


And God called the dry land _Earth_.--Genesis, i. 10.

The _earth_ is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they
that dwell therein.--Psalm xxiv. 1.

The _earth_, O Lord, is full of thy mercy.--Psalm cxix. 64.

The _earth_ shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters
cover the sea.--Isaiah, xi. 9.

The _earth_ also and the works that are therein shall be burned
up.--II. Peter, iii. 10.

    Unconstant _Earth_! why do not mortals cease
    To build their hopes upon so short a lease?
    Uncertain lease, whose term but once begun,
    Tells never when it ends till it be done:
    We dote upon thy smiles, not knowing why,
    And whiles we but prepare to live, we die:
    We spring like flowers for a day’s delight,
    At noon we flourish, and we fade at night:
    We toil for kingdoms, conquer crowns, and then
    We that were Gods, but now, now less than men.
    If wisdom, learning, knowledge, cannot dwell
    Secure from change, vain bubble _earth_, farewell.
                                     _Francis Quarles._

                              _Earth’s_ cup
    Is poisoned; her renown, most infamous;
    Her gold, seem as it may, is really dust;
    Her titles, slanderous names; her praise, reproach;
    Her strength, an idiot’s boast; her wisdom, blind;
    Her gain, eternal loss; her hope, a dream;
    Her love, her friendship, enmity with God;
    Her promises, a lie; her smile, a harlot’s;
    Her beauty, paint, and rotten within; her pleasures,
    Deadly assassins masked; her laughter, grief;
    Her breasts, the stings of death; her total sum,
    Her all, most total vanity.

    And had _earth_, then, no joys? no native sweets,
    No happiness, that one who spoke the truth,
    Might call her own? She had, true native sweets,
    Indigenous delights, which up the Tree
    Of Holiness, embracing as they grew,
    Ascended, and bore fruit of Heavenly taste.

    Lean not on _earth_; ’t will pierce thee to the heart:
    A broken reed at best, but oft a spear:
    On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
    There’s nothing here but what as nothing weighs;
    The more our joy, the more we know it vain;
    And by success are tutored to despair.
    Nor is it only thus, but must be so.
    Who knows not this, though grey, is still a child;
    Loose then from _earth_ the grasp of fond desire,
    Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore.

    _Earth_, thou great footstool of our God
    Who reigns on high; thou fruitful source
    Of all our raiment, life, and food,
    Our house, our parent, and our nurse.
    Mighty stage of mortal scenes,
    Drest with strong and gay machines,
    Hung with golden lamps around,
    And flowery carpets spread the ground--
    Thou bulky globe, prodigious map,
    That hangs unpillared in an empty space,
    While thy unwieldly weight hangs in the feeble air,
    Bless that Almighty word that fix’d and holds thee there.

    A puff of honour fills the mind,
      And yellow dust is solid good;
    Thus, like the ass of savage kind,
    We snuff the breezes of the wind,
      Or steal the serpent’s food.
        Could all the choirs
        That charms the poles
      But strike one doleful sound,
    ’T would be employed to mourn our souls;
    Souls that were formed of sprightly fires
      In floods of folly drowned.
    Souls made of glory seek a brutal joy;
      How they disclaim their heavenly birth,
    Melt their bright substance down with drossy _earth_,
    And hate to be refined from that impure alloy.

    There are wondrous things on the aged _earth_; ’tis speeding
        to its close;
    From the very heart of the prosperous world the prophet-thunder
    And as this sphere whirls round and round upon its endless way,
    And as the laws of the universe from their boundless centres sway,
    From the everlasting hills of heaven look down a seraph-race,
    And gaze upon the mighty change that speaks aloud through space:
    With joy they hymn the Eternal, in whose embrace they live,
    And strike the harp to him who loves to pity and forgive.

    Stands the archangel Lucifer on a stormy planet near,
    And the hollow sound of his mighty voice fills many worlds with
    “Vain _earth_,” he said, “thy pigmy lords may strive from
        thee to rise,
    May gasp their hopes in frequent verse, they half philosophize,
    Build temples to the monarch steam, be victors o’er the sea--
    Their pride, their power shall disappear at one dark glance from
    O for the fierce wild rapture of that fast approaching day,
    When man and his brief dwelling in the storm are swept away.”

    Far in the centre of all space burns the eternal throne,
    Where God, unseen, ineffable, dwells in his light alone.
    “My Son,” the one existence saith, “_earth_ speeds its course
        to thee,
    And soon beneath thy rule of love its kingdoms shall be free.
    The demons dream of fury, of swift, consuming fire,
    Dream that the spirit of the Lord is stern resentful ire:
    But the whole universe shall know that mercy is divine--
    Beloved Son! Men, angels, friends, for evermore are thine.”

    I believe this _earth_ on which we stand
    Is but the vestibule to glorious mansions,
    Through which a moving crowd for ever press.
                                _Joanna Baillie._

    As trees beneath the soil must shoot,
      Before they form the grove,
    So man in _earth_ must spread his root,
      That hopes to bloom above.
                              _Thomas Ward._

    _Earth_ hath of thee had glimpses, shaped to suit
    The contemplative Spirit, suffering
    From occultation of the absolute,
    The shadow of the spiritual thing
    That passing, veils the Truth. Let it pass on!
    Shine forth, O Sun! the universal King,
    Intelligible God. Thy steadfast Throne
    For ever is immovable, and _Earth_
    Light from thine aspect borrows, and, anon,
    In constant revolution, giveth birth
    To darkness, not forsaken: for the Moon
    And Stars reflect thy glory faintly forth,
    In night, most holy night, in whose high noon
    Majestic Heaven itself alone reveals
    To faith,--a starry spell,--a visible tune,--
    Until thy reappearing opes the seals
    Of the mysterious Tome, and supersedes
    Their borrowed lights--their spirit-motioned wheels.
    Yet are they God’s! how happy he who reads
    Their office rightly;--oracles _Earth_ hears
    In visionary slumber, hears and heeds;
    The Deities of darkness, on the spheres
    Enthroned, Angels of Night, whose choral gleams
    Echo the word unto the worlds He cheers.
                                          _J. A. Heraud._


Even so we, when we were children, were in bondage under the _elements_
of the world.--Galatians, iv. 3.

But now, after that ye have known God, or rather are known of God, how
turn ye again to the weak and beggarly _elements_, whereunto ye desire
again to be in bondage?--Galatians, iv. 9.

But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which
the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the _elements_
shall melt with fervent heat.--II. Peter, iii. 10.

    I cavilled at the _elements_--what is earth?
    A huge congestion of unmethodized matter
    With but a skin of life--a mighty solid,
    Which nature’s prodigal of space provides
    For superficial uses; and what air?
    A motion and a pressure; fire? a change;
    And light? the language of the things called dumb.

    Last came the troubled question--what am I?
    A blade, a sapling of the growth of life
    Wherewith the outside of the earth is covered;
    A comprehensive atom, all the world
    In act of thought embracing; in the world
    A grain scarce filling a particular place.
                                        _Henry Taylor._

    Father, I know my frame is all composed
    Of _elements_ that perish; and I know
    The bondage whereunto my grovelling soul
    Still turns, in spite of higher aspirations.
    Oh, grant me strength to burst the chains of sense!
    That in the _elemental_ wreck to come,
    I may not perish utterly, but live
    To praise and bless Thee for my great salvation.

    Let every _element_ rejoice;
    Ye thunders, burst with awful voice
      To Him who bade you roll.
    His praise in softened notes declare,
    Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
      And breathe it to the soul.


Be not thou _envious_ against evil men, neither desire to be with
them.--Proverbs, xxiv. 1.

Wrath is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand
before _envy_?--Proverbs, xxvii. 4.

But Pilate answered them, saying, Will ye that I release unto you the
King of the Jews?

For he knew that the chief priests had delivered him for _envy_.--Mark,
xv. 9, 10.

For where _envying_ and strife is, there is confusion and every evil
work.--James, iii. 16.

      And next to him malicious _Envy_ rode
      Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw
      Between his cankered teeth a venomous tode,
      That all the poison ran about his jaw:
      But inwardly he chawed his own maw
      At neighbour’s wealth that made him ever sad,
      For death it was when any good he saw;
      And wept, that cause of weeping none he had;
    And when he heard of harme he waxed wondrous glad.

    I _envy_ not their hap
      Whom favour doth advance;
    I take no pleasure in their pain
      That have less happy chance.

    To rise by others’ fall
      I deem a losing gain;
    All states with others’ ruin built,
      To ruin run amain.

    Here are no false entrapping baits,
    To hasten too, too hasty fates;
            Unless it be
            The fond credulity
    Of silly fish, which, worldling like, still look
    Upon the bait, but never on the hook:
    Nor _envy_, unless among
    The birds, for prize of their sweet song.
                                 _Sir Walter Raleigh._

    For every thing contains within itself
    The seeds and sources of its own corruption;
    The cankering rust corrodes the brightest steel;
    The moth frets out your garment, and the worm
    Eats its slow way into the solid oak:
    But _Envy_, of all evil things the worst,
    The same to-day, to-morrow, and for ever,
    Saps and consumes the heart in which it works.

    _Envy_’s a sharper spur than pay,
    And, unprovok’d,’t will court the fray.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Fools may our scorn, not _envy_, raise,
    For _envy_ is a kind of praise.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Canst thou discern another’s mind?
    What is’t you _envy_? _Envy_’s blind.
    Tell _Envy_, when she would annoy,
    That thousands want what you enjoy.

    The lion craved the fox’s art;
    The fox the lion’s force and heart;
    The cock implored the pigeon’s flight,
    Whose wings were rapid, strong, and light;
    The pigeon strength of wing despised,
    And the cock’s matchless valour prized.
    The fishes wish’d to graze the plain;
    The beasts to skim beneath the main.
    Thus, _envious_ of another’s state,
    Each blam’d the partial hand of fate.

    Slander’d in vain, enjoy the spleen of foes;
    Let these from _envy_ hate--from interest those!
    Guilt, like the first, your gratitude requires,
    Since none can _envy_ till he first admires;
    And nature tells the last his crime is none,
    Who to your interest but prefers his own.
                                        _Aaron Hill._

    What made the man of _Envy_ what he was,
    Was worth in others, vileness in himself,
    A lust of praise, with undeserving deeds,
    And conscience poverty of soul; and still
    It was his earnest work and daily toil,
    With lying tongue, to make the noble seem
    Mean as himself.


Who can understand his _errors_? cleanse thou me from secret
faults.--Psalm xix. 12.

For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work
iniquity, to practise hypocrisy, and to utter _error_ against the
Lord.--Isaiah, xxxii. 6.

Beware lest ye also, being led away with the _error_ of the wicked,
fall from your own stedfastness.--II. Peter, iii. 17.

    A good that never satisfies the mind,
    A beauty fading like the April flowers,
    A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined,
    A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
    An honour that more fickle is than wind,
    A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers,
    A treasury which bankrupt time devours,
    A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind;
    A vain delight our equals to command,
    A style of greatness, in effect a dream,
    A swelling thought of holding sea and land,
    A servile lot, decked with a pompous name;
      Are the strange ends we toil for here below,
      Till wisest death makes us our _errors_ know.

    Swifter than feathered arrow in the wind,
      Than winged vessel on the yielding tide,
      Than river shooting down the mountain side,
    Than foot o’er champaign of the slender hind,
    To _error’s_ flowery vale, the headlong mind
      Is prone, without a curb, to fly aside;
      Neither by dangers of the path untried,
    Nor roughest road, nor highest Alp confined.
    But if the way of truth upon the right
      It follows, like slow worm, or bird unfledged,
    At every twig it checks, and stone, and rill.
    Great guide! make strong my pinions for the flight
      In that true course; by every other hedged,
    And lift and bring me to thy holy hill!
                          _From the Italian of Tarsia._

    “But what is _error_?--Answer he who can!”
    The Sceptic somewhat haughtily exclaimed:
    “Love, Hope, and Admiration--are they not
    Mad Fancy’s favourite vassals? Does not life
    Use them, full oft, as pioneers to ruin,
    Guides to destruction? Is it well to trust
    Imagination’s light when Reason’s fails,
    The unguarded taper where the guarded faints?
    --Stoop from those heights, and soberly declare
    What _error_ is; and of our _errors_, which
    Doth most debase the mind; the genuine seats
    Of power, where are they? Who shall regulate,
    With truth, the scale of intellectual rank?”

      Thus _error’s_ monstrous shapes from earth are driven;
      They fade, they fly--but truth survives their flight;
      Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven;
      Each ray that shone, in early time, to light
      The faltering footsteps in the path of right,
      Each gleam of clearer, brightness, shed to aid
      In man’s maturer day his bolder sight,
      All blended, like the rainbow’s radiant braid,
    Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade.
                                                 _W. C. Bryant._

    _Error_ is a hardy plant; it flourisheth in every soil;
    In the heart of the wise and good, alike with the wicked and
    For there is no _error_ so crooked, but it hath in it some
        lines of truth:
    Nor is any poison so deadly, that it serveth not some wholesome
    And the just man, enamoured of the right, is blinded by the
        speciousness of wrong,
    And the prudent, perceiving an advantage, is content to overlook
        the harm.
    On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God,
    Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of
    And if _error_ cometh in like a flood, it mixeth with the streams
        of truth;
    And the adversary loveth to have it so, for thereby many are
                                                    _Martin F. Tupper._


O give thanks unto the God of Gods: for His mercy endureth for ever.

Who remembered us in our low _estate_: for His mercy endureth for
ever.--Psalm cxxxvi. 2, 23.

And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord,

And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

For he hath regarded the low _estate_ of His handmaiden.--Luke, i. 46,
47, 48.

Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low _estate_.--Romans,
xii. 16.

    Go, miser! go; for lucre sell thy soul;
    Truck wares for wares, and trudge from pole to pole,
    That men may say, when thou art dead and gone,
    See what a vast _estate_ he left his son.

    Wherever in the world I am,
      In whatsoe’er _estate_,
    I have a fellowship with hearts
      To keep and cultivate;
    And a work of lowly love to do,
      For the Lord on whom I wait.
                    _Ann L. Waring._

    Oh yes! I have a goodly heritage,
      A vast _estate_ is mine;
    My title deeds are on the sacred page,
      Writ by a hand divine.

    The land is fruitful, yielding all things good,
      An overflowing store;
    To satisfy the utmost wish, nor could
      My spirit ask for more.

    ’Tis in a pleasant country--this _estate_--
      Of ever-new delight;
    No storms are there to chill and devastate,
      There comes no gloomy night.

    My tenor is inviolate; for death
      Signs, seals, and opes the door,
    That me into possession ushereth,
      There to dwell evermore.


For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth _eternity_, whose
name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place.--Isaiah, lvii. 15.

For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were
dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands,
_eternal_ in the heavens.--II. Corinthians, v. 1.

    Of that same time when no more change shall be,
    But stedfastly rest all things, firmly stayed
    Upon the pillars of _eternity_,
    That is contraire to mutability;
    For all that moveth doth in change delight;
    But thenceforth all shall rest _eternally_,
    With Him that is the God of Sabaoth hight.

                        Him, blessed Shepherd,
    His flocks shall follow through the maze of life,
    And shades that tend to day spring from on high;
    And as the radiant roses, after fading,
    In fuller foliage, and more fragrant breath,
    Revive in smiling spring, so shall it be
    With those that love Him: for sweet is their savour,
    And all _eternity_ shall be their spring.

    Man, (mortal creature,) fram’d to feel decays,
    Thine unresisted power at pleasure sways,
    Thou say’st return, and parting souls obey,
    Thou say’st return, and bodies fall to-day.
    For what’s a thousand fleeting years with Thee?
    Or Time compared with long _eternity_?
    Whose wings expanding infinitely vast,
    O’erstretched its utmost ends of first and last.

    We strive with earthly imagings,
      To reach and understand
    The wondrous and the fearful things
      Of an _eternal_ land.

    But soon the doubt, the toil, the strife
      Of earth shall all be done,
    And knowledge of our endless life
      Be in a moment won.
                               _Otway Curry._

                Why shrinks the soul
    Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
    ’Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;
    ’Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
    And intimates _eternity_ to man.

    The _Eternal_ Life, beyond the sky,
    Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high
        And proud estate;
    The soul in dalliance laid,--the spirit
    Corrupt with sin,--shall not inherit
        A joy so great.
             _Longfellow, from the Spanish._

    Our better nature pineth--let it be!
    Thou human soul--earth is no home for thee;
    Thy starry rest is in _eternity_.
                                  _Miss Landon._

        He of the lion-voice, the rainbow-crowned,
    Shall stand upon the mountains and the sea,
    And swear by earth, by Heaven’s throne, and Him
    Who sitteth on the throne, there shall be Time
    No more, no more! Then veiled _Eternity_
    Shall straight unveil her awful countenance
    Unto the reeling world, and take the place
    Of seasons, years and ages. Aye and aye
    Shall be the time of day!
                                     _Miss Barrett._

    Time! whither dost thou flee?
    --I travel to _eternity_,
    _Eternity!_ what art thou?--say!
    --Time past--time present--time to come--to-day.
                                     _J. Montgomery._

    See, how beneath the moonbeams’ smile
      Yon little billow heaves its breast,
    And foams and sparkles for awhile,
      And murmuring then subsides to rest.

    Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
      Rises on time’s eventful sea;
    And having swelled a moment there,
      Thus melts into _eternity_.


_Evening_, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and he
shall hear my voice.--Psalm lv. 17.

It shall come to pass, that at _evening_ time it shall be
light.--Zechariah, xiv. 7.

Abide with us: for it is toward _evening_, and the day is far
spent.--Luke, xxiv. 29.

    Now came still _evening_ on, and twilight grey
    Had in her sober livery all things clad;
    Silence accompanied; for beast and bird--
    They to their grassy couch, these to their nests--
    Were shrunk, all but the wakeful nightingale:
    She all night long her beauteous descant sung:
    Silence was pleased. Now glow’d the firmament
    With living sapphires. Hesperus, that led
    The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,
    Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
    Apparent queen, unveil’d her peerless light,
    And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw:
    When Adam thus to Eve, “Fair consort, the hour
    Of night, and all things now retired to rest,
    Mind us of long repose, since God has set
    Labour and rest, as day and night to men
    Successive, and the timely dew of sleep,
    Now falling with soft cumbrous weight, inclines
    Our eyelids. Other creatures all day long
    Rove idle unemployed, and less need rest:
    Man hath his daily work of body or mind
    Appointed, which declares his dignity,
    And the regard of heaven on all his ways,
    While other animals inactive range,
    And of their doings God takes no account.”

                          Then is the time
    For those whom wisdom, and whom nature charm,
    To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd,
    And soar above this little scene of things;
    To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet,
    To soothe the throbbing passions into peace,
    And woo lone quiet in her silent walks.

    The sun hath sunk behind the hill,
      But over earth, and sky, and air,
    _Eve’s_ crimson tints are glowing still,
      And tidings of to-morrow bear.

    Thus hope, when sinks life’s happiness,
      Upon our night of sorrow glows,
    Promising brighter, endless bliss,
      After our pilgrimage of woes.

    The longing heart, whose wishes spring
      To fond foreboding’s unknown land,
    Borrows imagination’s wing,
      Though fettered here in reason’s band.

    Presumptuous! whither would’st thou fly?
      Earth’s vapours mock thine eye of clay.
    Mark crimson _evening’s_ golden sky,
      And hope the morrow’s promised day.
              _From the Swedish of Ingelgren._

                Few bring back at _eve_,
    Immaculate, the manners of the morn.
    Something we thought is blotted; we resolved,
    Is shaken; we renounced, returns again.

    Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,
      That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
      Of _evening_, over brake, and bloom,
    And meadow, slowly breathing bare

    The round of space, and rapt below
      Through all the dewy-tassell’d wood,
      And shadowing down the horned flood
    In ripples, fan my brows and blow

    The fever from my cheek, and sigh
      The full new life that feeds thy breath
      Throughout my frame, till doubt and death,
    Ill brethren, let the fancy fly

    From belt to belt of crimson seas
      On leagues of odour streaming far,
      To where in yonder orient star
    A hundred spirits whisper “Peace.”

          Pleasantly comest thou,
    Dew of the _evening_, to the crisp’d up grass;
          And the curl’d corn-blades bow,
          And the light breezes pass,
    That their parch’d lips may feel thee, and expand,
    Thou sweet reviver of the fever’d land.

          So, to the thirsting soul,
    Cometh the dew of the Almighty’s love;
          And the scathed heart, made whole,
          Turneth in joy above,
    To where the spirit freely may expand,
    And rove, untrammelled, in that better “land.”
                                     _W. D. Gallagher._

    Behold the western _evening_-light!
      It melts in deepening gloom;
    So calmly Christians sink away,
      Descending to the tomb.

    The winds breathe low; the withering leaf
      Scarce whispers from the tree;
    So gently flows the parting breath,
      When good men cease to be.

    How beautiful on all the hills
      The crimson light is shed!
    ’Tis like the peace the Christian gives
      To mourners round his bed.

    How mildly on the wandering cloud
      The sunset beam is cast;
    ’Tis like the memory left behind,
      When loved ones breathe their last.

    And now above the dews of night,
      The yellow star appears;
    So faith springs in the heart of those
      Whose eyes are bathed in tears.

    But soon the morning’s happier light
      Its glory shall restore,
    And eyelids that are seal’d in death.
      Shall wake, to close no more.


If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet: ye also ought
to wash one another’s feet.

For I have given you an _example_, that ye should do as I have done to
you.--John, xiii. 14, 15.

Be thou an _example_ of the believers, in word, in conversation, in
charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.--I. Timothy, iv. 12.

Take, my brethren, the prophets, who have spoken in the name
of the Lord, for an _example_ of suffering affliction, and of
patience.--James, v. 10.

Sodom and Gomorrha, and the cities about them in like manner, giving
themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set
forth for an _example_, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.--Jude,
i. 7.

    Taught this by his _example_, whom I now
    Acknowledge my Redeemer, ever blest!

    Since great _examples_ justify command,
    Let glorious acts more glorious acts inspire,
    And catch from breast to breast the noble fire.
                                 _Pope, from Homer._

    His faults, that in a private station sits,
    Do mainly harm him only that commits:
    Those placed on high a bright _example_ owe,--
    Much to themselves, more to the crowd below.

    A paltry watch, in private pocket borne,
    Misleads but him alone by whom ’tis worn:
    But the town-clock that domes or towers display,
    By going wrong, leads half the world astray.
                                      _C. C. Colton._

    Ye who look for great _examples_
      O’er the wide historic page:--
    Teachers, who with good ensamples
      Would the thoughts of youth engage!
    To the sacred record turning,
      There behold the perfect man!
    There the light, for ever burning;
      Match its lustre, if you can!
    Imitate the Great _Example_,
      Humbly as a Christian should,
    Ever like that bright ensample,
      Speaking well and doing good.


For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from _faith_ to
_faith_: as it is written, the just shall live by _faith_.--Romans, i.

So then _faith_ cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of
God.--Romans, x. 17.

By grace are ye saved through _faith_.--Ephesians, ii. 8.

The shield of _faith_, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the
fiery darts of the wicked.--Ephesians, vi. 16.

Now _faith_ is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of
things not seen.--Hebrews, xi. 1.

But without _faith_ it is impossible to please Him: for he that cometh
to God, must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that
diligently seek Him.--Hebrews, xi. 6.

For as the body without the spirit is dead, so _faith_ without works is
dead also.--James, ii. 26.

      If bliss had lien in art or strength,
    None but the wise and strong had gained it;
    Where now, by _faith_, all arms are of a length;
      One size doth all conditions fit.

      A peasant may believe as much
    As a great clerk, and reach the highest stature;
    Thus dost thou make proud knowledge bend and crouch,
      While grace fills up uneven nature.

      _Faith_ makes me any thing, or all
    That I believe is in the sacred story;
    And when sin placeth me in Adam’s fall,
      _Faith_ sets me higher in his glory.
                                        _George Herbert._

    From purer manners to sublimer _faith_,
    Is nature’s unavoidable ascent;
    An honest deist, where the gospel shines,
    Matured to nobler, in the christian ends.

    If weak thy _faith_, why choose the harder side?
    We nothing know but what is marvellous;
    Yet what is marvellous, we can’t believe.
    So weak our reason, and so great our God,
    What most surprises in the sacred page,
    Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true.
    _Faith_ is not reason’s labour, but repose.

    O ye, whom, struggling on life’s craggy road,
    With obstacles and dangers, secret foes
    Supplant, false friends betray, disastrous rage
    Of elements, of war, of civil broil
    Brings down to Poverty’s cold floor, while grief
    Preys on the heart, and dims the sinking eye;
    Faint not! There is, who rules the storm, whose hand
    Feeds the young ravens, nor permits blind chance
    To close one sparrow’s flagging wing in death.
    Trust in the rock of ages. Now, even now
    He speaks, and all is calm. Or if, to prove
    Your inmost soul, the hurricane still spread
    Its licensed ravages. He whispers hope,
    Earnest of comfort; and through blackest night
    Bids keen-eyed _Faith_ on heaven’s pure sunshine gaze,
    And learn the glories of her future home.

                      The pious man
    In this bad world, when mists and couchant storms
    Hide heaven’s fine circlet, spring aloft in _faith_
    Above the clouds that threat him, to the fields
    Of ether, where the day is never veiled
    With intervening vapours, and looks down
    Serene upon the troublous sea, which hides
    The earth’s fair breast; that sea whose nether face
    To grovelling mortals frowns and darkens all,
    But on whose billowy back, from man conceal’d
    The glowing sunbeams play.
                                          _H. K. White._

    Through _Faith_ on earth, man holds a life sublime,
    And in the past and future, as he lists,
    Expatiates, and confers with every clime.
    Through _faith_ he knows whereby the frame subsists,
    Of the expanded universe, by whom
    Created, and whereto it yet exists;
    A stranger and a pilgrim till the tomb
    Opens the way to the celestial land,
    Where God prepares a city, as a womb.
    So hopeful o’er the grave the _faithful_ stand,
    Wherein their brethren in the dust repose,
    Grasped in the Father’s Omnipresent hand.
                                          _J. A. Heraud._

    I saw in visions of still thought reveal’d,
      Two silent forms before me; both were fair,
      But yet how much unlike that voiceless pair,
    Except in outward beauty. One appeal’d
    To all, save hearts by pride and passion steel’d,
      With meek-eyed gentleness; and seem’d to wear
      Mixt with each human charm, an heavenlier air,
    To which humanity had wisely kneel’d.
      Beautiful was the other’s speechless shade,
    And called herself Philosophy; but proud,
    Cold, statue-like, she look’d upon the crowd,
      Who to the lovelier spirit homage paid--
    Her name was Scepticism! That gentler maid
    Was titled _Faith_ by acclamation loud!
                                          _B. Barton._

    Behold the chamber where the Christian sleeps,
    And where, from year to year, he prays and weeps;
    Whence, in the midnight watch, his prayers arise
    To those bright mansions where his treasure lies,
    How near it is to all that _Faith_ can see;
    How short and peaceful may his passage be!
    One beating pulse, one feeble struggle o’er,
    May open wide the everlasting door;
    Yes, for that bliss unspeakable unseen,
    Is ready, and the veil of flesh between
    A gentle sigh may rend, and then display
    The broad full splendour of an endless day.
    --This bright conviction elevates his mind,
    He presses forward, leaving all behind.
    Thus from his throne the tyrant foe is hurl’d--
    This is the _Faith_ that overcomes the world.
                                        _Jane Taylor._

    Thou ask’st why Christ so lenient to the deed,
    So sternly claims the _Faith_ which founds the creed;
    Because, reposed in _Faith_, the soul has calm;
    The hope a haven, and the wound a balm;
    Because the light, dim seen in Reason’s dream,
    On all alike, through _faith_ alone, could stream.
    God willed support to weakness, joy to grief,
    And so descended from His throne, BELIEF!
                                       _Sir E. B. Lytton._

    To reason less is to imagine more;
    They most aspire, who, meekly, most adore--
    Therefore the God-like Comforter’s decree--
    “His sins be loosened who hath _faith_ in me.”
                                _Sir E. B. Lytton._

    O, thou that rearest with celestial aim
    Thy future seraph in my mortal frame,
    Thrice holy _Faith_! whatever thorns I meet,
    As on I totter with unpractised feet,
    Still let me stretch my arms, and cling to thee,
    Meek nurse of souls, through my long infancy!

    As evening’s pale and solitary star
      But brightens while the darkness gathers round;
    So _Faith_, unmoved amid surrounding storms,
      Is fairest seen in darkness most profound.

    However deep be the mysterious word,
      However dark, she disbelieves it not;
    Where reason would examine, _Faith_ obeys,
      And “It is written” answers every doubt.
                                       _Caroline Fry._

    Lo, when dangers closer threaten,
      And thy soul draws near to death;
    When assaulted sore by Satan,
      Then present the shield of _Faith_:
    Fiery darts of fierce temptations,
      Intercepted by thy God,
    Then shall lose their force in patience,
      Sheathed in love, and quenched in blood.

    Redeemed from fear, and washed from lustful blot,
    By _Faith_ we then might rise above our lot;
    And like Thy chosen few, restored within,
    By hearts, as morning pure, might conquer sin.

           *       *       *       *       *

    _Faith_, Hope, and Love, together work in gloom;
    What _Faith_ believes, Hope shapes in form and bloom,
    And Love sends forth to daylight from the tomb.
                                          _John Sterling._

    O thou of little _faith_, lift up thine eyes!
      Are the ten thousand glorious stars of night
      But a vain dream, because thy feeble sight
    May not behold them in the noon-day skies?
                                     _Mary Howitt._

              The steps of _Faith_
    Fall on the seeming void, and find
              The Rock beneath.
                      _J. G. Whittier._

    Lady, there is one star, and one alone,
    That tells the future. Its interpreter
    Is in man’s heart, and is called Conscience:
    The star, True _Faith_; the future that it shows
    Is beyond human life.
                                    _G. P. R. James._

    _Faith_ is the Spirit’s sweet control,
      From which assurance springs,
    _Faith_ is the pencil of the soul,
      That pictures heavenly things.

    _Faith_ is the conq’ring host that storms
      The battlements of sin,
    _Faith_ is the quick’ning fire that warms
      The trembling heart within.

    O Rock of Ages, Fount of Bliss,
      Thy needful help afford,
    And let our constant prayer be _this_--
      “Increase my _faith_, O Lord.”
                                _J. Burbidge._

    We walk by _faith_, and not by sight,
      Along this vale of tears,
    ’Till our wrapt souls shall wing their flight
      To Heaven’s unclouded spheres.

    Triumphant then o’er sin and death,
      We’ll praise our living head,
    And, looking back, behold the path,
      Through which we have been led.
                                    _W. J. Brock._


The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in
his way.

Though he _fall_, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the Lord
upholdeth him with his hand.--Psalm xxxvii. 23, 24.

And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not,
shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the

And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and
beat upon that house; and it _fell_: and great was the _fall_ of
it.--Matthew, vii. 26, 27.

And Simeon blessed them, and said unto Mary his mother, Behold, this
child is set for the _fall_ and rising again of many in Israel.--Luke,
ii. 34.

    Poor race of men! said the pitying Spirit,
      Dearly ye pay for your primal _Fall_--
    Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit,
      But the trail of the serpent is over them all!
                                      _Thomas Moore._

    Alas--the evil that we fain would shun
    We do, and leave the wished-for good undone;
              Our strength to-day
    Is but to-morrow’s weakness, prone to _fall_;
    Poor, blind, unprofitable servants, all,
              Are we alway.
                                 _J. G. Whittier._

    Grim-hearted world, that look’st with Levite eyes
      On those poor _fallen_ by too much faith in man,
    She that upon thy freezing threshold lies,
      Starved to more sinning by thy savage ban,--
    Seeking that refuge because foulest vice
      More godlike than thy virtue is, whose span
    Shuts out the wretched only,--is more free
    From all her crimes than thou wilt ever be.
    Thou wilt not let her wash thy dainty feet
      With such salt things as tears, or with rude hair
    Dry them, soft Pharisee, that sit’st at meat
      With him who made her such, and speak’st him fair,
    Leaving God’s wandering lamb the while to bleat
      Unheeded, shivering in the pitiless air:
    Thou hast made prisoned virtue shew more wan
    And haggard, than a vice to look upon.
                                       _James R. Lowell._


So the Lord was with Joshua; and his _fame_ was noised throughout all
the country.--Joshua, vi. 27.

And the _fame_ of David went out into all lands; and the Lord brought
the fear of him upon all nations.--I. Chronicles, xiv. 17.

And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and
preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness
and all manner of disease among the people.

And his _fame_ went throughout all Syria.--Matthew, iv. 23, 24.

    But _Fame_, alarmed, o’er Libya’s cities flies:
    _Fame_, the most fleet of mischief’s progenies:
    Who gathers speed from every passing hour;
    Grows as she moves, and travels into power.
    Timid and small at first, at length she shrouds,
    While treading on the ground, her forehead in the clouds.
    Offended at the gods, great parent Earth,
    ’Tis said, in vengeance gave the monster birth,
    Of all her giant family the last;
    A swift-wing’d portent, foul, deform’d, and vast,
    Beneath each numerous plume, that lifts her flight,
    An active eye extends her scope of sight.
    As many ears, and mouths, and tongues she moves,
    To catch and spread the rumours as she roves.
    Midway ’twixt heaven and earth, through night she flies
    Clanging, nor bathes in dewy sleep her eyes.
    By day she keeps on watch, and takes her stand
    On some high roof or tower of wide command;
    And thence, alike for truth or falsehood loud,
    She shakes the city and distracts the crowd.
                                       _Symmons, from Virgil._

    Let _fame_, that all hunt after in their lives,
    Live register’d upon our brazen tombs,
    And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
    When, spite of cormorant-devouring time,
    The endeavour of his present death may buy
    That honour, which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge,
    And makes us heirs of all eternity.

    Then straight thro’ all the world ’gan _fame_ to fly;
      A monster swifter none is under sun;
    Increasing, as in waters we discry
    The circles small, of nothing that begun,
    Till of the drops, which from the skies do fall,
    The circles spread and hide the waters all.

    _Fame_ is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
      (That last infirmity of noble minds)
    To scorn delights, and live laborious days.
      _Fame_ is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
      Nor in the glittering foil,
    Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies.

    For _fame_ the wretch beneath the gallows lies,
    Disowning every crime for which he dies,
    Of life profuse, tenacious of a name,
    Fearless of death, and yet afraid of shame.
    Nature has wove into the human mind
    This anxious care of names we leave behind.
    To extend our narrow views beyond the tomb,
    And give an earnest of a life to come;
    For, if when dead, we are but dust or clay,
    Why think of what posterity shall say?
    Her praise or censure cannot us concern,
    Nor ever penetrate the silent urn.
                                    _Soame Jennins._

    All _fame_ is foreign, but of true desert;
    Plays round the head, but comes not near the heart;
    One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
    Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas;
    And more true joy Marcellus exil’d feels,
    Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels.

           *       *       *       *       *

    And what is _fame_? the meanest have their day;
    The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.

    I hate this _Fame_, false avarice of fancy,
    The sickly shade of an unsolid greatness!
    The lying lure of pride that Europe cheats by.

    Absurd! to think to overreach the grave,
    And from the wreck of names to rescue ours:
    The best concerted schemes men lay for _fame_,
    Die fast away; only themselves die faster.

                  Not inspiration can obtain
    That _fame_, which poets languish for in vain.
    How mad their aim, who thirst for glory, strive
    To grasp, what no man can possess alive!
    _Fame_’s a reversion in which men take place
    (O late reversion!) at their own decease.

    Of all the phantoms fleeting in the mist
    Of Time, though meagre all, and ghostly thin,
    Most unsubstantial, unessential shade,
    Was earthly _Fame_. She was a voice alone,
    And dwelt upon the noisy tongues of men.
    She never thought, but gabbled ever on,
    Applauding most what least deserved applause.
    The motive, the result, was nought to her.
    The deed alone, though dyed in human gore,
    And steeped in widows’ tears, if it stood out
    To prominent display, she talked of much,
    And roared around it with a thousand tongues.
    As changed the wind her organ, so she changed
    Perpetually; and whom she praised to-day,
    Vexing his ear with acclamations loud,
    To-morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight.

    True _fame_’s a plant that seems to need
    A body buried--for its seed;
    And ere the churlish sucklings thrive,
    The parent-stock must cease to live.

    The good, the great, the wise, the just,
    Are little valued till they’re dust,
    Nor till they mutter “Earth to earth,”
    Can men perceive another’s worth.
                              _C. C. Colton._

    What though the mounds that mark’d each name,
      Beneath the wings of Time,
    Have worn away?--Theirs is the _fame_
      Immortal and sublime;
    For who can tread on Freedom’s plain,
    Nor wake her dead to life again.
                                  _R. Montgomery._


Another said, Lord, I will follow Thee; but let me first go bid them
_farewell_, which are at home at my house.--Luke, ix. 61.

When they desired him to tarry longer time with them, he consented not;
but bade them _farewell_.--Acts, xviii. 20, 21.

Finally, brethren, _farewell_.--II. Corinthians, xiii. 11.

    _Farewell!_ There is a spell within the word:
    Methinks I never heard it sound so mournful;
    Oh, thou subdued, oft scarce articulate sound,
    How powerful thou art! How strong to move
    The hidden strings that guide us puppet mortals!
    Pass-word of memory--of by-gone days--
    Thou everlasting epitaph--is there
    A land in which thou hast no dwelling-place?
    Wherein may be nor pageantry nor pride,
    Nor altars, save the pure one of the heart,
    Nor tombs, except for sorrow; and no tears;
    There is a world, Oh God, where human lips
    May say _Farewell!_ no more.
                                    _Dilnot Sladden._

    When eyes are beaming
      What never tongue might tell,
    When tears are streaming
      From their crystal cell:
    When hands are link’d that dread to part,
    And heart is met by throbbing heart.
    Oh! bitter, bitter is the smart
      Of them that bid _Farewell_!

    When hope is chidden,
      That fain of bliss would tell,
    And love forbidden
      In the breast to dwell:
    When fettered by a viewless chain,
    We turn and gaze, and turn again;
    Oh! death were mercy to the pain
      Of them that bid _Farewell_.
                               _Bishop Heber._

    ’Tis well, if well thou farest
      Upon thy heavenly way;
    With joy the lips that love thee
      Then _Fare-thee-well_ may say.


The Mighty God, the everlasting _Father_.--Isaiah, ix. 6.

O Lord, Thou art our _Father_; we are the clay, and Thou our potter;
and we all are the work of Thy hand.--Isaiah, lxiv. 8.

Our _Father_ which art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in
Heaven.--Matthew, vi. 9, 10.

We have one _Father_, even God.--John, viii. 41.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down
from the _Father_ of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither
shadow of turning.--James, i. 17.

    _Father_, King, whose heav’nly face
    Shines serene upon our race;
    Mindful of Thy guardian care,
    Slow to punish, prone to spare;
    We Thy majesty adore,
    We Thy well-known aid implore;
    Not in vain Thy aid we call,
    Nothing want, for Thou art all!

    Source of being, source of light,
    With unfading beauties bright;
    Thee, when morning greets the skies,
    Blushing sweet with humid eyes:
    Thee, when soft declining day
    Sinks in purple waves away;
    Thee, O Parent, will I sing,
    To Thy feet my tribute bring!

    _Father_ and Friend! Thy light, Thy love,
      Beaming through all Thy works we see;
    Thy glory gilds the heavens above,
      And all the earth is full of Thee.

    Thy voice we hear, Thy presence feel,
      Whilst Thou, too pure for mortal sight,
    Involved in clouds invisible,
      Reignest the Lord of life and light.

    We know not in what hallowed part
      Of the wide heavens Thy throne may be;
    But this we know, that where Thou art,
      Strength, wisdom, goodness dwell with Thee.

    And through the various maze of time,
      And through the infinity of space,
    We follow Thy career sublime,
      And all Thy wondrous footsteps trace.

    Thy children shall not faint nor fear,
      Sustained by this delightful thought,
    Since Thou their God art everywhere,
      They cannot be where Thou art not.

    The Sabbath sun was setting slow,
      Amidst the clouds of even;
    “Our _Father_,”--breathed a voice below--
      “_Father_, who art in Heaven!”

    Beyond the earth--beyond the cloud--
      Those infant words were given;
    “Our _Father_,” angels sang aloud--
      “_Father_, who art in Heaven!”

    “Thy kingdom come”--still from the ground,
      That childlike voice did pray;
    “Thy kingdom come”--God’s hosts resound--
      Far up the starry way!

    “Thy will be done,”--with little tongue,
      That lisping love implores;
    “Thy will be done,”--the angelic throng--
      Sing from seraphic shores!

    “For ever,”--still those lips repeat,
      Their closing evening prayer;
    “For ever,”--floats in music sweet--
      High ’midst the angels there!

    Thine be the glory evermore,
      From Thee may man ne’er sever;
    But every Christian land adore
      Jehovah!--God!--for ever!
                                    _C. Swain._

    One _father_ have we here on earth,
      Another up in heaven;
    By Him to us the second birth,
      And lasting life is given.


The _fear_ of the wicked it shall come upon him: but the desire of the
righteous shall be granted.--Proverbs, x. 24.

The _fear_ of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the
Lord shall be safe.--Proverbs, xxix. 25.

Say to them that are of a _fearful_ heart, Be strong, _fear_ not;
behold your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompense;
He will come and save you.--Isaiah, xxxv. 4.

_Fear_ not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul:
but rather _fear_ Him which is able to destroy both soul and body in
hell.--Matthew, x. 28.

For God hath not given us the spirit of _fear_; but of power, and of
love, and of a sound mind.--II. Timothy, i. 7.

So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not _fear_
what man shall do unto me.--Hebrews, xiii. 6.

    Since nature’s work be good, and death doth come
      As nature’s work, why should we _fear_ to die?
    Since _fear_ is vain, but when it may presume,
      Why should we _fear_ that which we cannot fly?
    _Fear_ is more pain than is the pain it _fears_,
      Disarming human minds of native might;
    While each conceit an ugly figure bears,
      Which were not ill well viewed in reason’s light.
                                        _Sir P. Sidney._

                          Persuade them then,
    _Fearless_ to be resolved to die like men;
    For want of such a resolution stings
    At point of death, and dreadful horror brings
    Ev’n to the soul; ’cause, wanting preparation,
    She dies, despairing of her own salvation.
    Yea, and moreover this full well know I,
    He that’s at any time _afraid_ to die,
    Is in weak case, and whatsoe’er he saith,
    Hath but a wavering and a feeble faith.
                                   _George Wither._

    _Fear_ on guilt attends, and deeds of darkness;
    The virtuous breast ne’er knows it.

                      Some, for _fear_ of want,
    Want all their lives; and others ev’ry day,
    For _fear_ of dying, suffer worse than death.
    Ah! from your bosoms banish if you can
    That fatal guest, I mean the demon _fear_,
    That trembles at impossible events,
    Lest aged Atlas should resign his load,
    And Heaven’s eternal battlements rush down.
    Is there an evil worse than _fear_ itself?
    And what avails it, that indulgent Heav’n
    From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come,
    If we, ingenious to torment ourselves,
    Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own?
    Enjoy the present, nor with needless cares
    Of what may spring from blind Misfortune’s womb
    Appal the surest hour that life bestows;
    Serene and master of yourself, prepare
    For what may come, and leave the rest to heaven.

    God’s altar grasping with an eager hand,
    _Fear_, the wild-visaged, pale, eye-starting wretch,
    Sure-refuged, hears his hot-pursuing fiends
    Yell at vain distance. Soon refreshed from Heaven,
    He calms the throb and tempest of his heart,
    His countenance settles; a soft solemn bliss
    Swims in his eye--his swimming eye upraised:
    And faith’s whole armour glitters on his limbs!
    And thus transfigured with a dreadless awe,
    A solemn hush of soul, meek he beholds
    All things of terrible seeming.

    Happy beyond description he
      Who _fears_ the Lord his God,
    Who hears His threats with holy awe
      And trembles at His rod.

    Let _fear_ and love, most holy God,
      Possess this soul of mine.
    Then shall I worship Thee aright,
      And taste Thy joys divine.

    My son, be this thy simple plan:
    _Fear_ God and love thy fellow-man;
    Forget not in temptation’s hour
    That sin lends sorrow double power:
    With hand, and brow, and bosom clear,
    _Fear_ God and know no other _fear_.


Shall the throne of iniquity have _fellowship_ with thee, which frameth
mischief by a law.--Psalm xciv. 20.

Have no _fellowship_ with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather
reprove them.--Ephesians, v. 11.

That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also
may have _fellowship_ with us; and truly our _fellowship_ is with the
Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ.--I. John, i. 3.

    We would not die in that man’s company,
    That fears his _fellowship_ to die with us.

                      From blissful bowers
    Of amaranthine shade, fountain or spring,
    By the waters of life where’er they sat.
    In _fellowship_ of joy.

    The blessings which the poor and weak can scatter
    Have their own season. ’Tis a little thing
    To give a cup of water; yet its draught
    Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips,
    May give a shock of pleasure to the frame,
    More exquisite than when nectarean juice
    Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
    It is but a little thing to speak a phrase
    Of common comfort, which by daily use
    Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear
    Of him who thought to die unmourned, ’t will fall
    Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
    With gentle tears; relax the knotted band
    To know the bonds of _fellowship_ again.

    O, sweet it is, through life’s dark way
      In Christian _fellowship_ to move,
    Illumed by one unclouded ray,
      And one in faith, in hope, in love.
                      _Charlotte Elizabeth._

    How sweet it is when friend with friend
      In holy _fellowship_ can walk!
    When thoughts and sympathies may blend,
      And hearts be open as their talk!
    Such will the preparation prove
    For lasting _fellowship_ above.


Moreover the word of the Lord came unto me saying, The hands of
Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this house; his hands shall also
_finish_ it.--Zechariah, iv. 8, 9.

When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, It is
_finished_; and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.--John, xix.

As he had begun, so he would also _finish_ in you the same grace
also.--II. Corinthians, viii. 6.

    He that of greatest works is _finisher_,
    Oft does them by the weakest minister.

        O prophet of glad tidings! _finisher_
    Of utmost hope.

    Though here you all perfection should not find,
    Yet it is all the Eternal will designed;
    It is a _finished_ work, and perfect in its kind.

    Hark! the voice of love and mercy
      Sounds aloud from Calvary!
    See! it rends the rocks asunder,
      Shakes the earth and veils the sky!
            “It is _finished_!”
      Hear the dying Saviour cry!

    “It is _finished_!”--O what pleasure
      Do those charming words afford!
    Heavenly blessings without measure
      Flow to us from Christ the Lord:
            “It is _finished_!”--
      Saints the dying words record.

    _Finished_ all the types and shadows
      Of the ceremonial law!
    _Finished_ all that God had promised;
      Death and hell no more shall awe:
            “It is _finished_!”--
      Saints from hence their comfort draw.

    Happy souls, approach the table,
      Taste the soul-reviving food;
    Nothing’s half so sweet and pleasant
      As the Saviour’s flesh and blood:
            “It is _finished_!”--
      Christ has borne the heavy load.
                               _J. Evans._


And the _flood_ was forty days upon the earth.--Genesis, vii. 17.

The Lord sitteth upon the _flood_: yea the Lord sitteth King for
ever.--Psalm xxix. 10.

For as in the days that were before the _flood_ they were eating and
drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noe
entered into the ark,

And knew not until the _flood_ came, and took them all away; so shall
also the coming of the Son of Man be.--Matthew, xxiv. 38, 39.

By faith _Noah_, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved
with fear, prepared an ark to the saving of his house; by which he
condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which is by
faith.--Hebrews, xi. 7.

God spared not the old world, but saved _Noah_, the eighth person, a
preacher of righteousness, bringing in the _flood_ upon the world of
the ungodly.--II. Peter, ii. 5.

                      He preached
    Conversion and repentance, as to souls
    In prison under dangers imminent:
    But all in vain, which, when he saw, he ceased
    Contending, and removed his tents far off,
    Then from the mountain hewing timbers tall,
    Began to build a vessel of huge bulk.

                  And now, the thickening sky
    Like a dark ceiling stood; down rushed the rain
    Impetuous, and continued till the earth
    No more was seen. The floating vessel swam
    Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow,
    Rode tilting o’er the waves; all dwellings else
    _Flood_ overwhelmed, and them, with all their pomp,
    Deep under water rolled; sea covered sea,
    Sea without shore; and in their palaces,
    Where luxury late reigned, sea monsters whelped
    And stabled. Of mankind, so numerous late,
    All left in one small bottom swam imbarked.

    Methinks I see a distant vessel ride,
    A lonely object on the shoreless tide,
    Within whose ark the innocent have found
    Safety, when stayed destruction ravens round;
    Thus, in the hour of vengeance, God, who knows
    His servants, spares them, while He smites His foes.
                                      _James Montgomery._

                    Sunk beneath the wave,
    The guilty share an universal grave;
    One wilderness of waters rolls in view,
    And heaven and ocean wear one turbid hue;
    Still stream unbroken torrents from the skies,
    Higher, beneath, the inundations rise;
    A lurid twilight glares athwart the scene,
    Now thunders peal, faint lightnings flash between.
                                    _James Montgomery._

    Down rush the torrents from above; the deep
    Opens in all its fountains, ceaseless, still
    Ceaseless: the muddy waters eddying fill
    The valleys. High on every mound and steep,
    In crowds, men, women, children, cattle, sheep,
      Stand shivering with dismay, the horrible
      Confusion eyeing; and, from hill to hill,
    They shout in agony, or shriek, or weep,
      In vain! the waters gain upon them. Lo!
    The ark careering past, their hands they stretch
    For help; and now you see some drowning wretch
      Pursue the sacred vessel; but in woe
    No pity must they have; so on they go.--
    Now all is one wide sea without a beach.

    Behold the awful Deity enthroned
    In darkness awful--inaccessible,
    And order almost unto chaos changed;
    Tremendous gloom! that blots the sun’s bright beams,
    And more than midnight horrors shroud the skies,
    The faint grey twilight gleaming thro’ the clouds,
    Discover, floating on a shoreless sea,
    The chosen eight embosom’d in the Ark,
    One family preserved to renovate
    The world, Jehovah’s judgments have destroyed.

           *       *       *       *       *

    But see the bow its new-created dyes
    Begin to beam propitious from the cloud--
    “Destructive waters shall no more prevail,
    No more become a _flood_ upon the earth.”
                                             _S. Hughes._


Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble.

He cometh forth like a _flower_, and is cut down.--Job, xiv. 1, 2.

As for man, his days are as grass: as a _flower_ of the field, so he
flourisheth.--Psalm ciii. 15.

Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and
yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like
one of these.

If then God so clothe the grass, which is to-day in the field, and
to-morrow is cast into the oven; how much more will He clothe you, O ye
of little faith.--Luke, xii. 27, 28.

Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted:

But the rich in that he is made low: because as the _flower_ of the
grass, he shall pass away.--James, i. 9, 10.

For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the _flower_ of
grass. The grass withereth, and the _flower_ thereof falleth away: but
the word of the Lord endureth for ever.--I. Peter, i. 24, 25.

    When with a serious musing I behold
    The grateful and obsequious marigold;
    How duly every morning she displays
    Her open breast. When Titan spreads his rays,
    How she observes him in his daily walk.
    Still bending towards him her small slender stalk.
    For when he down declines, she droops and mourns,
    Bedew’d as ’twere, with tears till he returns;
    And how she veils her _flowers_ when he is gone,
    As if she scorned to be looked on
    By an inferior eye, or did contemn
    To wait upon a meaner light than him.
    When thus I meditate, methinks the _flowers_
    Have spirits far more generous than ours;
    And give us fair examples to despise
    The servile fawning and idolatries
    Wherewith we court these earthly things below,
    Which merit not the service we bestow.
                                       _George Wither._

    To me the meanest _flower_ that blows can give
    Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

    Foster the good, and thou shalt tend the _flower_
      Already sown on earth;--
    Foster the beautiful, and every hour,
      Thou call’st new _flowers_ to birth.

                The enlivening sap,
    Obedient to Thy laws, through fitted tubes
    Ascends fermenting, and, at length, matured,
    Breaks forth in gems, and germinates in leaves.
    By Thee each family of _flowers_ is clothed
    In one unvarying dress, and breathes the same
    Transmitted essences; and though the loom
    No virgin fingers ply to swell her pride,
    The lily shines, more gorgeously arrayed
    Than monarchs, where the East, with hand profuse,
    Showers on their pomp barbaric, pearl and gold.

    There is a lesson in each _flower_,
    A story in each stream and bower;
    In every herb on which you tread
    Are written words, which, rightly read,
    Will lead you from earth’s fragrant sod,
    To hope, and holiness, and God.
                          _Allan Cunningham._

    When spring returns, the little children play,
    In the grave-yard of the cathedral grey,
      Busy as morning bees, and gather _flowers_--
      Daisies and gold-cups--of the hurrying hours
    Thoughtless as unsolicitous, though time
    Speeds like a spectre, and their playful prime
      Bears on to sorrow. Angel! cry aloud!
      Speak of the knell, the grave-worm and the shroud!
    No! let them play! for solitude and care
    Too soon will teach them what poor mortals are.
      Yes! let them play, but as their thoughts expand,
      May smiling pity lead them by the hand,
    When they look up, and in the clouds admire
    The lessening shaft of that aërial spire,
      So be their thoughts uplifted from the sod,
      Where time’s brief _flowers_ they gather to their God.
                                           _W. Lisle Bowles._

    This cottage door, this gentle gale,
      Hay-scented, whispering round,
    Yon path-side rose, that down the vale,
      Breathes incense from the ground,
    Methinks should from the dullest clod,
    Invite the thankful heart to God.

    But, Lord, the violet bending low,
      Seems better moved to praise;
    From us what scanty blessings flow,
      How voiceless close our days;--
    Father, forgive us, and the _flowers_
    Shall lead in prayer the vesper hours.
                          _James T. Fields._

    _Flowers!_ wherefore do ye bloom?
    --We strew the pathway to the tomb!
                        _J. Montgomery._

    God might have made the earth bring forth
      Enough for great and small--
    The oak tree and the cedar tree,
      Without a _flower_ at all.
    He might have made enough, enough,
      For every want of ours,
    For luxury, medicine, and toil,
      And yet have made no _flowers_.

    Our outward life requires them not,
      Then wherefore had they birth?
    To minister delight to man--
      To beautify the earth;
    To whisper hope, to comfort man,
      Whene’er his faith is dim;
    For whoso careth for the _flowers_,
      Will care much more for him.
                          _Mary Howitt._

    “See,” said Marian unto me,
      Standing by the cressy brook,
    “How my wealth of _flowers_ increaseth;
      Have they not a pleasant look?”

    “Deeper still,” I said unto her,
      “There the ceaseless worm alway
    Feeds upon the living _flower_,
      Drooping, drooping to decay.”

    “Deeper yet,” said Marian,
      “Love, and thank the love that giveth;
    In the death of every one,
      Future wealth uncounted liveth.”
                             _J. B. Kington._


The _fool_ hath said in his heart, There is no God.--Psalm xiv. 1.

I will hear what God the Lord will speak: for he will speak peace
unto his people, and to his saints: but let them not turn again to
_folly_.--Psalm lxxxv. 8.

The crown of the wise is their riches: but the _foolishness_ of _fools_
is _folly_.--Proverbs, xiv. 24.

Answer not a _fool_ according to his _folly_, lest thou also be like
unto him.--Proverbs, xxvi. 4.

Whosoever shall say, Thou _fool_, shall be in danger of hell
fire.--Matthew, v. 22.

    The rout is _folly’s_ circle which she draws
    With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
    That none decoy’d into that fatal ring,
    Unless by Heaven’s peculiar grace, escape.
    There we grow early grey, but never wise;
    There form connections, but acquire no friend;
    Solicit pleasure, hopeless of success;
    Waste youth in occupations only fit
    For second childhood; and devote old age
    To sports, which only childhood could excuse.

    Many there are who wear the cap and bells,
        And tread the maze of _folly_;
    And some who dwell apart in hermit cells
        With moping melancholy.
    Many there are who toil, and moil, and scrape,
        For gold they cannot keep;
    And many who from toil and care escape,
        Wrapped in a drunken sleep.
    Some of their brothers in their anger cry--
        Thou _fool_! nor heed the sin;
    And some their God and Saviour would deny
        Human applause to win.
    All this is _foolishness_, but worst of all
        The last mad _folly_,
    Building betwixt the soul and heaven a wall,
    Spreading o’er nature’s face a gloomy pall
        Of hopeless melancholy.


How long wilt thou _forget_ me, O Lord? for ever? how long wilt thou
hide thy face from me?--Psalm xiii. 1.

But Zion said, The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath _forgotten_

Can a woman _forget_ her sucking child, that she should not have
compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may _forget_, yet will I
not _forget_ thee.--Isaiah, xlix. 14, 15.

    Behold the inexorable hour at hand!
    Behold the inexorable hour _forgot_!
    And to _forget_ it, the chief aim of life;
    Though well to ponder it is life’s chief end.

      _Forget_ me not! _Forget_ me not!
    Thou utterest, Lord, from earth or skies,
    In glittering glory--rainbow dyes,
    And every breeze that sheds a balm
    On morning’s joy or evening’s calm,
      In open glade or lonely spot,
    Maintains a tongue to tell Thy power,
    And whispers in Thy name and hour,
      _Forget_ me not! _Forget_ me not!

      _Forget_ me not! _Forget_ me not!
    The record of Thy will doth say,
    Revealing Thee in glory’s ray,
    On Sinai’s mount with justice crowned,
    Throwing Thy awful thunders round,
      But most, when pitying the hard lot
    Of man, Thy Son rejoiced to die
    Upon the mount of Calvary,
      Thy voice was heard--_Forget_ me not!

      _Forget_ us not! _Forget_ us not!
    In that dread hour when tyrant death
    Shall gripe this form and stop its breath;
    Oh! in each struggling throe, that clay
    Feels when the soul is wrenched away,
      And it is left for earth to rot,
    Look down in mercy--Lord, be nigh,
    To curb the dying agony;
      We are but dust--_Forget_ us not!
                              _William Martin._


To the Lord our God belong mercies and _forgivenesses_, though we have
rebelled against him.--Daniel, ix. 9.

When ye stand praying, _forgive_, if ye have ought against any: that
your Father also which is in heaven may _forgive_ you your trespasses.

But if ye do not _forgive_, neither will your Father which is in heaven
_forgive_ your trespasses.--Mark, xi. 25, 26.

When they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they
crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the
other on the left.

Then said Jesus, Father, _forgive_ them; for they know not what they
do.--Luke, xxiii. 33, 34.

Be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, _forgiving_ one another,
even as God for Christ’s sake hath _forgiven_ you.--Ephesians, iv. 32.

    Though in the secret paths of sin I trod,
    Yet do not quite forsake me, O my God!
    ’Tis Thou alone canst ease me of my pain,
    Thy healing hand can wash out every stain,
    Can cleanse my soul, and make the leper clean.
    Speak, love divine, and bid the suppliant live,
    Oh, let mine ear but hail the word, “_Forgive!_”

    _Forgive_ thy foe;--nor that alone,
      His evil deed with good repay;
    Fill those with joy who leave thee none
      And kiss the hand upraised to slay.
                         _From the Persian._

    Good nature and good sense must ever join;
    To err is human, to _forgive_ divine.

    Great souls _forgive_ not injuries till time
    Has put their enemies into their power,
    That they may show _forgiveness_ in their own.

    My foemen, Lord, are fierce and fell,
      They spurn me in their pride;
    They render evil for my good,
      My patience they deride.

    Arise, O King! and be the proud
      To righteous ruin driven!--
    “_Forgive!_” an awful answer came,
      “As thou would’st be _forgiven_.”

    O thou unknown, Almighty cause
      Of all my hope and fear!
    In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
      Perhaps I must appear!

    If I have wandered in those paths
      Of life I ought to shun,
    As something, loudly, in my breast,
      Remonstrates I have done;

    Thou know’st that Thou hast formed me
      With passions wild and strong;
    And list’ning to their witching voice
      Has often led me wrong.

    Where human weakness has come short,
      Or frailty stept aside,
    Do Thou, All-Good! for such thou art,
      In shades of darkness hide.

    Where with intention I have err’d,
      No other plea I have,
    But Thou art good; and Goodness still
      Delighteth to _forgive_.

    _Forgiveness!_ ’tis a joyful sound,
      To rebel sinners doomed to die:
    Publish the bliss the world around;
      Ye seraphs shout it from the sky!

    ’Tis the rich gift of love divine;
      ’Tis full--outmeasuring every crime;
    Unclouded shall its glories shine,
      And feel no change by changing time.

    For this stupendous love of heaven,
      What grateful honour shall we shew?
    Where much transgression is _forgiven_,
      Let love with equal ardour glow.

    Cheered by the hope of pardoning grace,
      We come Thy mercy, Lord, to prove;
    Like weeping Mary, let us taste
      A pledge of Thy _forgiving_ love.

    She rose from her untroubled sleep,
      And put aside her soft brown hair,
    And in a tone as low and deep
      As love’s first whisper, breath’d a prayer.
    And there, from slumber soft and warm,
      Like a young spirit fresh from heaven,
    She bow’d her slight and graceful form,
      And humbly pray’d to be _forgiven_.

    Oh, God! if souls unsoiled as these
      Need daily mercy from Thy throne,
    If she, upon her bended knees,
      Our loveliest and purest one--
    She, with a face so clear and bright,
    We deem her some stray child of light;
      If she, with those soft eyes in tears,
      Day after day, in her first years,
    Must kneel and pray for grace from Thee,
    What far, far deeper need have we?
      How hardly if she win not heaven,
      Will our wild errors be _forgiven_?
                                   _N. P. Willis._

    When on the fragrant sandal tree
      The woodman’s axe descends,
    And she who bloomed so beauteously
      Beneath the keen stroke bends--
    E’en on the edge that brought her death,
    Dying, she breathes her sweetest breath,
    As if to token in her fall
    “Peace to her foes, and love to all.”
    How hardly man this lesson learns,
    To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;
    To see the blow, and feel the pain,
    But render only love again.
    This spirit ne’er was given on earth;
    One had it,--he of heavenly birth;
    Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,
    No curse He breathed, no plaint He made,
    But when in death’s deep pang He sighed,
    Prayed for his murderers--and died.


Of old hast thou laid the _foundation_ of the earth: and the heavens
are the work of thy hands.--Psalm cii. 25.

Thus saith the Lord God, Behold I lay in Zion for a _foundation_ a
stone, a tried stone, a precious corner stone, a sure _foundation_: he
that believeth shall not make haste.--Isaiah, xxviii. 16.

According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a wise master
builder, I have laid the _foundation_, and another buildeth thereon.
But let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon.

For other _foundation_ can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus
Christ.--I. Corinthians, iii. 10, 11.

    Why build ye on the unsteady sand,
    A worthless house that cannot stand?
    Behold, in winter’s stormy day,
    That frail support will glide away,
    And rising billows lightly sweep
    Your fortress to the yawning deep.
    God hath a sure _foundation_ given,
    Fix’d as the firm decrees of heaven:
    The changeless, everlasting rock,
    That braves the storm, and bides the shock;
    There build: the gates of hell in vain
    Against that rock their war maintain.
    Christ is the rock, the corner stone,
    Faith rears her beauteous house thereon;
    Adorn’d with works of willing love,
    And pointing to the scenes above;
    Where faith and hope their sway resign,
    Swallow’d in sight and joy divine.
                          _Charlotte Elizabeth._

    I built my house upon a rock,
      (Faith’s strong _foundation_ firm and sure,)
    Fixed my abode, the heaviest shock
      Of time and tempest to endure.

    Nor small, nor large, nor low, nor high,
      Midway it stands upon the steep,
    Beneath the storm-mark of the sky,
      Above the flood-mark of the deep.

    And here I humbly wait, while He
      Who pluck’d me from the lowest hell,
    Prepares a heavenly house for me,
      And calls me hence with Him to dwell.
                                   _J. Montgomery._


How excellent is thy loving-kindness, O God! therefore the children of
men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.

For with thee is the _fountain_ of life: in thy light shall we see
light.--Psalm xxxvi. 7, 9.

In that day there shall be a _fountain_ opened to the house
of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for
uncleanness.--Zechariah, xiii. 1.

I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give
unto him that is athirst of the _fountain_ of the water of life
freely.--Revelation, xxi. 6.

            He set before him spread
    A table of celestial food divine,
    Ambrosial fruits, fetched from the tree of life,
    And from the _fount_ of life ambrosial drink.

    Abused mortals! did you know
    Where joy, heart’s-ease, and comforts grow,
        You’d scorn proud towers,
        And seek them in these bowers,
    Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake,
    But blustering care could never tempest make,
        Nor murmurs e’er come nigh us,
        Saving of _fountains_ that glide by us.
                                  _Sir Walter Raleigh._

    How free the _fountain_ flows
      Of endless life and joy!
    The spring which no confinement knows,
      Whose waters never cloy.

    How sweet the accents sound
      From the Redeemer’s tongue!
    Assemble all ye nations round
      In one obedient throng.

    Ho, every thirsty soul
      Approach the sacred spring,
    Drink, and your fainting spirits cheer,
      Renew the draught and sing.

    Why should the soul a drop bemoan,
      Who has a _fountain_ near,--
    A _fountain_ which shall ever run
      With waters sweet and clear?


Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is;
that I may know how _frail_ I am.--Psalm xxxix. 4.

    But man with _frailty_ is allied by birth.
                                _Bishop Lowth._

      By nature peccable and _frail_ are we,
      Easily beguiled; to vice, to error prone;
      But apt for virtue too. Humanity
      Is not a field where tares and thorns alone
      Are left to spring; good seed hath there been sown
      With no unsparing hand. Sometimes the shoot
      Is choked with weeds, or withers on a stone;
      But in a kindly soil it strikes its root,
    And flourisheth, and bringeth forth abundant fruit.

    “How meanly dwells th’ immortal mind!
      How vile these bodies are!
    Why was a clod of earth designed
      T’ enclose a heavenly star?

    “Weak cottage where our souls reside,
      This flesh a tott’ring wall;
    With frightful breaches gaping wide,
      The building bends to fall.

    “All round it storms of trouble blow,
      And waves of sorrow roll;
    Cold waves and winter storms beat through,
      And pain the tenant soul.

    “Alas! how _frail_ our state!” said I;
      And thus went mourning on,
    Till sudden from the cleaving sky
      A gleam of glory shone.

    My soul felt all the glory come,
      And breathed her native air;
    Then she remembered heaven, her home,
      And she a prisoner here.

    Straight she begun to change her key,
      And joyful in her pains,
    She sang the _frailty_ of her clay
      In pleasurable strains.


He that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord’s
_freeman_: likewise also he that is called, being _free_, is Christ’s
servant.--I. Corinthians, vii. 22.

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you
_free_.--John, viii. 32.

If the Son therefore shall make you _free_, ye shall be _free_
indeed.--John, viii. 36.

As _free_, and not using your liberty for a cloak of maliciousness, but
as the servants of God.--I. Peter, ii. 16.

                          _Freely_ we serve,
    Because we _freely_ love, as in our will
    To love or not; in this we stand or fall.

    Yet gave me in this dark estate
      To see the good from ill,
    And, binding Nature fast in fate,
      Left _free_ the human will.

    Placed for his trial on this bustling stage,
    From thoughtless youth to ruminating age,
    _Free_ in his will to choose or to refuse,
    Man may improve the crisis, or abuse;
    Else, on the fatalist’s unrighteous plan,
    Say to what bar amenable were man?
    With nought in charge he could betray no trust;
    And if he fell, would fall because he must;
    If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike,
    His recompense in both unjust alike.

    Grace leads the right way: if you choose the wrong,
    Take it and perish, but restrain your tongue;
    Charge not, with light sufficient, and left _free_,
    Your wilful suicide on God’s decree.

    True _freedom_ is where no restraint is known
    That scripture, justice, and good sense disown,
    Where only vice and injury are tied,
    And all from shore to shore is _free_ beside.

                        Where had been
    The test of faith if the expanded arm
    Of Heaven, in glory and in power displayed,
    Had curbed the _freedom_ of the human will,
    Nor left the scope of choice!
                                 _Samuel Hayes._

            If, with streamy radiance, God
    Had dazzling beamed upon His creatures’ eyelids,
    And shown Himself to their unbandaged view,
    And with a voice divine to us had spoken,
    Destroying in our hearts the wondrous balance,
    (Man ceasing to be man had lost his _freedom_,)
    Our soul would not have struggled with our senses,
    And void of _freedom_ what would virtue be?
                             _Pulling, from Lamartine._

    For what is _freedom_, but the unfettered use
    Of all the powers which God for use had given?
    But chiefly this, Him first, Him last to view
    Through meaner powers and secondary things
    Effulgent, as through clouds that veil His blaze.

            Man (ingenious to contrive his woe,
    And rob himself of all that makes this vale
    Of tears bloom comfort) cries, If God foresees
    Our future actings, then the objects known
    Must be determined, or the knowledge fail:
    Thus liberty’s destroyed, and all we do
    Or suffer, by a fatal thread is spun.
    Say, fool, with too much subtilty misled,
    Who reasonest but to err, does Prescience change
    The property of things? Is aught thou seest
    Caused by thy vision, not thy vision caused
    By forms that previously exist? To God
    This mode of seeing future deeds extends,
    And _freedom_ with foreknowledge may exist.
                                      _George Bally._

    In a service which Thy will appoints
      There are no bonds for me;
    For my inmost heart is taught “the truth”
      That makes thy children “_free_;”
    And a life of self-renouncing love
      Is a life of liberty.
                               _A. L. Waring._


A _friend_ loveth at all times.--Proverbs, xvii. 17.

A man that hath _friends_ must shew himself _friendly_: and there is a
_friend_ that sticketh closer than a brother.--Proverbs, xviii. 24.

The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, Behold a man
gluttonous, and a winebibber, a _friend_ of publicans and sinners. But
wisdom is justified of her children.--Matthew, xi. 19.

Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that the _friendship_ of
the world is enmity with God? whosoever therefore will be a _friend_ of
the world is the enemy of God.--James, iv. 4.

    O world, thy slippery turns! _Friends_ now fast sworn,
    Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart;
    Whose hours, whose bed, whose meat, and exercise,
    Are still together; who twin, as ’t were, in love,
    Unseparable, shall within this hour,
    On a dissension of a doit, break out
    To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes,
    Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep,
    To take the one the other, by some chance,
    Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear _friends_,
    And interjoin their issues.

    Each _friend_ by fate snatched from us, is a plume
    Plucked from the wing of human vanity,
    Which makes us stoop from our aerial heights,
    And, damped with omen of our own decease,
    On drooping pinions of ambition lowered,
    Just skim earth’s surface, ere we break it up;
    O’er putrid earth to scratch a little dust,
    And save the world a nuisance.

    Heaven gives us _friends_ to bless the present scene;
    Resumes them to prepare us for the next.

    Celestial happiness! Whene’er she stoops
    To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds,
    And one alone, to make her sweet amends
    For absent heaven,--the bosom of a _friend_,
    Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft,
    Each other’s pillow to repose divine.

    A _friend_ is worth all hazards we can run,
    Poor is the _friendless_ master of a world;
    A world in purchase of a _friend_ is gain.
                                    _Dr. Young._

    _Friend_ of the _friendless_ and the faint!
    Where should I lodge my deep complaint?
    Where, but with Thee, whose open door
    Invites the helpless and the poor?
    Did ever mourner plead with Thee,
    And Thou refuse that mourner’s plea?
    Does not that word still fixed remain,
    That “none shall seek thy face in vain?”

    To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth,
    With power to grace them, or to crown with health,
    Our little lot denies; but Heaven decrees
    To all, the gift of minist’ring to ease:
    The gentle offices of patient love,
    Beyond all flattery, and all praise above;
    The mild forbearance of another’s fault,
    The taunting word suppress’d as soon as thought;
    On these Heaven bade the sweets of life depend;
    And crush’d ill fortune when she gave a _friend_.
    A solitary blessing few can find;
    Our joys with those we love are intertwined;
    And he whose wakeful tenderness removes
    Th’ obstructing thorn which wounds the breast he loves,
    Smoothes not another’s rugged path alone,
    But scatters roses to adorn his own.
                                              _Hannah More._

    There is a _Friend_, more tender, true,
      Than brother e’er can be,
    Who, when all others bid adieu,
      Remains--the last to flee;
    Who, be their pathway bright or dim,
    Deserts not those who turn to Him.

    The heart by Him sustained, though deep
      Its anguish, still can bear!
    The soul He condescends to keep,
      Shall never know despair;
    In nature’s weakness, sorrow’s night,
    God is its strength, its joy, its light.

    _Friend_ after _friend_ departs;
      Who hath not lost a _friend_?
    There is no union here of hearts
      That finds not here an end;
    Were this frail world our final rest,
    Living or dying none were blest.
                          _J. Montgomery._

    _Friendship_, thou charmer of the mind,
      Thou sweet deluding ill,
    The brightest minute mortals find,
       And sharpest hour we feel.

    Fate has divided all our shares
      Of pleasure and of pain;
    In love the comforts and the cares
      Are mixed and joined again.

    But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls,
      And drops of joy are few,
    This dear delight of mingling souls
      Serves but to swell our woe.

    Oh! why should bliss depart in haste,
      And _friendship_ stay to moan?
    Why the fond passion cling so fast,
      When every joy is gone?

    Yet never let our hearts divide,
      Nor death dissolve the chain;
    For love and joy were once allied,
      And must be joined again.

    Christ had His _friends_--His eye could trace
      In the long train of coming years,
    The chosen children of His grace,
      The full reward of all His tears.
    These are _friends_, and these are thine,
      If thou to Him hast bowed the knee;
    And where these ransomed millions shine
      Shall thy eternal mansion be.

    In yonder bright clime Christian _friendships_ of earth
      Shall live through eternity’s day,
    Shall blossom like plants in the land of their birth,
      But never to suffer decay.
                                               _W. J. Brock._


What shall it profit a man, if he shall _gain_ the whole world, and
lose his own soul.--Mark, viii. 36.

For me to live is Christ, and to die is _gain_.--Philippians, i. 21.

But what things were _gain_ to me, those I counted loss for
Christ.--Philippians, iii. 7.

Godliness with contentment is great _gain_.--I. Timothy, vi. 6.

Go to now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into such a
city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get _gain_.

Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow.--James, iv. 13, 14.

    I left the God of truth and light,
      I left the God who gave me breath,
    To wander in the wilds of night,
      And perish in the snares of death.

    In riches when I sought for joy,
      And placed in sordid _gain_ my trust,
    I found that gold was all alloy,
      And worldly pleasures fleeting dust.
                            _J. Montgomery._

    The Christian knows each cloud of grief
      Bears impress of his God;
    That love, he knows, will send relief
      Which sends the chastening rod.

    He suffers still:--God doth not spare;
      But, lo, He soothes his grief!--
    The Christian has a cross to bear,--
      But has a Christ’s relief!

    A crown was purchased by his cross,
      A Paradise by pain;
    And for His sake, each present loss
      Shall yield eternal _gain_.

    No more, my God, I boast no more
      Of all the duties I have done;
    I quit the hopes I held before,
      To trust the merits of Thy Son.

    Now for the love I bear His name,
      What was my _gain_ I count my loss;
    My former pride I call my shame,
      And nail my glory to His cross.


And the Lord God planted a _garden_ eastward in _Eden_; and there he
put the man whom he had formed.--Genesis, ii. 8.

Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called _Gethsemane_, and saith
unto his disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder.--Matthew,
xxvi. 36.

Jesus went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a
_garden_, into the which he entered, and his disciples.--John, xviii. 1.

In the place where he was crucified there was a _garden_; and in the
_garden_ a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid.

There laid they Jesus.--John, xix. 41, 42.

    The mighty Lord of heaven and earth,
      By Gihon’s pure and placid stream,
    That from the new-born hills came forth,
      To sparkle in the sun’s young beam--
      Upraised, all lovely as a dream
    To hearts of holy feeling given,
      The _garden_-bowers with joy that teem
    For the peculiar wards of heaven:--

    For man and woman--blessed pair!
      In innocence and beauty made:
    With sinless lips to breathe the air,
      Whose odorous gales around them played;
      With hearts as pure as dew-drops laid
    Within the rose’s virgin breast;
      With souls that never felt a shade
    Of gloom upon their prospects rest.

                    Bring the thrilling scene
    Home to thine inmost soul:--the sufferer’s cry,
    “Father, if it be possible, this cup
    Take thou away.--Yet not my will but thine:”
    The sleeping friends who could not watch one hour,
    The torch, the flashing sword, the traitor’s kiss,
    The astonished angel, with the tear of Heaven
    Upon his cheek, still striving to assuage
    Those fearful pangs that bowed the Son of God,
    Like a bruised reed. Thou who hast power to look
    Thus at _Gethsemane_, be still! be still!
    What are thine insect-woes, compared to His
    Who agonizeth there? Count thy brief pains
    As the dust atom on life’s chariot-wheels,
    And in a Saviour’s grief forget them all.
                                      _Mrs. Sigourney._

    The palm--the vine--the cedar--each hath power
      To bid fair oriental shapes glance by,
    And each quick glistening of the laurel bower
      Waft Grecian images, o’er fancy’s eye:
      But thou, pale olive! in thy branches lie
    Far deeper spells than prophet grove of old
      Might e’er enshrine:--I could not hear thee sigh
    To the wind’s faintest whisper, nor behold
      One shiver of thy leaves’ dim silvery green,
      Without high thoughts and solemn of that scene
    When in the _Garden_ the Redeemer prayed--
      When pale stars looked upon His fainting head,
      And angels, ministering in silent dread,
    Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade.

    How vainly men themselves amaze
    To win the palm, the oak, or bays;
    And their incessant labours see
    Crowned from some single herb or tree,
    Whose short and narrow-verged shade
    Does prudently their toils upbraid;
    While all the flowers and trees do close
    To weave the garlands of repose.

    Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
    And Innocence, thy sister dear?
    Mistaken long, I sought you then
    In busy companies of men.
    Your sacred plants, if here below,
    Only among the plants will grow.
    Society is all but rude
    In this delicious solitude.

    Here at the fountain’s sliding foot,
    As at some fruit tree’s mossy root,
    Casting the body’s vest aside,
    My soul into the boughs does glide;
    There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
    Then whets, and claps its silver wings;
    And, till prepared for longer flight,
    Waves in its plumes the various light.

    How well the skilful _gard’ner_ drew
    Of flow’rs and herbs the dial new,
    Where from above the milder sun
    Does through a fragrant zodiac run:
    And, as it works, the industrious bee
    Computes the time, as well as we.
    How could such sweet and wholesome hours
    Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers.
                            _Andrew Marvell._

    In a _garden_--man was placed,
      Meet abode for innocence,
    With his Maker’s image graced:
      --Sin crept in and drove him thence,
    Through the world, a wretch undone,
    Seeking rest and finding none.

    In a _garden_--on that night
      When our Saviour was betrayed,
    With what world-redeeming might,
      In his agony he prayed!
    Till he drank the vengeance up,
    And with mercy filled the cup.

    In a _garden_--on the cross,
      When the spear His heart had riven,
    And for earth’s primeval loss
      Heaven’s best ransom had been given,
    Jesus rested from His woes,
    Jesus from the dead arose.

    Emblem of the church above!
      Where, as in their native clime,
    ’Midst the _garden_ of His love,
      Rescued from the rage of time,
    Saints, as trees of life shall stand,
    Planted by His own right hand.
                          _J. Montgomery._


Thou hast also given me the shield of thy salvation: and thy
_gentleness_ hath made me great.--II. Samuel, xxii. 36.

Now I Paul myself beseech you by the meekness and _gentleness_ of
Christ.--II. Corinthians, x. 1.

But we were _gentle_ among you, even as a nurse cherisheth her
children.--I. Thessalonians, ii. 7.

The servant of the Lord must not strive; but be _gentle_ unto all men,
apt to teach, patient.--II. Timothy, ii. 24.

    _Gently_ I took that which _ungently_ came,
    And without scorn forgave:--Do thou the same.
    A wrong done to thee think a cat’s eye spark,
    Thou wouldest not see, were not thine own heart dark.
    Thine own keen sense of wrong that thirsts for sin,
    Fear that--the spark self-kindled from within,
    Which blown upon will blind thee with its glare,
    Or smother’d stifle thee with noisome air.
    Clap on the extinguisher, pull up the blinds,
    And soon the ventilated spirit finds
    Its natural daylight. If a foe have kenn’d,
    Or worse than foe, an alienated friend,
    A rib of dry rot in thy ship’s stout side,
    Think it God’s message, and in humble pride
    With heart of oak replace it;--thine the gains--
    Give him the rotten timber for his pains!

    I’ve thought of all this pride, and all this pain,
    And all the insolent plenitudes of power,
    And I declare, by this most quiet hour,
    Which holds in different tasks by the fire-light
    She, and my friends here, this delightful night,
    That power itself has not one half the might
    Of _Gentleness_. ’Tis want to all true wealth;
    The uneasy madman’s force, to the wise health;
    Blind downward beating, to the eyes that see;
    Noise to persuasion, doubt to certainty;
    The consciousness of strength in enemies,
    Who must be strain’d upon or else they rise;
    The battle to the moon, who all the while,
    High out of hearing, passes with her smile:
    The tempest, trampled in his scanty run,
    To the whole globe, that basks about the sun;
    Or as all shrieks and clangs, with which a sphere,
    Undone and fired, could rake the midnight ear,
    Compared with that vast dumbness nature keeps
        Throughout her starry deeps,
    Most old, and mild, and awful, and unbroken,
    Which tells a tale of peace beyond whate’er was spoken.
                                               _Leigh Hunt._

    Speak _gently_!--It is better far
      To rule by love than fear--
    Speak _gently_--let no harsh words mar
      The good we might do here!

    Speak _gently_--love doth whisper low
      The vows that true hearts bind;
    And _gently_ Friendship’s accents flow,--
      Affection’s voice is kind.

    Speak _gently_ to the little child!
      Its love be sure to gain;
    Teach it in accents soft and mild,
      It may not long remain.

    Speak _gently_ to the young, for they
      Will have enough to bear;
    Pass through this life as best they may,
      ’Tis full of anxious care!

    Speak _gently_ to the aged one,
      Grieve not the careworn heart;
    The sands of life are nearly run,
      Let such in peace depart.

    Speak _gently_, kindly, to the poor--
      Let no harsh word be heard;
    They have enough they must endure,
      Without an unkind word.

    Speak _gently_ to the erring--know
      They may have toiled in vain;
    Perchance unkindness made them so;
      Oh! win them back again.


Thou hast ascended on high, thou hast led captivity captive: thou hast
received _gifts_ for men; yea, for the rebellious also, that the Lord
God might dwell among them.--Psalm lxviii. 18.

That every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his
labour, it is the _gift_ of God.--Ecclesiastes, iii. 13.

The _gift_ of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our
Lord.--Romans, vi. 23.

Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable _gift_.--II. Corinthians, ix. 15.

    The King of light, Father of aged time,
    Hath brought about that day, which is the prime
    To the slow gliding months, when every eye
    Wears symptoms of a sober jollity;
    And every hand is ready to present
    Some service in a real compliment.
    While some in golden letters write their love,
    Some speak affection by a ring or glove,
    Or pins and points, (for e’en the peasant may,
    After his ruder fashion, be as gay
    As the brisk courtly Sir,) and thinks that he
    Cannot, without a gross absurdity,
    Be this day frugal, and not spare his friend
    Some _gift_, to show his love finds not an end
    With the deceased year.
                                     _Joshua Poole._

    Who _gives_, constrained, but his own fear reviles;
    Not thanked, but scorned; nor are they _gifts_, but spoils.

    Cheap _gifts_ best fit poor _givers_. We are told
    Of the lone mite, and cup of water cold,
    That, in their way, approved the offerer’s zeal.
    True love shows costliest where the means are scant,
    And, in her reckoning, they abound who want.
                                          _Charles Lamb._

    Largely Thou _givest_, gracious Lord,
    Largely Thy _gifts_ should be restored;
    Freely Thou _givest_, and thy word
        Is “Freely _give_.”
    He only who forgets to hoard
        Has learned to live.


And she named the child Ichabod, saying, The _glory_ is departed from
Israel.--I. Samuel, iv. 21.

Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to
_glory_.--Psalm lxxiii. 24.

When the Lord shall build up Zion he shall appear in his
_glory_.--Psalm cii. 16.

The wise shall inherit _glory_.--Proverbs, iii. 35.

For men to search their own _glory_ is not _glory_.--Proverbs, xxv. 27.

Enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, for fear of the Lord,
and for the _glory_ of his majesty.--Isaiah, ii. 10.

    T’ raise desert and virtue by my fortune,
    Though in a low estate, were greater _glory_,
    Than to mix greatness with a prince that owns
    No worth but that name only.

          When our souls shall leave this dwelling,
    The _glory_ of one fair and virtuous action
    Is above all the scutcheons on our tomb,
    Or silken banners over us.

    This is true _glory_ and renown, when God,
    Looking on the earth, with approbation marks
    The just man, and divulges him through heaven
    To all his angels, who with true applause
    Recount his praises: thus He did to Job,
    Who famous was in heaven, on earth less known;
    Where _glory_ is false _glory_ attributed
    To things not _glorious_, men not worthy of fame.
    They err who count it _glorious_ to subdue
    By conquest far and wide, to over-run
    Large countries, and in field great battles win,
    Great cities by assault; what do these worthies,
    But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
    Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,
    Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
    Than those their conquerors, who leave behind
    Nothing but ruin wheresoe’er they rove,
    And all the flourishing arts of peace destroy.
    But if there be in _glory_ aught of good,
    It may by means far different be attain’d,
    Without ambition, war, or violence;
    By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
    By patience, temperance.

    Much of the soul they talk, but all awry,
    And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves
    All _glory_ arrogate, to God give none.

    Thus the fond moth around the taper plays,
    And sports and flutters in the treacherous blaze;
    Ravished with joy he wings his eager flight,
    Nor deems of ruin in so clear a light:
    He tempts his fate, and courts a _glorious_ doom,
    A bright destruction, and a shining tomb.

    The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
      And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
    Await alike the inevitable hour;
      The path of _glory_ leads but to the grave.

    O, that mine eye might closed be,
    To what concerns me not to see;
    That deafness might possess mine ear,
    To what concerns me not to hear;
    That Truth my tongue might always tie
    From ever speaking foolishly;
    That no vain thought might ever rest,
    Or be conceived, in my breast;
    That by each word, and deed, and thought,
    _Glory_ may to my God be brought!
                             _Thomas Ellwood._

    Lift up your heads, ye gates that long endure!
    The King of _Glory_ comes victoriously!
    Who is the King of _Glory_? He, be sure,
    The Lord, renowned in battle! This is He!
    Lift up your heads, ye gates! He stands before ye;
    Oh ye æonian gates, uplifted be,
    And make to Him wide entrance whom adore ye.
    Who is the King ye herald? who but He,
    The Lord of Hosts? Who else is King of _Glory_?
                                        _J. A. Heraud._

    Wake, arm divine! awake
      Eye of the only wise!
    Now for Thy _glory’s_ sake,
      Saviour and God arise!


Thou art a _God_ ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger,
and of great kindness.--Nehemiah, ix. 17.

The mighty _God_, even the Lord, hath spoken, and called the earth from
the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof.

Our _God_ shall come, and shall not keep silence.--Psalm l. 1, 3.

And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our _God_; we have waited
for him, and he will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for him,
we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.--Isaiah, xxv. 9.

To whom then will ye liken _God_? or what likeness will ye compare unto
him?--Isaiah, xl. 18.

Prepare to meet thy _God_.--Amos, iv. 12.

_God_ is a spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit
and in truth.--John, iv. 24.

Without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: _God_ was
manifest in the flesh.--I. Timothy, iii. 16.

    To _God_ more glory, more good-will to men
    From _God_, and over wrath shall grace abound.

    The heavens are a point from the pen of His perfection;
    The world is a rosebud from the bower of His beauty;
    The sun is a spark from the light of His wisdom;
    And the sky a bubble on the sea of His power.
    His beauty is free from stain of sin,
    Hidden in a veil of thick darkness.
    He formed mirrors of the atoms of the world,
    And he cast a reflection from His own face on every atom!
    To thy clear-seeing eye whatsoever is fair,
    When thou regardest it aright, is a reflection from His face.
                                         _Jami, from the Persian._

    O Thou, whose power o’er moving worlds presides,
    Whose voice created and whose wisdom guides,
    On darkling man in pure effulgence shine,
    And cheer the clouded mind with light divine!

    ’Tis Thine alone to calm the pious breast,
    With silent confidence, and holy rest;
    From Thee, great _God_! we spring--to Thee we tend,
    Path, Motive, Guide, Original, and End.
                                         _Dr. Johnson_.

    Not _God_ alone in the still calm we find,
    He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.

      The _God_ that rules on high,
      That all the earth surveys,
    That rides upon the stormy sky,
      And calms the roaring seas--
      This awful _God_ is ours,
      Our Father and our love;
    He will send down His heavenly powers
      To carry us above.

    Spirit whose life-sustaining presence fills
    Air, ocean, central depths by man untried,
    Thou for Thy worshippers hast sanctified
    All place, all time! The silence of the hills
    Breathes veneration: founts and choral rills
    Of Thee are murmuring:--to its inmost glade
    The living forest with Thy whisper thrills,
    And there is holiness in every shade.
                                    _Mrs. Hemans._

    On earth there’s not a creature
      Too small, dear _God_, for Thee:
    Thou gav’st them form and feature,
      And Thine they aye must be.
          For Thee the bird sings,
          For Thee the fish springs,
          For Thee the bee hums,
          The gold-beetle drums,
    The little mouse pipes clear and fine;--
    We all are Thine, dear Lord; but Thine!
                          _Clemens Brentano._

    There is no _God_,--the fool in secret said;
    There is no _God_ that rules on earth or sky;
    Tear off the band that folds the wretched head,
    That _God_ may burst upon his faithless eye.
    Is there no _God_?--the stars in myriads spread,
    If he look up, the blasphemy deny,
    Whilst his own features, in the mirror read,
    Reflect the image of Divinity.
    Is there no _God_?--the silver stream that flows,
    The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees,
    The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,
    All speak of _God_; throughout one voice agrees,
    And eloquent His dread existence shows:
    Blind to thyself, ah! see Him, fool, in these.

            My _God_, to Thee belong
      Incense of praise and hallowed song;
    To Thee be all the glory given
    Of all my mercies under heaven;
    From Thee my daily bread and health,
    Each comfort, all my spirit’s wealth,
    Have been derived;--my sins alone,
    And errings, I can call mine own.

    What secret hand, at morning light,
      By stealth unseals mine eye,
    Draws back the curtain of the night,
      And opens earth and sky?

    ’Tis Thine, my _God_--the same that kept
      My resting hours from harm;
    No ill came nigh me, for I slept
      Beneath the Almighty’s arm.

    ’Tis Thine--my daily bread that brings,
      Like manna scattered round,
    And clothes me, as the lily springs
      In beauty from the ground.
                             _J. Montgomery._

    With years oppress’d, with sorrows worn,
    Dejected, harass’d, sick, forlorn,
      To Thee, O _God_, I pray;
    To Thee my withered hands arise;
    To Thee I lift my failing eyes:
      Oh! cast me not away!
                              _Sir R. Grant._

              Who spoke creation into birth,
    Arch’d the broad heavens, and spread the rolling earth;
    Who form’d a pathway for the obedient sun,
    And bade the seasons in their circles run;
    Who fill’d the air, the forest, and the flood,
    And gave man all for comfort, or for good.
                                          _Charles Sprague._


But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come
forth as _gold_.--Job, xxiii. 10.

The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the
Lord are true and righteous altogether.

More to be desired are they than _gold_, yea, than much fine
_gold_.--Psalm xix. 9, 10.

The trial of your faith, being much more precious that of _gold_ that
perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and
honour and glory, at the appearing of Jesus Christ.--I. Peter, i. 7.

I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of
heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure
_gold_, like unto clear glass.--Revelation, xxi. 2, 18.

    Never exceed thy income. Youth may make
    Even with the year; but age if it will hit,
    Shoots a bow short, and lessens still its stake,
    As the day lessens, and his life with it.
      Thy children, kindred, friends, upon thee call;
      Before thy journey fairly part with all.

    Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil;
    Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dim
    To all things else. Wealth is the conjurer’s devil;
    Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath him.
      _Gold_ thou mayest safely touch; but if it stick
      Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.

    To purchase heaven has _gold_ the power?
    Can _gold_ remove the mortal hour?
    In life can love be bought with _gold_?
    Are friendship’s pleasures to be sold?
    No--all that’s worth a wish--a thought--
    Fair virtue gives, unbrib’d, unbought.
    Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
    Let nobler views engage thy mind.
                               _Dr. Johnson._

    Oh, bane of man! seducing cheat!
    Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
    _Gold_ banish’d honour from the mind,
    And only left the name behind;
    _Gold_ sow’d the world with ev’ry ill,
    _Gold_ taught the murderer’s sword to kill;
    ’Twas _gold_ instructed coward hearts
    In treachery’s more pernicious arts.

    _Gold_, many hunted, sweat, and bled for _Gold_;
    Waked all the night, and laboured all the day.
    And what was this allurement dost thou ask?
    A dust dug from the bowels of the earth,
    Which, being cast into the fire, came out
    A shining thing that fools admired, and called
    A god; and in devout and humble plight
    Before it kneeled, the greater to the less;
    And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace,
    Truth, faith, integrity, good conscience, friends,
    Love, charity, benevolence, and all
    The sweet and tender sympathies of life;
    And to complete the horrid murderous rite,
    And signalize their folly, offered up
    Their souls and an eternity of bliss,
    To gain them--what? an hour of dreaming joy,
    A feverish hour that hasted to be done,
    And ended in the bitterness of woe.

    The deep damnation of the crowd, O _Gold_!
      Heapeth reproach upon thy innocent dust!
      “Evil’s prolific root,”--“Bribe of the just,”--
    “Strength of the false and cruel,”--“God, extoll’d
    By priests, by whom heaven’s pardoning grace is sold,”--
      Such are thy titles! while, with covetous lust,
    Men hoard the very ore they have befoul’d
      With the tongue’s obloquy of wordy rust,--
    Yet thou art sinless, _Gold!_ and bright, and bland,
      And fit for glorious offices; and blest,
    When put to uses holy. Oh, be sure
    The curse is not on thee; for ’tis the hand
      That toucheth thee doth thee with stains invest,
      Or maketh thee beneficent and pure!
                                           _Calder Campbell._

    That universal idol, _Gold_,
      In homage all unites;
    Without a temple, ’tis adored,
      And has no hypocrites.

    Nay, more, _Gold’s_ warmest devotees
      Strive most to hide their zeal;
    And he that loves this idol most,
      Would most that love conceal.


There be many that say, Who will shew us any _good_? Lord, lift Thou up
the light of Thy countenance upon us.--Psalm iv. 6.

There is not a just man upon earth, that doeth _good_, and sinneth
not.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 20.

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is _good_; and what doth the Lord
require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk
humbly with thy God.--Micah, vi. 8.

Do _good_ to them that hate you.--Matthew, v. 44.

As we have therefore opportunity, let us do _good_ unto all
men.--Galatians, vi. 10.

Hold fast that which is _good_.--I. Thessalonians, v. 21.

Therefore to him that knoweth to do _good_, and doeth it not, to him it
is sin.--James, iv. 17.

    How far the little candle throws his beams!
    So shines a _good_ deed in a naughty world.

    Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing _good_,
    Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours
    Are barren in return.

    Then to be _good_, is to be happy: angels
    Are happier than mankind, because they’re better.

    Take well whate’er shall chance, though bad it be,
    Take it for _good_, and ’twill be _good_ to thee.

                  _Good_, the more
    Communicated, more abundant grows;
    The author not impaired, but honoured more.

    Look round the world, behold the chain of love
    Combining all below, and all above;
    See plastic nature working to this end,
    The single atoms each to other tend,
    Attract, attracted to the next in place,
    Formed and impelled its neighbour to embrace;
    See matter next, with various life endued,
    Press to one centre, still the general _good_.

    A _good_ man and an angel! These between
    How thin the barrier? What divides their fate?
    Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year;
    Or if an age, it is a moment still,
    A moment, or eternity’s forgot.

    Who never felt the impatient throb--
    The longing of a heart that pants
    And reaches after distant _good_.

                  Sure the last end
    Of the _good_ man is peace!--how calm his exit!
    Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground,
    Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft!

    The _good_ are better made by ill,
    As odours crushed, are better still.

    As flowers which night, when day is o’er, perfume,
    Breathes the sweet memory from a _good_ man’s tomb.
                                     _Sir E. B. Lytton._

      When to the common rest that crowns our days,
      Called in the noon of life, the _good_ man goes,
      Or full of years, or ripe in wisdom, lays
      His silver temples in their last repose;
      When, o’er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows,
      And blights the fairest; when our bitterest tears
      Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close,
      We think on what they were, with many fears
    Lest _goodness_ die with them, and leave the coming years.
                                                _W. C. Bryant._

    Give credit to thy mortal brother’s heart
    For all the _good_ that in thine own hath part.
                                      _Mrs. Norton._

    Never despair of _goodness_. Men are bad,
    But have been worse. The badness shall die out,
    The _goodness_, like the thistle-down, shall float,
    Bearing a germ beneath its tiny car--
    A germ predestined to become a tree,
    To fall on fruitful soil, and on its boughs
    Bear seed enough to stock the universe.
                                       _Charles Mackay._


And He said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the
_gospel_ to every creature.--Mark, xvi. 15.

To the poor the _gospel_ is preached.--Luke, vii. 22.

For I am not ashamed of the _gospel_ of Christ; for it is the power of
God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and
also to the Greek.--Romans, i. 16.

The word of truth, the _gospel_ of your salvation.--Ephesians, i. 13.

If ye continue in the faith grounded and settled, and be not moved
away from the hope of the _gospel_, which ye have heard, and which was
preached to every creature which is under heaven.--Colossians, i. 23.

And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the
everlasting _gospel_ to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and
to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.--Revelation, xiv.

    O, I have seen, (nor hope perhaps in vain,
    Ere life go down, to see such sights again,)
    A veteran warrior in the Christian field,
    Who never saw the sword he could not wield;
    Grave without dulness, learned without pride,
    Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed;
    A man that would have foiled, at their own play,
    A dozen would-be’s of the modern day;
    Who, when occasion justified its use,
    Had wit as bright, as ready to produce;
    Could fetch the records of an earlier age,
    Or from philosophy’s enlightened page
    His rich materials, and regale your ear
    With strains it was a privilege to hear:
    Yet, above all, his luxury supreme,
    And his chief glory was the _gospel_ theme;
    There he was copious as old Greece or Rome,
    His happy eloquence seemed there at home,--
    Ambitious not to shine, or to excel,
    But, to treat justly what he loved so well.

    Behold His life, and learn from Him to live;
    In death still greater view thy dying Lord,
    And imitate that worth thou canst not reach.
    Smooth are His paths, and to conduct thy feet,
    The _Gospel’s_ holy light around thee sheds
    Its mild effulgence.
                                 _William Bolland._

    Gazing ever on the _Gospel_ light,
    That endless source of evidence and truth,
    Prove every doctrine by that golden rule,
    And “try the spirits if they be of God.”
                              _Mrs. Sigourney._

                      The _Gospel’s_ glorious hope,
    Its rule of purity, its eye of prayer,
    Its fort of firmness on temptation’s steep,
    Its bark that fails not, ’mid the storm of death,
    He spread before them, and with gentlest tone,
    Such as a brother to his sister breathes,
    His little sister, simple and untaught,
    Did urge them to the shelter of that ark
    Which rides the wrathful deluge.
                                     _Mrs. Sigourney._

    The moon is up! How calm and slow
      She wheels above the hill;
    The weary winds forget to blow,
      And all the world lies still.

    The way-worn travellers, with delight,
      The rising brightness see,
    Revealing all the paths and plains,
      And gilding every tree.

    It glistens where the hurrying stream
      Its little ripple leaves;
    It falls upon the forest shade,
      And sparkles on the leaves.

    So once, on Judah’s evening bills,
      The heavenly lustre spread;
    The _gospel_ sounded from the blaze,
      And shepherds gazed with dread.

    And still that light upon the world
      Its guiding splendour throws;
    Bright in the opening hours of life,
      But brighter at the close.

    The waning moon in time shall fail
      To walk the midnight skies,
    But God hath kindled _this_ bright light
      With fire that never dies.
                          _W. B. O. Peabody._


The Lord will give _grace_ and glory; no good thing will he withhold
from them that walk uprightly.--Psalm lxxxiv. 11.

The law was given by Moses, but _grace_ and truth came by Jesus
Christ.--John, i. 17.

We have access by faith into this _grace_ wherein we stand, and rejoice
in hope of the glory of God.--Romans, v. 2.

My _grace_ is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in
weakness.--II. Corinthians, xii. 9.

For the _grace_ of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all
men.--Titus, ii. 11.

Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of _grace_, that we may
obtain mercy, and find _grace_ to help in time of need.--Hebrews, iv.

    Pray for the health of all that are diseased,
      Confession unto all that are convicted,
    And patience unto all that are displeased,
      And comfort unto all that are afflicted,
    And mercy unto all that have offended,
    And _grace_ to all, that all may be amended.
                                _Nicholas Breton._

    The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with _Grace_,
    And there it revels, and when that decays,
    The guilty rebel for remission prays.

                              That word, _Grace_,
    In an un_gracious_ mouth, is but profane.

    Who God doth late and early pray,
      More of His _grace_ than gifts to lend;
    And entertains the harmless day
      With a religious book or friend;--
    This man is freed from servile bands
      Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
    Lord of himself, though not of lands,
      And having nothing, yet hath all.
                               _Henry Wotton._

    Prevenient _grace_ descending had removed
    The stony from their hearts.

    But _grace_, abused, brings forth the foulest deeds,
    As richest soil, the most luxuriant weeds.

    My stock lies dead, and no increase,
      Doth my dull husbandry improve;
    O let thy _grace_ still without cease,
                            Drop from above!

    The dew doth every morning fall,
      And shall the dew outstrip thy dove,
    The dew for which grass cannot call?
                            Drop from above!

    Death is still working like a mole,
      And digs my grave at each remove;
    Let _grace_ work too, and on my soul
                            Drop from above!

    Sin is still hammering my heart
      Unto a hardness void of love;
    Let suppling _grace_, to cross his art,
                            Drop from above!

    O come! for Thou dost know the way,
      Or if to me thou wilt not move,
    Remove me when I need, and say--
                            Drop from above!
                            _George Herbert._

    I want that _grace_ which springs from Thee,
      Which quickens all things where it flows,
    And makes a wretched thorn like me
      Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose.

    All-powerful _Grace_, exert thy gentle sway,
    And teach my rebel passions to obey;
    Lest lurking folly, with insidious art,
    Regain my volatile, inconstant heart!
                                   _Mrs. Carter._

    O God! how beautiful the thought,
      How merciful the bless’d decree,
    That _Grace_ can e’er be found, when sought,
      And nought shut out the soul from Thee.
    The cell may cramp, the fetters gall,
      The flame may scorch, the rack may tear;
    But torture, stake, or prison-wall,
      Can be endured with faith and prayer.
                                    _Eliza Cook._

    This _grace_ is ours: who asks in Thy great name,
    May ask for all; and with assurance claim
    The purchased pardon to believers given,
    The seal of mercy, and the hope of heaven.

                                    Every act
    Which shunned the trifling plaudit of mankind,
    Shall here to wondering millions be displayed,
    A monument of _grace_.
                                    _C. P. Layard._

    _Faith!_ anchor of the soul amid the storms
    Which vex and toss the ocean deep, which forms
    The pathway to that land of light and love,
    Which waits the ransom’d in the world above;
    While this life lasts, I fain would stay on thee;
    I shall not need thee in eternity.
    _Hope!_ be thou mine, while here on earth I rove,
    But only till I reach my home above:
    But _Charity!_ of christian _graces_ best,
    Ever increasing, blessing still and blest,
    Thou shalt remain when Faith and Hope shall cease,
    The source and fulness e’en of Heaven’s bliss!
    No period circumscribes my prayer for thee;
    Be mine on earth, and through eternity!
                                         _Mary Milner._

    _Grace!_ ’tis a charming sound,
      Harmonious to my ear;
    Heaven with the echo shall resound,
      And all the earth shall hear.

    _Grace_ first contrived a way
      To save rebellious man;
    And all the steps that _grace_ display
      Which drew the wondrous plan.

    _Grace_ taught my wand’ring feet
      To tread the heavenly road;
    And new supplies each hour I meet,
      While pressing on to God.

    _Grace_ all the work shall crown,
      Through everlasting days;
    It lays in heaven the topmost stone,
      And well deserves the praise.


The Lord killeth, and maketh alive: he bringeth down to the _grave_,
and bringeth up.--I. Samuel, ii. 6.

God will redeem my soul from the power of the _grave_: for he shall
receive me.--Psalm xlix. 15.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is
no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the _grave_, whither
thou goest.--Ecclesiastes, ix. 10.

I will ransom them from the power of the _grave_: I will redeem them
from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O _grave_, I will be thy
destruction.--Hosea, xiii. 14.

    When self-esteem, or other’s adulation,
    Would cunningly persuade us we are something
    Above the common level of our kind;
    The _grave_ gainsays the smooth-complexion’d flatt’ry,
    And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.

    Dull _grave_! thou spoil’st the dance of youthful blood,
    Strik’st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,
    And every smirking feature from the face;
    Branding out laughter with the name of madness.

    All at rest now--all dust!--wave flows on wave,
    But the sea dries not! What to us the _grave_?
    It brings no real homily; we sigh,
    Pause for awhile, and murmur “all must die;”
    Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more,
    Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore.
                                 _Sir E. B. Lytton._

    Oh! for a heart that seeks the sacred gloom
    That hovers round the precincts of the _tomb_!
    While fancy, musing there, sees visions bright,--
    In death discovering life, in darkness, light.

    What though the chilling blasts of winter’s day
    Forbid the garden longer to be gay?
    Of winter yet I’ll not refuse to sing,
    Thus to be followed by eternal spring.
                                     _Leigh Richmond._

    What is the _Grave_ of Pride? Is it to lie
    ’Neath sculptured marble, where the night-winds sigh
    Through solemn arches, and ’mid pillars tall,
    The while the pallid moonbeams coldly fall
    On shrine, and urn, and “animated bust,”
    The vain memorials all of “dust to dust?”
    Is it to lie with hands uprear’d in prayer,
    As many a warrior rests in sculpture rare;
    His banner floating o’er the chisell’d stone,
    ’Neath which, long ages since, he laid him down,
    To fear no battle-cry, nor trumpet call,
    Till on his startled ear the peal shall fall,
    That from the storied _tomb_, or daisied sod,
    Death’s sleepers shall awake to meet their God?
    Then will it seek not, if in minster-pile,
    While music roll’d through each time-honour’d aisle,
    And choral hymnings swell the flood of sound,
    That rose and fell through all the vaults around;
    Or if beneath some village yew-tree’s shade,
    The child of earth to his long rest were laid.
    The marble _tomb_ must yield its treasured trust,
    The grass-grown _grave_ give up the sleeping dust.
                                           _Mary Milner._

    I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
      The burial-ground, God’s Acre! It is just;
    It consecrates each _grave_ within its walls,
      And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust.

    Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
      In the sure faith that we shall rise again
    At the great harvest, when the Archangel’s blast
      Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

    ’Tis a blessing to live, but a greater to die,
    And the best of the world, is its path to the sky,--
    Be it gloomy or bright, for the life that He gave
    Let us thank Him--but blessed be God for the _grave_!
    ’Tis the end of our toil, ’tis the crown of our bliss,
    ’Tis the portal of happiness--aye, but for this,
    How hopeless were sorrow, how narrow were love,
    If they looked not from earth to the rapture above!
                                          _J. K. Mitchell._

    Come unto the churchyard near:
    Where the gentle, whispering breeze
    Softly rustleth through the trees;
    Where the moonbeam pure and white,
    Falls in floods of cloudless light,
    Bathing many a turfy heap
    Where the lowlier slumberers sleep;
    And the graceful willow waves,
    Banner-like, o’er nameless _graves_:
    Here hath prayer arisen like dew,--
    Here the earth is holy, too,
    Lightly press each grassy mound:
    Surely this is hallowed ground.
                          _M. A. Browne._

    Through these branched walks will contemplation wind,
    And grave wise Nature’s teachings on his mind;
    As the white _grave_-stones glimmer to his eye,
    A solemn voice will thrill him, “_Thou_ must die!”
    When autumn’s tints are glittering in the air,
    That voice will whisper to his soul “Prepare!”
    When winter’s snows are spread o’er hill and dell,
    “Oh, this is death!” that solemn voice will swell;
    But when with spring, streams leap, and blossoms wave,
    “Hope, Christian, hope,” ’twill say, “there’s life beyond the
                                               _Alfred B. Street._

    The voice of prayer at the sable bier!
    A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
    It commends the spirit to God who gave;
    It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark _grave_;
    It points to the glory where He shall reign
    Who whispered, “Thy brother shall rise again!”
                                     _Henry Ware, Jun._

    Yes! it is a certain sleep,
      Where dreams of woe can ne’er intrude;
    Ah! if no earthly passion creep
      Into its solemn solitude.

    If there at length we cease to feel
      Each pang, which living rends the breast;
    Who would not from this vain world steal
      Into the silent _grave_ to rest?
                                 _Arthur Brook._


Ascribe ye _greatness_ unto our God.--Deuteronomy, xxxii. 3.

_Great_ is the Lord, and _greatly_ to be praised; and His _greatness_
is unsearchable.--Psalm cxlv. 3.

Then there arose a reasoning among them, which of them should be

And Jesus perceiving the thought of their heart, took a child, and set
him by him,

And said unto them, Whosoever shall receive this child in my name
receiveth me; and whosoever shall receive me receiveth him that
sent me: for he that is least among you all, the same shall be
_great_.--Luke, ix. 46, 47, 48.

    O happy man, saith he, that lo I see
    Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields,
    If he but knew his good. How blessed he
    That feels not what affliction _greatness_ yields!
    Other than what he is who would not be,
    Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields.
    Thine, thine is that true life; that is to live,
    To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve.
                                       _Samuel Daniel._

            The good alone are _great_!
    When winds the mountain oak assail,
      And lay its glories waste,
    Content may slumber in the vale,
      Unconscious of the blast.
    Through scenes of tumult while we roam,
    The heart, alas! is ne’er at home;
      It hopes in time to roam no more.
    The mariner, not vainly brave,
    Combats the storm, and rides the wave,
      To rest at last on shore.

    Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,
      How vain your mask of state;
    The good alone have joy sincere,
      The good alone are _great_!
    _Great_, when amid the vale of peace,
    They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,
      And hear the voice of artless praise;
    As when along the trophied plain
    Sublime they lead the victor train,
      While shouting nations gaze.

      The wretched tumults that confound
    The soul, nor wealth can tell, nor kingly state;
    And stubborn are the cares that hover round
      The vaulted ceilings of the _great_.

    To meet life’s ills with soul serene,
      Treading the path our Saviour trod:
    To live as seeing things unseen,
      To walk and commune with our God;
    This is true _greatness_! worth divine!
      Giv’n by the Spirit and the Word
    To man! Thus grows that living shrine,
      Formed, hallowed, dwelt in by the Lord!
                    _Rev. W. M. Hetherington._

                      What though the _great_,
    With costly pomp, and aromatic sweets,
    Embalmed his poor remains; or through the dome
    A thousand tapers shed their gloomy light,
    While solemn organs to his parting soul
    Chaunted slow orisons; say, by what mark
    Dost thou discern him from the lowly swain,
    Whose mouldering bones beneath the thorn-bound turf,
    Long lay neglected.

    The truly _great_ are those who make least noise,
    And walk with humble looks upon the earth;
    They nor affect a swelling part, nor speak
    Big words, that make their hearers stand aside
    In silent awe, and clear an ample space,
    Like Liliputians for some Gulliver.
    _Greatness_ consists not in such empty gauds
    As dazzle and attract the public eye;
    It rests not on the breath of multitudes,
    For soothly hath the poet said--“The world
    Knows nothing of its _greatest_ men.” There went
    A _great_ man once about the daily paths
    Of life, and few there were that recognised
    The _greatness_ that in goodness dwelt; and still
    Small is the number unto whom this truth
    Is made apparent.


He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted
with _grief_: and we hid as it were our faces from Him: He was
despised, and we esteemed Him not.

Surely He hath borne our _griefs_, and carried our sorrows; yet we did
esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.--Isaiah, liii. 3, 4.

For the Lord will not cast off for ever:

For though He cause _grief_, yet will He have compassion according to
the multitude of His mercies.

For He doth not afflict willingly, nor _grieve_ the children of
men.--Lamentations, iii. 31, 32, 33.

For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure
_grief_, suffering wrongfully.--I. Peter, ii. 19.

    When _grief_ that well might humble, swells our pride,
    And pride increasing, aggravates our _grief_,
    The tempest must prevail till we are lost.

              Every _grief_ we feel
    Shortens the destined number; every pulse
    Beats a short moment of the pain away,
    And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees
    Time sweeps us off, and soon we shall arrive
    At life’s sweet period. Celestial point
    That ends this mortal story.

    We _grieve_ to think our eyes no more
      That form, those features loved, shall trace.
    But sweet it is from memory’s store
      To call each fondly-cherished grace,
      And fold them in the heart’s embrace.
    No bliss ’mid worldly crowds is bred,
    Like musing on the sainted dead.

    We _grieve_ to see expired the race
      They ran, intent on works of love;
    But sweet to think no mixture base,
      With which their better nature strove,
      Shall rear their virtuous deeds above.
    Sin o’er their soul has lost its hold,
    And left them with their earthly mould.
                                      _Bishop Mant._

    This is the curse of time. Alas!
      In _grief_ I am not all unlearned;
    Once thro’ mine own doors death did pass--
      One went who never hath returned.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Let _grief_ be her own mistress still,
      She loveth her own anguish deep,
    More than much pleasure. Let her will
      Be done--to weep or not to weep.

    Words weaker than your _grief_, would make
      _Grief_ more. ’Twere better I should cease;
    Altho’ myself could almost take
      The place of him that sleeps in peace.

    We overstate the ills of life, and take
    Imagination, given us to bring down
    The choirs of singing angels, overshone
    By God’s clear glory,--down our earth, to rake
    The dismal snows instead; flake following flake,
    To cover all the corn. We walk upon
    The shadow of hills, across a level thrown,
    And pant like climbers. Near the alder-brake
    We sigh so loud, the Nightingale within
    Refuses to sing loud, as else she would.
    O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin
    Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,
    The holy name of _Grief_!--holy herein,
    That by the _grief_ of One, came all our good.
                                      _Miss Barrett._

                  Warm, soft, motionless,
    As flowers in stillest noon before the sun,
    They lie three paces from him: such they lie
    As when he left them sleeping side by side,
    A mother’s arm round each, a mother’s cheeks
    Between them, flusht with happiness and love.
    He was more changed than they were, doomed to show,
    Thee and the stranger, how defaced and scarr’d
    _Grief_ hunts us down the precipice of years,
    And whom the faithless prey upon the last.
                                         _W. S. Landor._


For this God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our _guide_ even
unto death.--Psalm xlviii. 14.

The Lord shall _guide_ thee continually.--Isaiah, lviii. 11.

Will thou not from this time cry unto me, My father, thou art the
_guide_ of my youth?--Jeremiah, iii. 4.

                  That man
    May safely venture to go on his way,
    That is so _guided_, that he cannot stray.

    Though in the paths of death I tread,
    With gloomy horrors overspread,
    My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
    For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
    Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
    And _guide_ me through the dreadful shade.

    Difference of good and ill for men to know
    Was needless sure, while, with the fearless eye
    Of an obedient son, he might look up
    To the Almighty Father of his race,
    And claim his _guidance_.
                                         _John Hey._

        Whither midst falling dew,
    While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
    Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue
        Thy solitary way?

        Vainly the fowler’s eye
    Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
    As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
        Thy figure floats along.

        Thou’rt gone, th’ abyss of heaven
    Hath swallowed up thy form; yet in my heart
    Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
        And shall not soon depart.

        He who, from zone to zone
    _Guides_ through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
    In the long way that I must tread alone,
        Will lead my steps aright.

    I would not have the restless will
      That hurries to and fro,
    Seeking for some great thing to do,
      Or secret thing to know,
    I would be treated as a child,
      And _guided_ where to go.
                         _L. A. Waring._

    Here, where all climes their offerings send,
      Here, where all arts their tribute lay,
    Before thy presence, Lord, we bend,
      And for thy smile and blessing pray.

    For Thou dost sway the tides of thought,
      And hold the issues in thy hand,
    Of all that human toil has wrought,
      And all that human skill has plann’d.

    Thou lead’st the restless Power of Mind
      O’er destiny’s untrodden field,
    And _guid’st_ him wandering bold but blind,
      To mighty ends not yet revealed.

    _Guide_ me, O Thou great Jehovah,
      Pilgrim through this barren land!
    I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
      Hold me with Thy powerful hand!
            Bread of heaven,
      Feed me till I want no more.

    Open Thou the crystal fountain,
      Whence the healing waters flow!
    Let the fiery cloudy pillar
      Lead me all my journey through!
            Strong Deliv’rer!
      Be Thou still my strength and shield!

    When I tread the verge of Jordan,
      Bid my anxious fears subside;
    Death of death, and hell’s destruction,
      Land me safe on Canaan’s side!
            Songs of praises
      I will ever give to Thee.


The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and
abundant in goodness and truth.

Keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression, and
sin, and that will by no means clear the _guilty_.--Exodus, xxxiv. 6, 7.

The Lord will not hold him _guiltless_ that taketh His name in
vain.--Deuteronomy, v. 11.

Deliver me from blood-_guiltiness_, O God, thou God of my salvation:
and my tongue shall sing aloud of Thy righteousness.--Psalm li. 14.

For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he
is _guilty_ of all.--James, ii. 10.

    Amidst the royal race, see Nathan stand:
    Fervent he seems to speak, and lifts his hand;
    His looks the emotion of his soul disclose,
    And eloquence from every gesture flows.
    Such, and so stern he came, ordained to bring
    The ungrateful mandate to the _guilty_ king:
    When, at his dreadful voice, a sudden smart
    Shot through the trembling monarch’s conscious heart,
    From his own lips condemned, severe decree,
    Had his God proved as stern a Judge as he.
                                           _Bishop Lowth._

                    O, happy pair,
    Lords of fair Eden’s blooming range, where earth,
    Benignant parent, from her verdant lap
    Spontaneous pour’d immortal sweets, and gave
    Whate’er could minister delight! Too soon,
    Alas, this scene was closed: behold them now,
    So lately rich in happiness, and blessed
    With converse of the Living God, o’erwhelmed
    In misery, and tortured by the stings
    Of conscious _guilt_.
                                       _Samuel Hayes._

    _Guilt_ is a timorous thing, ere perpetration:
    Despair alone makes _guilty_ men be bold.

    And oh, that pang, where more than madness lies!
    The worm that will not sleep, and never dies;
    Thought of the gloomy day, and ghastly night,
    That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light:
    That winds around, and tears the quivering heart,
    Ah! wherefore not consume it and depart!

    Skeptic, whoe’er thou art, tell, if thou knowest,
    Why every nation, every clime, though all
    In laws, in rites, in manners disagree,
    With one consent expect another world
    Where wickedness shall weep? Why in each breast
    Is placed a friendly monitor, that prompts,
    Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
    Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends,
    Or joy on secret good? Why Conscience acts
    With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain
    Stands tottering on the precipice of death?
    Or why such horror gnaws the _guilty_ soul
    Of dying sinners, while the good man sleeps
    Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires?

    Come and see a sad example!
      Look on my unquiet shade;
    Start not, sure ’tis nought uncommon,
      When the bones in dust are laid,
    That the lonely restless spirit,
      Whom a sense of _guilt_ doth fill,
    Walks the earth with ceaseless labour,
      Seeking to undo the ill.

    I was fond of place and power,
      Grasped the wealth that was not mine,
    Seized the friendless stranger’s dwelling,
      Left him in despair to pine.
    Now, O where are all my riches!
      Come, the sad reverse behold,
    For this gain my soul is bartered;
      Can a spirit’s loss be told?
               _Lopez de Mendoza_ (_Spanish_).

    Oppress’d with _guilt_, a painful load,
    O come, and spread your woes abroad!
    Divine compassion, mighty love,
    Will all the painful load remove.

    Here mercy’s boundless ocean flows
    To cleanse your _guilt_, and heal your woes;
    Pardon, and life, and endless peace;
    How rich the gift! how free the grace!


As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.

_Happy_ is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not
be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.--Psalm
cxxvii. 4, 5.

Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways.

For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: _happy_ shalt thou be,
and it shall be well with thee.--Psalm cxxviii. 1, 2.

Behold we count them _happy_ which endure.--James, v. 11.

    How _happy_ is he born or taught,
      That serveth not another’s will;
    Whose armour is his honest thought,
      And simple truth his highest skill;

    Whose passions not his masters are;
      Whose soul is still prepared for death;
    Not ty’d unto the world with care
      Of princes’ ear, or vulgar breath;

    Who hath his life from rumours freed;
      Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
    Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
      Nor ruin make oppressors great;

    Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
      Or vice; who never understood
    How deepest wounds are giv’n with praise,
      Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

    Who God doth late and early pray
      More of his grace than gifts to lend;
    And entertains the harmless day
      With a chosen book, or friend.

    This man is free from servile bands
      Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
    Lord of himself, though not of lands,
      And having nothing, yet hath all.
                           _Sir Henry Wotton._

    He is a _happy_ man whose life, e’en now,
    Shows somewhat of that _happier_ life to come;
    Who, doomed to an obscure, but tranquil state,
    Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose,
    Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit
    Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
    Prepare for _happiness_; bespeak him one
    Content indeed to sojourn while he must
    Below the skies, but having there his home.
    The world o’erlooks him in her busy search
    Of objects more illustrious in her view;
    And, occupied as earnestly as she,
    Though more sublimely, he o’erlooks the world.
    She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
    He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.

    _Happiness_ depends, as Nature shows,
    Less on exterior things than most suppose.
    Vigilant over all that He has made,
    Kind Providence attends with gracious aid;
    Bids equity throughout His works prevail,
    And weighs the nations in an even scale.

    Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
    Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
    For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
    For patience, sovereign o’er transmuted ill;
    For faith, that, panting for a _happier_ seat,
    Counts death kind nature’s signal of retreat;
    These goods for man, the laws of Heaven ordain,
    These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain;
    With these, celestial wisdom calms the mind,
    And makes the _happiness_ she does not find.
                                           _Dr. Johnson._

    Ambition searches all its sphere
    Of pomp and state, to meet me there.
    Increasing avarice would find
    Thy presence on its gold enshrined.
    The bold adventurer ploughs his way
    Through rocks, amidst the foaming sea,
    To gain thy love; and then perceives,
    Thou art not in the rocks and waves.

           *       *       *       *       *

    No real _happiness_ is found
    In trailing purple o’er the ground.

    How long, ye miserably blind,
    Shall idle dreams engage your mind;
    How long the passions make their flight
    At empty shadows of delight?
    No more in paths of error stray,
    The Lord, thy Jesus, is the Way,
    The Spring of _happiness_, and where
    Should men seek _happiness_, but there?

    Consider man in every sphere,
    Then tell me is your lot severe?
    ’Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
    That makes you wretched: God is just:
    We’re born a restless, needy crew;
    Show me a _happier_ man than you?

    When are we _happiest_ then? O, when resigned
      To whatsoe’er our cup of life may brim;
    When we can know ourselves but weak and blind
      Creatures of earth; and trust alone in Him
    Who giveth, in his mercy, joy or pain;
                              Oh! we are _happiest_ then.
                                            _M. A. Brown._

    Object of my first desire,
      Jesus, crucified for me!
    All to _happiness_ aspire,
      Only to be found in thee;
    Thee to praise, and Thee to know,
    Constitute our bliss below!
    Thee to see, and Thee to love,
    Constitute our bliss above.

    True _happiness_ is not the growth of earth,
      The toil is fruitless if you seek it here;
    ’Tis an exotic of celestial birth,
      And never blooms but in celestial air.

    Sweet plant of Paradise! thy seeds are sown
      In here and there a mind of heavenly mould;
    It rises slow and blooms, but ne’er was known
      To ripen here--the climate it is too cold.

    One morning in the month of May,
      I wandered o’er the hill;
    Though nature all around was gay,
      My heart was heavy still.

    Can God, I thought, the good, the great,
      These meaner creatures bless;
    And yet deny our human state
      The boon of _happiness_?

    Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains,
      Ye blessed birds around,
    Where, in creation’s wide domains,
      Can perfect bliss be found?

    The birds wild carolled overhead,
      The breeze around me blew,
    And nature’s awful chorus said,
      No bliss for man she knew.

    I questioned Love, whose early day
      So heavenly bright appears;
    And Love in answer seemed to say
      His light was dimmed by tears.

    I questioned Friendship;--Friendship moaned,
      And thus her answer gave;
    The friends whom fortune has not turned,
      Were vanished in the grave.

    I asked if Vice could bliss bestow;
      Vice boasted loud and well;
    But fading from her pallid brow,
      The venomed roses fell.

    I questioned Virtue;--Virtue sighed,
      No boon could she dispense;
    Nor Virtue was her name she cried,
      But humble Penitence.

    I questioned Death; the grisly shade
      Relaxed his brow severe;
    And, “I am _Happiness_,” he said
      “If Virtue guides thee here!”
                                  _Bishop Heber._


The _harvest_ is past, the summer is ended, and we are not
saved.--Jeremiah, viii. 20.

Then saith he unto his disciples, The _harvest_ truly is plenteous, but
the labourers are few;

Pray ye therefore the Lord of the _harvest_, that he will send forth
labourers into his _harvest_.--Matthew, ix. 37, 38.

The _harvest_ is the end of the world; and the reapers are the
angels.--Matthew, xiii. 39.

        Life hath its seasons:
    And time, on a chariot of hours,
      Rolls to eternity’s gate
    Adown a dim valley, where flowers,
        Bereft of their beauty,
    Lie, withered and scattered by fate.

        Hearts have their _harvests_:
    And sorrow goes after the reapers
      To mildew the yellowing grain;
        While pity, in tears,
    Stands watching the labouring weepers
      Go reaping a _harvest_ of pain.

        Youth is the seed-time:
    The season of sunshine and showers,
      That nurtures the delicate germ
        Which, in life’s autumn,
    Will bring to our bosom sweet flowers,
      Or thorns and a cankering worm.

        God is the _harvest_:
    Whose sickle by mercy is wielded
      Among the ripe grain and the tares:
        Unto his garner
    The sheaves of the gleaner are yielded
      With _harvest_-home anthem and prayers.

    Then glory to the steel
      That shines in the reaper’s hand;
    And thanks to God, who has bless’d the sod,
      And crowns the _harvest_ land!
                                   _Eliza Cook._


Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that _hate_
him flee before him.--Psalm lxviii. 1.

_Hatred_ stirreth up strifes: but love covereth all sins.--Proverbs, x.

He that _hateth_ dissembleth with his lips, and layeth up deceit within
him.--Proverbs, xxvi. 24.

_Hate_ the evil, and love the good, and establish judgment in the
gate.--Amos, v. 15.

He that _hateth_ me _hateth_ my Father also.--John, xv. 23.

    I tell thee not the burning thunderbolt,
    When its fierce brow is lit in blasting flames,
    Stooping from its red chariot to sweep
    The earth, its angry voice is pealing o’er,
    Is half so deadly, or so sure as _hate_.
    Promethean _hate_! that can make cowards bold;
    Where he pursues it is in vain to flee;
    Where his form comes, a blight is on the earth;
    Where his hand strikes, life passeth, or is cursed;
    Where his eye glances, there despair comes down;
    Where his breath falls, all mercy vanisheth.
                                _Constantia L. Reddell._

    Blunted unto goodness is the heart which anger never stirreth,
    But that which _hatred_ swelleth, is keen to carve out evil.
    Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous failing of the just,
    The one degree that riseth above zeal, asserting the prerogatives
        of virtue;
    But _hatred_ is a slow continuing crime, a fire in the bad
        man’s breast,
    A dull and hungry flame, for ever craving insatiate.
    _Hatred_ would harm another; anger would indulge itself;
    _Hatred_ is a simmering poison; anger, the opening of the
    _Hatred_ destroyeth as the upas-tree; anger smiteth as a staff;
    _Hatred_ is the atmosphere of hell, but anger is known in
                                                   _Martin F. Tupper._


The hoary _head_ is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of
righteousness.--Proverbs, xvi. 31.

Even to your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you:
I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver
you.--Isaiah, xlvi. 4.

The very hairs of your _head_ are all numbered.--Matthew, x. 30.

    These hairs of age are messengers,
      Which bid me fast, repent, and pray;
    They be of death the harbingers,
      That doth prepare and dress the way;
    Wherefore, I joy that you may see
    Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.

    They be the lines that lead the length
      How far my race was for to run;
    They say my youth is fled with strength,
      And how old age is well begun;
    The which I feel, and you may see
    Such lines upon my _head_ to be.

    They be the strings of sober sound,
      Whose music is harmonical;
    Their tunes declare a time from ground
      I came, and bow thereto I shall;
    Wherefore I love, that you may see
    Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.

    God grant to those that white hairs have,
      No worse them take than I have meant;
    That after they be laid in grave,
      Their souls may joy, their lives well spent;
    God grant, likewise, that you may see
    Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.
                                       _Lord Vaux._

    _Head_ of the church triumphant,
      We joyfully adore thee!
    Till thou appear, Thy members here,
      Shall sing like those in glory.
      We lift our hands and voices,
      With blest anticipation,
    And cry aloud, and give to God
      The praise of our salvation.
                           _De Courcey._


_Heal_ me, O Lord, and I shall be _healed_: save me, and I shall
be saved: for Thou art my praise.--Jeremiah, xvii. 14.

But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise
with _healing_ in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as
calves of the stall.--Malachi, iv. 2.

And when Jesus was entered into Capernaum, there came unto Him a
centurian, beseeching Him,

And saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy,
grievously tormented.

And Jesus saith unto him, I will come and _heal_ him.--Matthew, viii.
5, 6, 7.

Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep-market a pool, which is called
in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches.

In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt,
withered, waiting for the moving of the water.

For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled
the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water
stepped in, was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.--John, v. 2,
3, 4.

    Around Bethesda’s _healing_ wave,
      Waiting to hear the rustling wing
    Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave
      Its virtues to the holy spring,--
    With earnest, fixed solicitude,
    Were seen the afflicted multitude.

    Among them there was one whose eye
      Had often seen the waters stirred;
    Whose heart had often heaved the sigh--
      The bitter sigh of hope deferred;
    Beholding, while he suffered on,
    The _healing_ virtue giv’n and gone;

    No pow’r had he; no friendly aid
      To him the timely succour brought;
    But while his coming he delayed,
      Another won the boon he sought;
    Until the Saviour’s love was shown,
    Which _healed_ him by a word alone.

    Bethesda’s pool has lost its power!
      No angel, by his glad descent,
    Dispenses that diviner dower
      Which, with its _healing_ waters, went;
    But He, whose word surpassed its wave,
    Is still omnipotent to save.
                                  _B. Barton._

    Oh! Thou who driest the mourner’s tear,
      How dark this world would be,
    If, when deceived, and wounded here,
      We could not fly to Thee!

    The friends who in our sunshine live,
      When winter comes are flown,
    And he who has but tears to give,
      May weep those tears alone.

    But Thou wilt _heal_ the broken heart,
      Which like the plants that throw
    Their fragrance from the wounded part,
      Breathe sweetness out of woe.

    Dread Omnipotence alone,
      Can _heal_ the wound He gave;
    Can point the brim-full, grief-worn eyes,
      To scenes beyond the grave.

    Thus ever in the steps of grief,
      Are sown the precious seeds of joy;
    Each fount of Marah hath a leaf,
      Whose _healing_ balm we may employ.
    Then, ’mid life’s fitful, fleeting day,
      Look up! the sky is bright above!
    Kind voices cheer thee on thy way!
      Faint spirit! trust the God of Love!
                    _Miss A. D. Woodbridge._

    _Heal_ me, for my flesh is weak;
    _Heal_ me, for thy grace I seek;
    This my only plea I make,
    _Heal_ me for thy mercy’s sake.

    Thou cam’st with _healing_ on thy wings,
      Oh, gentle gale of spring!
    Like one that some sweet message brings
      Of hope and comforting;
    So with a power to _heal_ the smart
    Of sin, comes grace unto the heart.


Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within
me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise Him, who is the _health_
of my countenance, and my God.--Psalm xlii. 11.

Pleasant words are as an honey-comb, sweet to the soul, and _health_ to
the bones.--Proverbs, xvi. 24.

Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there? why then is
not the _health_ of the daughter of my people recovered?--Jeremiah,
viii. 22.

I will restore _health_ unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds,
saith the Lord.--Jeremiah, xxx. 17.

    _Health_, brightest visitant from heaven,
      Grant me with thee to rest!
    For the short term by nature given,
      Be thou my constant guest!
    For all the pride that wealth bestows,
    The pleasure that from children flows,
    Whate’er we court in regal state
    That makes men covet to be great;

    Whatever sweets we hope to find
      In Love’s delightful snare;
    Whatever good by Heaven assigned,
      Whatever pause from care:
    All flourish at thy smile divine;
    The spring of loveliness is thine,
    And every joy that warms our hearts,
    With thee approaches and departs.
                      _Bland, from Alciphron._

    Slow wand’ring on the margin of the deep,
      I breathe the cheering gale of _health_ once more;
    And see the billows gently dash the steep,
      That rears its bold head on the sandy shore.

    Fresh looks the landscape with the dews of dawn;
      A bluish mist swims o’er the softened grove;
    The wanton deer bound lightly o’er the lawn,
      And every copse resounds with notes of love.

    The village-clocks proclaim the passing hour;
      The tall spires glitter to the early sun;
    The ploughman, whistling, quits his low-roofed bow’r,
      And now his peaceful labour is begun.

    Yet not this ocean, cheered with many a sail,
      Nor all these rural sounds, and pastures fair,
    To solace worn disease could aught avail,
      Or from his bosom chase the clouds of care.

    The merry morn no rapture could impart,
      Nor converse sweet of friends his hours beguile;
    In vain could beauty warm his aching heart,
      Or on his cold-wan cheek awake a smile.

    Yet oft we slight thy worth, O, blessed _Health_!
      Poor mortals as we are, till thou art flown;
    And thy sweet joys, more dear than fame or wealth,
      Touch not our hearts, but pass unfelt, unknown.

    The joys, without whose aid whate’er of blest,
      Or great, or fair, the heavens to man ordain,
    Is dull and tasteless to the unthankful breast,
      Love loveless, youth old age, and pleasure pain.
                                         _Rev. E. Hamley._

    What is life?--like a flower, with the bane in its bosom,
      To-day, full of promise, to-morrow it dies!
    And _health_ like the dewdrop that hung on its blossom,
      Survives but a night, and exhales to the skies:
    How oft ’neath the bud that is brightest and fairest,
      The seeds of the canker in embryo lurk!
    How oft at the root of the flower that is rarest,
      Secure in its ambush the worm is at work!
                                             _Dr. W. Beattie._

    Green pastures and clear streams,
      Freedom and quiet rest,
    Christ’s flock enjoy beneath his beams,
      Or in his shadow, blest.

    The mountain and the vale,
      Forest and field they range;
    The morning dew, the evening gale,
      Bring _health_ ev’ry change.

    The wounded and the weak
      He comforts, heals, and binds;
    The lost he came from heaven to seek,
      And saves them when he finds.
                            _J. Montgomery._


_Hear_ thou in heaven thy dwelling-place; and when thou _hearest_,
forgive.--I. Kings, viii. 30.

They are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her _ear_; which will not
hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.--Psalm
lviii. 4, 5.

He that planted the _ear_, shall he not _hear_?--Psalm xciv. 9.

Incline thine _ear_ unto wisdom.--Proverbs, ii. 2.

The _ear_ that _heareth_ the reproof of life abideth among the
wise.--Proverbs, xv. 31.

The _hearing ear_, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made even both of
them.--Proverbs, xx. 12.

Take heed what ye _hear_.--Mark, iv. 24.

Take heed therefore how ye _hear_.--Luke, viii. 18.

    This is the slowest, yet the daintiest sense;
      For even the _ears_ of such as have no skill,
    Perceive a discord, and conceive offence;
      And knowing not what’s good, yet find the ill.
    And though this sense first gentle music sound,
      Her proper object is the speech of men;
    But that speech, chiefly, which God’s heralds sound,
      When their tongues utter what His spirit did pen.
                                       _Sir John Davies._

    As Thou hast touched our _ears_, and taught
      Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain,
    Quell Thou each thankless, godless thought
      That would make fast our bonds again.
    From worldly strife, from mirth unblest,
    Drowning Thy music in the breast,
    From foul reproach, from thrilling fears,
    Preserve, good Lord, Thy servants’ _ears_.

    From idle words that restless throng,
      And haunt our hearts when we would pray,
    From pride’s false chime, and jarring wrong,
      Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way:
    For thou hast sworn that every _ear_
    Willing, or loath, Thy trump shall _hear_,
    And every tongue unchained be,
    To own no hope, O God, but Thee.


The hypocrites in _heart_ heap up wrath.--Job, xxxvi. 13.

The _heart_ knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not
intermeddle with his joy.--Proverbs, xiv. 10.

The _heart_ is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who
can know it?--Jeremiah, xvii. 9.

A new _heart_ also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within
you: and I will take away the stony _heart_ out of your flesh, and I
will give you an _heart_ of flesh.--Ezekiel, xxxvi. 26.

Blessed are the pure in _heart_: for they shall see God.--Matthew, v. 8.

A good man, out of the good treasure of his _heart_, bringeth forth
that which is good; and an evil man, out of the evil treasure of his
_heart_, bringeth forth that which is evil: for of the abundance of the
_heart_ his mouth speaketh.--Luke, vi. 45.

Hope maketh not ashamed, because the love of God is shed abroad in our
_hearts_ by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.--Romans, v. 5.

With the _heart_ man believeth unto righteousness.--Romans, x. 10.

That Christ may dwell in your _hearts_ by faith.--Ephesians, iii. 17.

    I care not, so my kernel relish well,
    How slender be the substance of my shell;
    My _heart_ being virtuous, let my face be wan,
    I am to God, I only seem to man.

    So now the soul’s sublimed, her sour desires
    Are re-calcined in Heaven’s well-tempered fires;
    The _heart_ restored, and purged from drossy nature,
    Now finds the freedom of a new-born creature;
    It lives another life, it breathes new breath,
    It neither fears nor feels the sting of death.

    Heaven’s Sovereign saves all beings but Himself
    That hideous sight--a naked, human _heart_.

    The Almighty, from His throne, on earth surveys
    Naught greater than an honest, humble _heart_;
    An humble _heart_, His residence! pronounced
    His second seat, and rival to the skies.

    Wash, Lord, and purify my _heart_,
    And make it clean in every part,
    And when ’tis clean, Lord, keep it too,
    For that is more than I can do.
                           _Thomas Ellwood._

    A temple of the Holy Ghost, and yet
    Oft lodging fiends; the dwelling-place of all
    The heavenly virtues--charity and truth,
    Humility, and holiness, and love--
    And yet the common haunt of anger, pride,
    Hatred, revenge, and passions foul with lust;
    Allied to heaven, yet parleying oft with hell.

    Consider well. The _heart_ is a deceiver,
    O, paltering with it, in some double sense,
    Thou’st shunned, perhaps, the word that would condemn thee,
    E’en while thy will was partner in the crime.

    Thou too, my _heart_, whom He, and He alone,
    Who all things knows, can know, with love replete,
    Regenerate and pure, pour all thyself
    A living sacrifice before His throne!
                                   _Christopher Smart._

    Walk in the light! and sin, abhorred,
      Shall ne’er defile again;
    The blood of Jesus Christ, the Lord,
      Shall cleanse from every stain.
    Walk in the light! and thou shalt find
      Thy _heart_ made truly His,
    Who dwells in cloudless light enshrined,
      In whom no darkness is.
                            _Bernard Barton._

                          All our actions take
    Their hues from the complexion of the _heart_,
    As landscapes their variety from light.
                          _William Thompson Bacon._

    Would’st thou the life of souls discern?
      Nor human wisdom nor divine
    Helps thee by aught beside to learn;
      Love is life’s only sign.
    The spring of the regenerate _heart_,
    The pulse, the glow of every part,
    Is the true love of Christ our Lord,
    As man embraced, as God adored.


The _heavens_ declare the glory of God.--Psalm xix. 1.

All the host of _heaven_ shall be dissolved, and the _heavens_ shall
be rolled together as a scroll: and all their host shall fall down, as
the leaf falleth off from the vine, and as a falling fig from the fig
tree.--Isaiah, xxxiv. 4.

Lay up for yourselves treasures in _heaven_, where neither moth nor
rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal;

For where your treasure is there will your heart be also.--Matthew, vi.
20, 21.

For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were
dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands,
eternal in the _heavens_.--II. Corinthians, v. 1.

An inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away,
reserved in _heaven_.--I. Peter, i. 4.

We, according to His promise, look for new _heavens_ and a new earth,
wherein dwelleth righteousness.--II. Peter, iii. 13.

    In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
      Not having Thee, what have my labours got?
    Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?
      And having Thee alone, what have I not?
    I wish not sea nor land; nor would I be
    Possessed of _Heaven_, _Heaven_ unpossessed of Thee.

                      Shall we serve _heaven_
    With less respect than we do minister
    To our gross selves?

    Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
    Rich in thy seven-fold energy!
    Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
    Whose power does _heaven_ and earth command.

    Inquirer cease, petitions yet remain,
    Which _heaven_ may hear, nor deem religion vain.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Still raise for good the supplicated voice,
    But leave to _heaven_ the measure and the choice.
                                        _Dr. Johnson._

    _Heaven_’s the perfection of all that can
    Be said or thought, riches, delight, or harmony,
    Health, beauty; and all these not subject to
    The waste of time, but in their height eternal.

    _Heav’n_ is a great way off, and I shall be
    Ten thousand years in travel, yet ’twere happy
    If I may find a lodging there at last,
    Though my poor soul get thither upon crutches.

    I sat, one day, upon a stone,
    ’Rapt in a musing fit, alone,
    And resting on my hand my head,
    Thus to myself, in thought, I said--
    “How in these times of care and strife,
    Shall I direct my fleeting life?
    Three precious jewels I require
    To satisfy my heart’s desire:
    The first is honour, bright and clear;
    The next is wealth; but (far more dear!)
    The third is _Heaven’s_ approving smile.”
    Then, after I had mused awhile,
    I saw that it was vain to pine
    For these three pearls in one small shrine;
    To find within one heart a place
    For honour, wealth, and _heavenly_ grace,
    For how can one, in days like these,
    _Heaven_ and the world together please?
      _Gostick, from Walter Von Der Vogelweide._

    As through the artist’s intervening glass
    Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
    A little we discover, but allow
    That more remains unseen than art can show:
    So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
    (Its feeble eye intent on things above,)
    High as we may we lift our reason up,
    By Faith directed, and confirmed by Hope:
    Yet we are able only to survey
    Dawnings of beams, and promises of day.
    _Heaven’s_ fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
    Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light:
    But soon the ’mediate clouds shall be dispelled;
    The sun shall then be face to face beheld,
    In all his robes, with all his glory on,
    Seated sublime on his meridian throne.

    Friends, even in _Heaven_, one happiness would miss,
    Should they not know each other when in bliss.
                                            _Bishop Ken._

    All hail! all hail! resplendent vault, so wondrously display’d,
    Abyss, where the Eternal’s hand the scattered scene array’d;
    He gave them light; His mighty hand suspended them alone;
    And ever from the chilling north, to India’s sultry zone,
    In every region of the west, and isle of southern sea,
    All raise, Oh! glorious firmament, their suppliant glance to thee!

    Vast sea of air, with countless gems, I love on thee to gaze!
    Oh empyreal space! Oh stars! I love your softened rays;
    Mysterious torches; ye have made the universe so bright!
    Yet from this temple far above, ye bring your borrowed light!
    What rapture fills thy spirit, borne on contemplation’s wing,
    What charms, oh, beauteous canopy! thy varied aspects bring.
                          _From the French of Anna H. P. Le Chatelain._

    This world is all a fleeting show,
      For man’s illusion given;
    The smiles of joy, the tears of woe
    Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,
      There’s nothing true but _heaven_.

    And false the light on glory’s plume,
      As fading hues of even,
    And love, and hope, and beauty’s bloom,
    Are blossoms gathered for the tomb:
      There’s nothing bright but _heaven_.

    To live in darkness--in despair to die--
      Is this indeed the boon to mortals given?
    Is there no port--no rock of refuge nigh?
      There is--to those who fix their anchor-hope in _heaven_.

    Turn then, O man! and cast all else aside;
      Direct thy wandering thoughts to things above--
    Low at the cross bow down--in that confide,
      Till doubt be lost in faith, and bliss secured in love.
                                                 _C. C. Colton._

    The world, in all its boasted grandeur proud,
      In all its stores of dazzling splendour bright,
    Is but a transient, unsubstantial cloud,
      Which the sun skirts with momentary light:
    Anon, the assailing winds impetuous rise,
      Black lowers the tempest in the sullen sky;
    Before the driving blast the vision dies,
      And all the vivid tints of splendour fly:
    Pass but a moment, every ray is gone:
    Nor e’en a vestige left where the bright glories shone.

    And shall we, for this visionary gleam,
      Degenerate, swerve from _Heaven’s_ immortal plan?
    Give up, for vanity’s light airy dream,
      The nobler heritage reserved for man?
    Though rocks their cragged heads in ambush hide,
      Though storms and tempests sweep the angry main,
    While Hope’s fair star shines forth, auspicious guide,
      E’en tempests, storms, and rocks oppose in vain.
    Safe, ’mid the ocean’s iterated force,
    The sacred vessel shapes her _Heaven_-directed course.
                                            _Samuel Hayes._

    There is an hour of peaceful rest,
      To mourning wanderers given;
    There is a tear for souls distrest,
    A balm for every wounded breast,
      ’Tis found above--in _heaven_!

    There is a soft, a downy bed,
      ’Tis fair as breath of even;
    A couch for weary mortals spread,
    Where they may rest their aching head,
      And find repose in _heaven_!


The wicked shall be turned into _hell_, and all the nations that forget
God.--Psalm ix. 17.

I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath
killed hath power to cast into _hell_.--Luke, xii. 5.

God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to _hell_,
and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto
judgment.--II. Peter, ii. 4.

    Divines and dying men may talk of _hell_,
    But in my heart her several torments dwell.

    _Hell_, their fit habitation, fraught with fire
    Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.

              Which way shall I fly,
    Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
    Which way I fly is _hell_; myself am _hell_;
    And in the lowest deep, a lower deep
    Still threatening to devour me opens wide,
    To which the _hell_ I suffer seems a heaven.

    _Hell_ hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
    In one self place; but where we are is _hell_;
    And where _hell_ is, there must we ever be;
    And, to be short, when all the world dissolves,
    And every creature shall be purified,
    All places shall be _hell_ that are not heaven.

    Will without power, the element of _hell_,
    Abortive all its acts returning still
    Upon itself; ... oh! anguish terrible!
    Meet guerdon of self-love, its proper ill!
    Malice would scowl upon the foe he fears;
    And he with lip of scorn would seek to kill;
    But neither sees the other, neither hears--
    For darkness each in his own dungeon bars,
    Lust pines for dearth, and grief drinks its own tears--
    Each in its solitude apart. Hate wars
    Against himself, and feeds upon his chain,
    Whose iron penetrates the soul it scars,
    A dreadful solitude each mind insane,
    Each its own place, its prison all alone,
    And finds no sympathy to soften pain.
                                             _J. A. Heraud._

    I’ll tell thee what is _hell_--thy memory
    Still mountained up with records of the past,
    Heap over heap, all accents and all forms,
    Telling the tale of joy and innocence,
    And hope, and peace, and love; recording, too,
    With stern fidelity, the thousand wrongs
    Worked upon weakness and defencelessness;
    The blest occasions trifled o’er or spurned;
    All that hath been that ought not to have been,
    That might have been so different, that now
    Cannot but be irrevocably past!
                                    Thy gangrened heart,
    Stripped of its self-worn mask, and spread at last
    Bare, in its horrible anatomy,
    Before thine own excruciated gaze!
                                         _D. P. Starkey._

                            The day
    Will come, when virtue from the cloud shall burst,
    That long obscured her beams; when sin shall fly
    Back to her native _hell_; there sink eclipsed
    In penal darkness, where nor star shall rise,
    Nor ever sunshine pierce the impervious gloom.

    In the human breast there dwell
      Warring passions fierce and dark,
    Making of their home a _hell_,
      Of the soul a driving bark
    On a wild tempestuous sea,
      Till too oft ’tis wrecked and driven
        Far away, far away!
        Hear the pitying angels say--
        Soul so lost, and tempest-tost,
        Upon _hell_ and death’s bleak coast,
      Far away from heaven!


And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone: I
will make him an _help_ meet for him.--Genesis, ii. 18.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present _help_ in
trouble.--Psalm xlvi. 1.

Give us _help_ from trouble: for vain is the _help_ of man.--Psalm lx.

Our _help_ is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and
earth.--Psalm cxxiv. 8.

    Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
      Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?
    Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between:
      Some gleams of sunshine ’mid renewing storms.
    Is it departing pangs my soul alarms?
      Or death’s unlovely, dreary, dark abode?
    For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms:
      I tremble to approach an angry God,
    And justly smart beneath His sin-avenging rod.

    Fain would I say, “Forgive my foul offence!”
      Fain promise never more to disobey;
    But should my Author health again dispense,
      Again I might desert from virtue’s way:
    Again in folly’s path might go astray;
      Again exalt the brute and sink the man;
    Then how should I for Heav’nly mercy pray,
      Who act so counter Heav’nly mercy’s plan?
    Who sin so oft have mourn’d: yet to temptation ran.

    O thou great governor of all below!
      If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
    Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,
      Or still the tumult of the raging sea;
    With that controlling power assist ev’n me,
      Those headlong furious passions to confine,
    For all unfit I feel my powers to be,
      To rule their torrent in th’ allowed line;
    O, aid me with Thy _help_, Omnipotence Divine!

    God, my supporter and my hope,
      My _help_ for ever near,
    Thine arm of mercy held me up,
      When sinking in despair.


The chief things of the ancient mountains, and for the precious things
of the lasting _hills_.--Deuteronomy, xxxiii. 15.

The _hills_ melted like wax at the presence of the Lord, at the
presence of the Lord of the whole earth.--Psalm xcvii. 5.

For the mountains shall depart, and the _hills_ be removed; but my
kindness shall not depart from thee, saith the Lord that hath mercy on
thee.--Isaiah, liv. 10.

Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the
_hills_, cover us.--Luke, xxiii. 30.

    Oh! my heart panteth to be far away,
    Amid the _hills_--the everlasting _hills_;
    For in my dreams last night a thousand rills
    And mountain torrents held resistless sway
    O’er my hush’d spirit; and the silent play
    Of golden lights and gleamy shadowings
    Chequer’d my veiled eyes, like seraphs’ wings,
    That fan the crimson light of fading day.
    I woke: the hum of traffic, and the din
    Of mercenary crowds, fill’d the calm air:
    I heard the voice of mendicant despair
    Echo the hollow laugh of reckless sin;
    And love was not, nor peace. Oh! let me win
    The _hills_, the eternal _hills_--for peace dwells there!
                                              _R. F. Housman._

      Oh! ye time-honoured _hills_,
    The ancient, the immortal is it not
    A high-born privilege ne’er to be forgot,
      To feel none of earth’s ills?

      Sublime are ye as heaven!
    Though bleak, not barren; silent, yet not dumb,
    From outgone shadows health and music come,
      And thronging thoughts are given!

      Not worthless is your aim,
    To stand from age to age, from hour to hour,
    The Almighty’s temple, token of his power,
      And record of His name.
                                   _W. Anderson._

    For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
      Our God, our fathers’ God!
    Thou hast made the children mighty,
      By the touch of the mountain sod.
    Thou hast fix’d our arch of refuge
      Where the spoilers foot ne’er trod;
    For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
      Our God, our fathers’ God.

    We are watchers of a beacon
      Whose lights must never die;
    We are guardians of an altar
      ’Midst the silence of the sky;
    The rocks yield founts of courage,
      Struck forth as by thy rod;
    For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
      Our God, our fathers’ God.

    For the dark resounding heavens,
      Where thy still small voice is heard,
    For the strong pines of the forests,
      That by thy breath are stirr’d;
    For the storms on whose free pinions
      Thy spirit walks abroad;
    For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
      Our God, our fathers’ God.

    The royal eagle darteth
      On his quarry from the heights,
    And the stag that knows no master
      Seeks there his wild delights;
    But we for thy communion
      Have sought the mountain sod;
    For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
      Our God, our fathers’ God!
                                     _Mrs. Hemans._

    Look up, my soul, toward the eternal _hills_;
      Those heavens are fairer than they seem,
    There pleasures all sincere glide in its crystal rills,
          There not a dreg of guilt defiles,
          Nor guilt disturbs the stream:
    There is no cursed soil, no tainted spring,
    No roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.


Thou art _holy_, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.--Psalm
xxii. 3.

_Holiness_ becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever.--Psalm xciii. 5.

Follow peace with all men, and _holiness_, without which no man shall
see the Lord.--Hebrews, xii. 14.

_Holy, holy, holy_, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to
come.--Revelations, iv. 8.

    Thrice _holy_ fount, thrice holy fire,
    Our hearts with heavenly love inspire.

    Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine,
    The sun of _Holiness_ shall shine.
                                _H. K. White._

    Lord, be it mine, like Thine elect, to choose
    The better part; like them to use
        The means Thy love hath given;
    Be _holiness_ my aim on earth;
    That death be welcom’d as a birth
        To life and bliss in heaven.
                                    _Bishop Mant._

    Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds
    Reflect such glory on the eye supreme,
    As the meek virtues of one _holy_ man;
    For ever doth his angel, from the face
    Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw;
    And in his prayer, what privilege adored!
    Mounting the heavens, and claiming audience there;
    Yes! there, amid a high, immortal host
    Of seraphs, hymning in eternal choir,
    A lip of clay its orisons can send,
    In temple, or in solitude outbreathed.
                                       _R. Montgomery._

    Ascribe ye _holiness_ unto the Lord;
    Not unto man, for he is never _holy_:
    The best of men, who walketh in the light
    Of a clear conscience, may not claim that title--
    That high distinction, only fit for those
    Who dwell with Him--the fount of _holiness_!


Man goeth to his long _home_, and the mourners go about the
streets.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 5.

And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go
bid them farewell, which are at _home_ at my house.--Luke, ix. 61.

Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at
_home_ in the body, we are absent from the Lord.--II. Corinthians, v. 6.

    Death is, no doubt, in every place the same;
    Yet nature casts a look towards _home_, and most,
    Who have it in their power, choose to expire
    Where first they drew their breath.

    ’Twas early day, and sunlight streamed
      Soft through a quiet room,
    That hushed, but not forsaken seemed,
      Still, but with nought of gloom.

    For there, secure in happy age,
      Whose hope is from above,
    A father communed with the page
      Of heaven-recorded love.

    Pure fell the beam and meekly bright
      On his gray holy hair,
    And touched the book with tenderest light,
      As if its shrine were there.

    But, oh, that patriarch’s aspect shone
      With something lovelier far;
    A radiance all the spirit’s own,
      Caught not from sun or star.

    Some word of life e’en then had met
      His calm benignant eye,
    Some ancient promise breathing yet
      Of immortality.

    Some heart’s deep language, where the glow
      Of quenchless faith survives;
    For every feature said, “I know
      That my Redeemer lives.”

    And silent stood his children by,
      Hushing their very breath,
    Before the solemn sanctity
      Of thoughts o’ersweeping death.

    Silent, yet did not each young heart
      With love and reverence melt;
    Oh blest be those fair girls, and blest
      That _home_ where God is felt.
                                 _Mrs. Hemans._

    Sweet is the smile of _home_; the mutual look
      When hearts are of each other sure;
    Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,
      The haunt of all affections pure;
    Yet in the world even these abide, and we
      Above the world, our calling boast:
    Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free;
      Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost.

    Yes, let the future smile or mourn,
      To us a glorious place is given,
    With the great church of the first-born,
      Whose names are registered in heaven.

    Beyond the bounds of time’s expansion,
      Where change and sorrow cannot come,
    We’re journeying to the promised mansion,
      Made ready in our Father’s _home_.

    Friends, kindred, loving and beloved,
      That wont on earth our lot to cheer,
    Thither are, one by one removed,
      And we shall find them settled there.

    Enough! though sin, and pain, and death,
      This transitory world infest,
    They who attain to Abraham’s faith,
      Shall be with faithful Abraham blest.

    Our God, to call us _homeward_,
      His only Son sent down;
    And now, still more to tempt our hearts,
      Has taken up our own.
                               _Thomas Ward._

    How sweetly flowed the gospel’s sound,
      From lips of gentleness and grace,
    When listening thousands gathered round,
      And joy and reverence filled the place.

    From heaven He came--of heaven He spoke,
      To heaven He led his followers’ way;
    Dark clouds of gloomy night He broke,
      Unveiling an immortal day.

    “Come wanderers to my Father’s _home_,
      Come, all ye weary ones, and rest!”
    Yes, sacred Teacher.--we will come--
      Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.

    _Home_ of the Christian! when Messiah comes
    A scene of Heaven in miniature art thou,
    Where all is redolent of charms divine,
    Temper renewed, and souls of grave becalmed.
    Thy quiet precincts of a purer world
    Breathe to the heart of faith, and, when compared
    With what the worldling in his home enjoys.--
    E’en like the vexing hum of some large street,
    Where all is haste and hurry, tramp and strife,
    In contrast with the unpolluted calm
    Of some cathedral, when a spirit’s hush
    Hath brooded--seems that worldlings’ noisy hour.
                                      _R. Montgomery._

    How sweet, bow consoling, when seasons of gloom
      Roll over the soul like the billowy spray,
    To view in the mansions of Heaven a _home_,
      Where sorrow and sighing shall vanish away.
                                      _W. J. Brock._

    And in our _home_ above there is a friend,
    More tender, true, more loving and sincere,
    Who knows each want, and every help will lend
    Our souls, through this world’s misery to steer;
    In danger’s path is present, ever near,
    Allures to brighter worlds, hath cleared the way,
    Will wipe from every cheek the sinner’s tear,
    Deigns in our hearts to claim a peaceful sway,
    And leads us to our _homes_ in realms of endless day.
                                     _Stuart Farquharson._


Let us walk _honestly_, as in the day.--Romans, xiii. 13.

Study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your
own hands, as we commanded you;

That ye may walk _honestly_ toward them that are without, and that ye
may have lack of nothing.--I. Thessalonians, iv. 11, 12.

Pray for us: for we trust we have a good conscience, in all things
willing to live _honestly_.--Hebrews, xiii. 18.

    A name scarce echo to a sound--_honesty_!
    Attend the stately chambers of the great--
    It dwells not there, nor in the trading world;
    Speaks it in councils? No, the sophist knows
    To laugh it thence.

    I ask not for his lineage,
      I ask not for his name--
    If manliness be in his heart,
      He noble birth may claim.
    I care not though of world’s wealth
      But slender be his part;
    If yes you answer, when I ask--
      Hath he a true man’s heart?

    I ask not from what land he came,
      Nor where his youth was nursed--
    If pure the stream, it matters not
      The spot from whence it burst:
    The palace or the hovel,
      Where first his life began,
    I seek not of: but answer this--
      Is he an _honest_ man?

    Nay, blush not now--what matters it
      Where first he drew his breath?
    A manger was the cradle-bed
      Of Him of Nazareth!
    Be nought, be any, every thing--
      I care not what you be--
    If yes you answer, when I ask--
      Art thou pure, true, and free?
                            _R. Nicoll._


Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands:

Sing forth the _honour_ of his name: make his praise glorious.--Psalm
lxvi. 1, 2.

I receive not _honour_ from men.--John, v. 41.

Jesus answered, If I _honour_ myself, my _honour_ is nothing; it is my
Father that _honoureth_ me; of whom ye say, that he is your God.--John,
viii. 54.

Render therefore to all their dues; tribute to whom tribute is
due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; _honour_ to whom
_honour_.--Romans, xiii. 7.

      The voice of nature, yea, the voice of God
      Commands to _honour_ those that gave us birth,--
      Even her, from whose supporting bosom flowed
      By far the sweetest stream that flows on earth;
      Whose tongue of kindness never knew a dearth
      Of soothing words that could our griefs allay--
      Even him who listened to our prattling mirth,
      Who early taught our infant lips to pray,
    And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom’s way:

      A parent is indeed a tender friend,
      And, if once lost, we never more shall find
      A bosom that so tremblingly can blend
      Its feelings with our own congenial mind;
      Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind
      That hurries heedlessly and wildly by--
      Our hearts, to lonely agony consigned,
      May thirst without relief--for no reply
    Comes from their mouldering breasts, that in their graves lie.

      And then we pause to think--alas! how late!
      Of deeds that wrung a parent’s heart with pain;
      And oh! could we but open death’s dark gate,
      And lead them back into the world again--
      Oh! but once more to see their face!--’tis vain!
      Once more to hear their voice!--’tis sweetly driven
      Across our fancy, and expires,--and then
      We wish ourselves away--away to heaven,
    To weep upon their breast, and there to be forgiven.

    _Honour_’s a sacred tie--the law of kings,
    The noble mind’s distinguishing perfection,
    That aids and strengthens virtue when it meets her,
    And imitates her actions where she is not.

    _Honour_ demands my song. Forget the ground
    My generous muse, and sit among the stars!
    There sing the soul that, conscious of her birth,
    Lives like a native of the vital world
    Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state
    Just to herself: how nobly she maintains
    Her character, superior to the flesh,
    She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows
    The brutal powers were born but to obey.

    This deity, whose altars reek with blood,
    Though millions bend the prostituted knee
    Before the radiant shrine, though millions own
    His power vindictive just, and call him _Honour_,
    All cannot sanctify what public good
    What nature’s moral dictates disavow,
    And Heaven’s almighty mandate impious deems.
                                       _Samuel Hayes._

    _Honour_--in blood congealed to take a life,
    Which had been murder in the heat of strife!
    _Honour_--when its result we dare not tell!
    _Honour_--to plunge a fellow’s soul to hell!
    _Honour_--to stand to be a murderer’s mark,
    And hurl defiance e’en with life’s last spark;
    To dare that law which has for ages stood--
    “He dies by man who sheds a brother’s blood!”
    Oh, in that moment when we all shall stand
    Waiting the judgment of the Almighty hand,
    Will then thy _honour_ palliate the crime,
    And Heaven’s high monarch hear the plea of time?
    Stript of those robes which make it _honour_ here,
    Before that throne the murder will appear,
    Disrobed of ornament the sin is there;
    The crime is Cain’s; why not his judgment share--
    An outcast on the earth, and in the Heaven,
    O God! can crimes like these be e’er forgiven?


Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose _hope_ is in
the Lord his God.--Psalm cxlvi. 5.

The Lord is my portion, saith my soul, therefore will I _hope_ in
Him.--Lamentations, iii. 24.

It is good that a man should both _hope_ and quietly wait for the
salvation of the Lord.--Lamentations, iii. 26.

If in this life only we have _hope_ in Christ, we are of all men the
most miserable.--I. Corinthians, xv. 19.

Which _hope_ we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast,
and which entereth into that within the veil.--Hebrews, vi. 19.

      Upon her arm a silver anchor lay,
    Whereon she leaned ever, as befel:
      And ever up to Heaven as she did pray,
      Her steadfast eyes were bent, not swerved otherway.

    _Hope_, eager _hope_, the assassin of our joy,
    All present blessings treading under foot,
    Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair.
    With no past toils content, still planning new,
    _Hope_ turns us o’er to death alone for ease.
    Possession why more tasteless than pursuit?
    Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
    That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss?
    Because in the great future buried deep,
    Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
    Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
    And He who made him, bent him to the right.

                  Rich _Hope_ of boundless bliss!
    Bliss, past man’s power to paint it; time’s to close!
    This _Hope_ is earth’s most estimable prize:
    This is man’s portion while no more than man:
    _Hope_, of all passions, most befriends us here;
    Passions of prouder name befriend us less.
    Joy has her tears, and transport has her death;
    _Hope_, like a cordial, innocent, though strong,
    Man’s heart at once inspirits and serenes;
    Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
    ’Tis all our present state can safely bear,
    Health to the frame, and vigour to the mind!
    A joy attempered! A chastised delight!
    Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet,
    ’Tis man’s full cup, his paradise below.

    _Hope_, with uplifted foot, set free from earth,
    Pants for the place of her ethereal birth;
    On steady wings, sails through the immense abyss,
    Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss,
    And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here,
    With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear.
    _Hope_, as an anchor, firm and sure, holds fast
    The Christian vessel, and defies the blast.

    Reflected on the lake, I love
      To see the stars of evening glow;
    So tranquil in the heavens above,
      So restless in the wave below.

    Thus heavenly _hope_ is all serene,
      But earthly _hope_, how bright soe’er,
    Still flutters o’er this changeful scene,
      As false, as fleeting as ’tis fair.
                               _Bishop Heber._

    Whose was that voice, that whispering sweet,
      Promised methought long days of bliss sincere;
      Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,
    Most like soft music that might sometimes cheat
      Thoughts dark and drooping! ’twas the voice of _hope_.
    Of love and social scenes it seem’d to speak:
    Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek;
      That hand in hand along life’s downward slope,
      Might walk with peace and cheer the tranquil hours:
      Ah me! the prospect sadden’d as she sung,
      Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung:
    Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers
      She built, while pointing to yon breathless clay,
      She cried, “No peace be thine, away, away!”
                                              _W. L. Bowles._

    Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
    The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
    Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
    Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
    Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
    Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
    The strife is o’er--the pangs of nature close,
    And life’s last rapture triumph’s o’er her woes.
    Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
    The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
    On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky,
    Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
    Wild as that hallow’d anthem sent to hail
    Bethlehem’s shepherds in the lonely vale,
    When Jordan hush’d his waves, and midnight still
    Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill!
    Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
    Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
    Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
    Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
    Doom’d on his airy path awhile to burn,
    And doom’d, like thee, to travel and return.

    A Heaven as bright, as blue, as mild, as calm,
    As thine own eye; the sun hath passed away,
    But left his mantle of transparent light
    To deck the gorgeous west, amid whose bright
    And purple depths I see a floating speck
    Of purest white, and now ’tis fixed, and now
    Swells into clearest beauty--’tis a star,
    Whose trembling orb seems shrinking from the light,
    Like a rebuked seraph’s eye, when drooped
    ’Neath the chastising glance; a bright ray shoots
    Up from its centre; gradual the star
    Severs before that ray, it parts--it spreads--
    And from its heart comes forth a gliding form,
    Surpassing all my mortal thought of beauty:--

           *       *       *       *       *

    ’Tis _Hope_! the enduring angel he has deigned
    To send upon the earth, that she may be
    Your comforter, that when despair comes down
    Upon your spirit, ye may flee to her,
    And in her cradling arms of safest rest
    Lay down your wearied heads upon her heart,
    Till your own souls have caught the light of hers;
    ’Tis she, whose fervent voice, and star-like eye,
    Shall string you to your toil of wrestling with
    The care of being; blessed be the name
    Of Him, whose mercy hath thus given ye
    A beacon to your path!
                           _Constantia Louisa Reddell._

    All _hope_ on earth for ever fled,
      A higher _hope_ remaineth;
    For while His wrath is o’er me shed,
      I know my Saviour reigneth.
    The worm may waste the withering clay,
      When flesh and spirit sever;
    My soul shall see eternal day,
      And dwell with God for ever!
                                 _T. Dale._

    She lights our gloom, she soothes our care,
      She bids our fears depart,
    Transmutes to gems each grief-fraught tear,
      And binds the broken heart!

    She glances o’er us from above,
      The brightest star that’s given,
    And guides us still, through faith and love,
      To endless peace, in Heaven.
                            _Anna Peyre Dinnies._

    The night is mother of the day,
      The winter of the spring,
    And ever, upon old decay,
      The greenest mosses cling.
    Behind the cloud the star-light lurks,
      Through showers the sunbeams fall;
    For God, who loveth all His works,
      Hath left His _Hope_ with all.
                          _J. G. Whittier._

    The world may change from old to new,
      From new to old again;
    Yet _Hope_ and Heaven, for ever true,
      Within man’s heart remain.

    The dreams that bless the weary soul,
      The struggles of the strong,
    Are steps towards some happy goal,
      The story of _Hope’s_ song.
                    _Sarah Flowers Adams._


I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the _house_ of the
Lord.--Psalm cxxii. 1.

Except the Lord build the _house_, they labour in vain that build
it.--Psalm cxxvii. 1.

It is better to go to the _house_ of mourning, than to go to the
_house_ of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living
will lay it to his heart.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 2.

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

In my Father’s _house_ are many mansions: if it were not so, I would
have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.--John, xiv. 1, 2.

    It is the Sabbath bell, which calls to pray’r,
      Ev’n to the _house_ of God, the hallow’d dome,
      Where He who claims it bids His people come
    To bow before His throne, and serve him there
    With pray’rs, and thanks, and praises: some there are
      Who bold it meet to linger now at home,
      And some o’er fields and the wide hills to roam,
    And worship in the temple of the air!
    For me, not heedless of the lone address,
      Nor slack to greet my maker on the height,
    By wood, or living stream; yet not the less
      Seek I His presence in each social rite
    Of His own temple: that He deigns to bless,
      There still He dwells, and there is His delight.
                                            _Bishop Mant._

    If in the family thou art the best,
    Pray oft, and be the mouth unto the rest;
    Whom God hath made the heads of families,
    He hath made priests to offer sacrifice.
    Daily let part of Holy Writ be read,
    Let as the body, so the soul have bread;
    For look, how many souls in thy _house_ be,
    With just as many souls God trusteth thee.
                           _Anonymous._ (1600.)

    If to the _house_ of God below
      Thou go’st with faith and holy love;
    Thy soul, released, may hope to go
      And dwell in God’s own _house_ above.


The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom: and before honour is
_humility_.--Proverbs, xv. 33.

Better is it to be of an _humble_ spirit with the lowly, than to divide
the spoil with the proud.--Proverbs, xvi. 19.

By _humility_, and the fear of the Lord, are riches, and honour, and
life.--Proverbs, xxii. 4.

A man’s pride shall bring him low: but honour shall uphold the _humble_
in spirit.--Proverbs, xxix. 23.

Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased: and he that shall
_humble_ himself shall be exalted.--Matthew, xxiii. 12.

All of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with _humility_:
for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the _humble_.--I.
Peter, v. 5.

    He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
    Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.
    In Haman’s pomp poor Mardocheous wept,
      Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe:
    The Lazar pined while Dives’ feast was kept,
      Yet he to Heaven, to hell did Dives go.
    We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May,
    Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away.
                                 _Robert Southwell._

    _Humble_ we must be, if to Heaven we go;
    High is the roof there, but the gate is low:
    Whene’er thou speak’st look with a lowly eye--
    Grace is increased by _humility_.
                                  _Robert Herrick._

    He that is down need fear no fall;
      He that is low, no pride;
    He that is _humble_ ever shall
      Have God to be his guide.

    _Humility_ is the softening shadow before the statue of
    And lieth lowly on the ground beloved and lovely as the violet:
    _Humility_ is the fair-haired maid that calleth worth her
    The gentle, silent nurse, that fostereth infant virtues:
    As when the blind man is nigh unto a rose its sweetness is herald
        of its beauty,
    So, when thou savourest _humility_, be sure thou art nigh unto

    When Mary chose the “better part,”
      She meekly sat at Jesus’ feet!
    And Lydia’s gently-opened heart,
      Was made for God’s own temple meet:
    Fairest and best adorned is she,
    Whose clothing is _humility_.

    The saint that wears heaven’s brightest crown,
      In deepest adoration bends;
    The weight of glory bows him down,
      Then most, when most the soul ascends:
    Nearest the throne itself must be
    The footstool of _humility_.
                                _James Montgomery._

    Pride, with haughty port, defies in vain
    The force of rough adversity, which rends
    With double violence the stubborn heart.
    But, like a tender plant, _Humility_
    Bends low before the threat’ning blast unhurt,
    Eludes its rage, and lives through all the storm.
    Pride is the livery of the prince of darkness,
    Worn by his slaves, who glory in their shame;
    A gaudy dress, but tarnish’d, rent and foul,
    And loathsome to the holy eye of heaven.
    But sweet _humility_, a shining robe,
    Bestowed by heaven upon its favourite sons;
    The robe which God approves and angels wear--
    Fair semblance of the glorious Prince of Light,
    Who stoop’d to dwell (divine _humility_!)
    With sinful worms, and poverty, and scorn.
    Pride leads her wretched votaries to contempt,
    To certain ruin, infamy, and death.
    But sweet _humility_ points out the way
    To happiness, and life, and lasting honours.
    _Humility_ how glorious! how divine!
    Thus clothed, and thus enrich’d, O may I shine;
    Be mine this treasure, this celestial robe,
    And let the sons of pride possess the globe.
                                        _Mrs. Steele._


And when they had sung an _hymn_, they went out into the Mount of
Olives.--Matthew, xxvi. 30.

    Whose business was to serve their Lord,
    High up in heav’n with songs to _hymn_ His throne.

           *       *       *       *       *

    They touched their golden harps, and _hymning_ praised
    God and His works.

      Then, kneeling down, to Heaven’s Eternal King
      The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
      Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
      That thus they all shall meet in future days:
      There ever bask in uncreated rays,
      No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear;
      Together _hymning_ their Creator’s praise,
      In such society yet still more dear,
    When circling time moves round, in an eternal sphere.

      They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
      They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
      Perhaps “Dundee’s” wild warbling measures rise,
      Or plaintive “Martyrs,” worthy of the name;
      Or noble “Elgin” feeds the heav’n-ward flame,
      The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays:
      Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
      The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
    Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise.

    There is no gloom on earth, for God above
              Chastens in love;
    Transmuting sorrow into golden joy,
              Free from alloy.
    His dearest attribute is still to bless,
    And man’s most welcome _hymn_ is grateful cheerfulness.
                                             _Horace Smith._

        Celestial voices
    _Hymn_ it unto our souls.
                 _R. H. Dana._


The _hypocrite’s_ hope shall perish.--Job, viii. 13.

The triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the _hypocrite_
but for a moment.--Job, xx. 5.

For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work
iniquity, to practise _hypocrisy_, and to utter error against the
Lord.--Isaiah, xxxii. 6.

When thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee as the
_hypocrites_ do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may
have glory of men.

When thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the _hypocrites_ are; for they
love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the
streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have
their reward.--Matthew, vi. 2, 5.

    So smooth he daubed his life with show of virtue,
    He lived from all attainder of suspect.

    _Hypocrisy_, detest her as we may,
    (And no man’s hatred ever wronged her yet)
    May claim this merit still, that she admits
    The worth of what she mimics with such care,
    And thus gives virtue indirect applause.

      Great day of revelation! in the grave
    The _hypocrite_ had left his mask, and stood
    In naked ugliness. He was a man
    Who stole the livery of the court of heaven
    To serve the devil in; in virtue’s guise,
    Devoured the widow’s house and orphan’s bread;
    In holy phrase, transacted villanies
    That common sinners durst not meddle with;
    At sacred feast, he sat among the saints,
    And with his guilty hands touched holiest things;
    And none of sin lamented more, or sighed
    More deeply, or with graver countenance,
    Or longer prayer, wept o’er the dying man
    Whose infant children, at the moment, he
    Planned how to rob.
                        Seest thou the man,
    A serpent with an angel’s voice! a grave
    With flowers bestrewed!

    I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl,
    The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,
    I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
    But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture
    Tell them--that God bids us do good for evil.
    And thus I clothe my naked villany,
    With old, odd ends, stol’n forth of Holy Writ.

    Wo to ye _Hypocrites_! ye insincere,
    Who shut the gates of heaven against mankind,
    And yet yourselves will never enter there--
    Wo to ye _Hypocrites_! your hearts are blind;
    The houses of the widow ye devour,
    And make long prayers, devotion ill-designed.
    The matters of the Law of gravest power--
    Omit ye;--Judgment--Mercy--Faith! and dole
    The petty tithe of your external dower:
    Not those omit,--nor these; but pay the whole!
    As righteous men ye do without appear,
    Within iniquity usurps the soul:
    Ye are e’en like a whited Sepulchre,
    Beautiful outward, hiding dead men’s bones;
    Uncleanness and corruption, everywhere.
                                    _J. A. Heraud._

                    Like the detested tribe
    Of ancient Pharisees, beneath the mask
    Of clamorous piety, what numbers veil
    Contaminated, vicious hearts! How many
    In the devoted temple of their God,
    With _hypocritic_ eye, from which the tear
    Of penitential anguish seems to flow,
    Pour forth their vows, and by affected zeal
    Pre-eminent devotion boast; while vice
    Within the guilty breast, rankles unseen.
                                 _Samuel Hayes._

                      These are they
    That prey upon the widow, and devour
    The orphan’s portion, mocking Heaven with prayers
    Ceaseless, and fasts, which will but more incense
    His anger, and bring down worse chastisement.
                                      _Charles Peers._


Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity
and _idolatry_.--I. Samuel, xv. 23.

What agreement hath the temple of God with _idols_?--II. Corinthians,
vi. 16.

Covetousness, which is _idolatry_.--Colossians, iii. 5.

    The sparkling flames, that burn in beaten gold,
      And, like the stars of heav’n in midst of night,
    Black Egypt, as her mirrors doth behold;
      Are but the dens where _idol_ snakes delight
      Again to cover Satan from their sight:
    Yet these are all their gods; with whom they vie,
    The crocodile, the cock, the rat, the fly:
    Fit gods indeed, for such men to be served by.
                                      _Giles Fletcher._

          Hear, Father! hear and aid!
          If I have loved too well, if I have shed,
          In my vain fondness, o’er a mortal head
    Gifts, on Thy shrine, my God, more fitly laid;
          If I have sought to live
          But in one light, and made a mortal eye
          The lonely star of my _idolatry_,
    Thou that art Love, oh! pity and forgive!
                                      _Mrs. Hemans._

    City of _idol_-temples, and of shrines
    Where folly kneels to falsehood--how the pride
    Of our humanity is here rebuked!
    Man, that aspires to rule the very wind,
    And make the sea confess his majesty;
    Whose intellect can fill a little scroll
    With words that are immortal: who can build
    Cities, the mighty and the beautiful:
    Yet man,--this glorious creature,--can debase
    His spirit down, to worship wood and stone,
    And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke,
    And tremble at his eye, for sacred things.
    With what unutterable humility
    We should bow down, thou blessed Cross, to thee,
    Seeing our vanity and foolishness,
    When, to our own devices left, we frame
    A shameful creed of craft and cruelty.
                                           _L. E. L._

    If, when the Lord of Glory was in sight,
      Thou turn thy back upon that fountain clear,
    To bow before the “little drop of light”
      Which dim-eyed men call praise and glory here:
    What dost thou, but adore the sun, and scorn
    Him at whose only word both sun and stars were born?

    If while around the gales from Eden breathe,
      Thou hide thine eyes, to make thy peevish moan
    Over some broken reed of earth beneath,
      Some darling of blind fancy, dead and gone,
    As wisely might’st thou in Jehovah’s fane
    Offer thy love and tears to Thammuz slain.

    Turn thee from these, or dare not to inquire
      Of Him whose name is Jealous, lest in wrath,
    He hear and answer thine unblest desire:
      Far better we should cross His lightning’s path,
    Than be according to our _idols_ heard,
    And God should take us at our vain word.

    Before the _idol_-monster was the blood
    Of man poured out by man. No mother there
    Blessed the fair skies which smiled upon her babe,
    But hastened rather, with unnatural hand,
    To crush the unfolding life, and turn aside
    The dark inheritance of woe and pain,
    Ere yet the unconscious victim owned its doom.
                                        _A. Alexander._

    And still from Him we turn away,
      And fill our hearts with worthless things;
    The fires of avarice melt the clay,
      And forth the _idol_ springs!
    Ambition’s flame, and passion’s heat,
      By wondrous alchemy transmute
      Earth’s dross, to raise some gilded brute
    To fill Jehovah’s seat.
                                  _J. H. Clinch._

    _Idol_-worshippers are we,
    Bowing evermore heart and knee
    Unto stone and unto stock;
    Thus the living God we mock.
    Who shall say his heart is free
    From this foul _idolatry_?


So God created man in his own _image_, in the _image_ of God created he
him; male and female created he them.--Genesis, i. 27.

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven _image_, or any likeness of
anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or
that is in the water under the earth:

Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord
thy God am a jealous God.--Exodus, xx. 4, 5.

As we have borne the _image_ of the earthy, we shall also bear the
_image_ of the heavenly.--I. Corinthians, xv. 49.

    For what had all this all, which man in one,
      Did not unite; the earth, air, water, fire,
    Life, sense, and spirit; nay, the pow’rful throne
      Of the Divinest Essence did retire;
      And his own _Image_ into clay inspire;
    So that this creature well might called be,
    Of the great world the small epitome;
    Of the dead world, the life, and small anatome.
                                     _Giles Fletcher._

    Thou man Thy _image_ mad’st, in dignity,
    In knowledge and in beauty like to Thee;
    Placed in a heaven on earth; without his toil,
    The ever flourishing and fruitful soil
    Unpurchased food produced; all creatures were
    His subjects, serving more for love than fear.

    He made us to His _image_ all agree;
    That _image_ is the soul, and that must be,
    Or not the Maker’s _image_, or be free.

    Outcasts of mortal race! can we conceive
    _Image_ of aught delightful, soft, or great.

    Poor man! How happy once in thy first state!
    When yet but warm from thy great Maker’s hand,
    He stamped thee with His _image_, and well pleased,
    Smiled on his last fair work!

    God spake: He look’d on earth and heaven
      With mild and generous eye;
    In his own _image_ man he made,
    And gave him dignity.


To them who by patient continuance in well doing seek for glory and
honour and _immortality_, eternal life.--Romans, ii. 7.

This corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on
_immortality_.--I. Corinthians, xv. 53.

Our Saviour Jesus Christ, who hath abolished death, and hath brought
life and _immortality_ to light through the gospel.--II. Timothy, i. 10.

    _Immortal_ honour, endless fame
    Attend the Almighty Father’s name.

      Thy nature, _immortality_! who knows?
    And yet who knows it not? It is but life
    In stronger thread of brighter colour spun,
    And spun for ever, dipt by cruel fate
    In Stygian die, how black, how brittle here!
    How short our correspondence with the sun!
    And while it lasts, Inglorious! Our best deeds,
    How wanting in their weight! our highest joys,
    Small cordials to support us in our pain,
    And give us strength to suffer. But how great
    To mingle interests, converse, amities,
    With all the sons of reason, scatter’d wide
    Through habitable space, wherever born,
    Howe’er endowed! To live free citizens
    Of universal nature! To lay hold
    By more than feeble faith on the Supreme!
    To call heaven’s rich unfathomable mines
    (Mines, which support archangels in their state,)
    Our own! To rise in science as in bliss,
    Initiate in the secrets of the skies!
    To read creation; read its mighty plan
    In the bare bosom of the Deity!
    The plan, and execution, to collate!
    To see, before each glance of piercing thought,
    All cloud, all shadow blown remote; and leave
    No mystery--but that of love divine,
    Which lifts us on the Seraph’s flaming wing,
    From earth’s aceldama, this field of blood,
    Of inward anguish, and of outward ill,
    From darkness, and from dust, to such a scene!
    Love’s element! True joy’s illustrious house!
    From earth’s sad contrast (now deplor’d) more fair!
    What exquisite vicissitude of fate!
    Blest absolution of our blackest hour!

    Man’s soul _immortal_ is; whilst here they live,
    The purest minds for perfect knowledge strive;
    Which is the knowledge of that glorious God,
    From whom all life proceeds: in this abode
    Of flesh, the soul can never reach so high,
    So reason tells us. If the soul then die,
    When from the body’s bonds she takes her flight,
    Her unfulfilled desire is frustrate quite,
    And so bestowed in vain! It follows then,
    The best desires, unto the best of men,
    The Great Creator did in vain dispense,
    Or else the soul must live when gone from hence,
    And if it live after the body fall,
    What reason proves that it must die at all?
                                        _Thomas May._

    Strong as the death it masters, is the hope
    That onward looks to _immortality_:
    Let the frame perish, so the soul survive,
    Pure, spiritual, and loving. I believe
    The grave exalts, not separates, the ties
    That hold us in affection to our kind.
    I will look down from yonder pitying sky,
    Watching and waiting those I loved on earth;
    Anxious in heaven, until they, too, are there.
    I will attend your guardian angel’s side
    And weep away your faults with holy tears:
    Your midnight shall be filled with solemn thought;
    And when, at length, death brings you to my love,
    Mine the first welcome heard in Paradise.

    The sun is but a spark of fire,--
      A transient meteor in the sky:
    The soul, _immortal_ as its Sire,
                    Shall never die!
                      _J. Montgomery._

      Prisoners of hope! heirs of eternity!
    Waiting for the consummate day, when time
      Shall be no more--Why on the past dwell ye?
    Prisoners of hope! look to the goal sublime
      Of the expanded future, and behold
    The flesh redeemed to its _immortal_ prime.
                                   _J. A. Heraud._

    Yet know, vain sceptics, know the Almighty mind,
      Who breathed on man a portion of His fire,
    Bade his free soul, by earth nor time confined,
      To Heaven, to _immortality_ aspire.

    Nor shall the pile of hope His mercy reared,
      By vain philosophy be e’er destroyed:
    Eternity, by all or wished or feared,
      Shall be, by all, or suffered, or enjoyed.
                                 _William Mason._

    Whoe’er thou art, this truth take home,--and think
    Two spirits only for thy soul contend,--
    The good and bad; but now alone is grace
    Imparted; soon thy final sands will fall,
    And thou in moral nakedness shalt be
    To Devil or to Deity assign’d
    Through endless ages!--Oh, that truth immense,
    This mortal, _immortality_ shall wear!
    The pulse of mind can never cease to play;
    By God awaken’d, it for ever throbs,
    Eternal as His own eternity!
    Above the angels, or below the fiends:
    To mount in glory, or in shame descend--
    Mankind are destined by resistless doom.
                                       _R. Montgomery._

    Beyond the purple verge of infinite space,
      The _immortal_ soul of man shall live again;
      Live where its glories never more may wane,
    And where its nobler memories will efface
    All thoughts which rend the solemn’ pall away
    That shrouds the meanness of its primal clay.
                                     _H. B. Hirst._


There is a spirit in man: and the _inspiration_ of the Almighty giveth
them understanding.--Job, xxxii. 8.

All scripture is given by _inspiration_ of God.--II. Timothy, iii. 16.

    O Thou bless’d Spirit: whether the Supreme
    Great ante-mundane Father; in whose breast
    Embryo creation, unborn being, dwelt,
    And all its various revolutions rolled,
    Present though future; prior to themselves
    Whose breath can blow it into naught again,
    Or from His throne some delegated power,
    Who studious of our peace, dost turn the thought
    From vain and vile to solid and sublime!
    Unseen Thou lead’st me to delicious draughts
    Of _Inspiration_, from a purer stream,
    And fuller of the God, than that which burst
    From famed Castalia.

    We to his high _inspiration_ owe
    That what was done before the flood we know.

    How precious is the book divine
      By _inspiration_ given!
    Bright as a lamp its doctrines shine
      To guide our souls to heaven.

    It sweetly cheers our drooping hearts
      In this dark vale of tears;
    Life, light, and joy it still imparts,
      And quells our rising fears.

    This lamp through all the tedious night
      Of life shall guide our way,
    Till we behold the clearer light
      Of an eternal day.

    On the page of _inspiration_
    Lo! the promise of salvation;
    May I earnestly inquire,
    May the Lord my soul _inspire_
    With the love of truth divine,
    So to make that promise mine.


The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise
wisdom and _instruction_.

My son, hear the _instruction_ of thy father.--Proverbs, i. 7, 8.

Hear _instruction_, and be wise, and refuse it not.--Proverbs, viii. 33.

He that refuseth _instruction_ despiseth his own soul.--Proverbs, xv.

    And chiefly Thou, O Spirit that dost prefer
    Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
    _Instruct_ me, for Thou knowest: Thou from the first
    Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread
    Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast abyss,
    And mad’st it pregnant. What in me is dark,
    Illumine; what is low, raise and support;
    That to the height of this great argument
    I may assert eternal Providence,
    And justify the ways of God to men.

    From heaven descend the drops of dew,
      From heaven the gracious showers,
    Earth’s winter aspect to renew,
      And clothe the spring with flowers;
    From heaven the beams of morning flow,
      That melt the gloom of night,
    From heaven the evening breezes blow
      Health, fragrance, and delight.

    Like genial dew, like fertile showers,
      The words of wisdom fall,
    Awaken man’s unconscious powers,
      Strength out of weakness call;
    Like morning beams they strike the mind,
      In loveliness reveal;
    And softer than the evening wind,
      The wounded spirit heal.

    As dew and rain, as light and air,
      From heaven _Instruction_ came,
    The waste of nature to repair,
      And kindle sacred flame,
    A flame to purify the earth,
      Exalt her sons on high,
    And train them for their second birth--
      Their birth beyond the sky.
                            _J. Montgomery._


He bare the sin of many, and made _intercession_ for the
transgressors.--Isaiah, liii. 12.

It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at
the right hand of God, who also maketh _intercession_ for us.--Romans,
viii. 34.

Wherefore he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come
unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make _intercession_ for
them.--Hebrews, vii. 25.

    Why gaze the clustered stars on Hermon’s height?
    Immensity around--why gaze they there?
    On its high top, as farthest up from earth,
    Enshrined in darkness and alone, there kneels
    The world’s great _Intercessor_. Evening came,
    And found Him kneeling there: the rising morn
    Lingered awhile upon His upturned brow;
    And night passed over Him, and still he kneels;
    Till all the air is incense and a prayer,
    As He would save the world by prayer alone,
    Close clasping the eternal throne,--His voice,
    Unheard below, was heard in heaven intent.

    With blood--but not his own--the Jew drew near
      The mercy-seat, and heaven received his prayer.
    Yet still his hope was dimmed by doubt and fear:
      “If Thou should’st mark transgression, who might dare
      To stand before Thee?” Mercy loves to spare
    And pardon, but stern Justice has a voice,
      And cries--Our God is holy, nor can bear
    Uncleanness in the people of His choice.
    But now One Offering, ne’er to be renewed,
      Hath made our peace for ever. This now gives
    Free access to the Throne of Heavenly Grace,
      No more base fear and dark disquietude,
    He who was slain--the Accepted Victim!--lives,
      And _intercedes_ before the Father’s face.

    Lord! there is a throne of grace;
    There we now would seek Thy face;
    Thou wilt bear the humblest prayer
    Of the soul that seeks Thee there.
    Saviour, for us _intercede_,
    While the promises we plead!


And he said unto him, What is thy name? And he said, Jacob.

And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but _Israel_:
for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast
prevailed.--Genesis, xxxii. 27, 28.

Truly God is good to _Israel_.--Psalm lxxiii. 1.

He that keepeth _Israel_ shall neither slumber nor sleep.--Psalm cxxi.

For the Lord will have mercy on Jacob, and will yet choose _Israel_,
and set them in their own land.--Isaiah, xiv. 1.

                  Whilst Pharoah’s pride withstood,
    His pools turned poison, and his Nile ran blood,
    From whose corrupting channel, moist and warm,
    Leaped forth the frogs, a foul, offensive swarm;
    No place was sheltered from their loathsome tread,
    The festive banquet, nor the bridal bed.
    Anon, destructive sweeps the burning hail,
    His trees stand branchless, and his furrows fail;
    Whilst from the East, devouring locusts rise,
    To spoil the pittance spared him by the skies.
    But why on each particular token dwell
    Of God’s deep wrath, or all His judgments tell?
    Enough to add, that _Israel’s_ thraldom ceased,
    From Pharaoh’s stubborn hand, by him released.
                                      _William Gibson._

    Backsliding _Israel_, hear the voice
      Of thy forgiving God;
    Nor force such goodness to exert
      The terrors of the rod.

    Thus saith the Lord--“My mercy flows,
      An unexhausted stream;
    And after all its millions saved,
      Its sway is still supreme.”

    Own but the follies thou hast done,
      And mourn thy sins in dust,
    And soon thy trembling heart shall learn
      To hope, and love, and trust.

    The day of Freedom dawns; rise, _Israel_, from thy tomb.


And God spake unto Moses, and said unto him, I am the Lord:

And I appeared unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, by the name of
God Almighty, but by my name JEHOVAH was I known to them.--Exodus, vi.
2, 3.

That men may know that thou, whose name is JEHOVAH, art the
most high over all the earth.--Psalm lxxxiii. 18.

Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid: for the
Lord JEHOVAH is my strength and my song; he also is become my
salvation.--Isaiah, xii. 2.

        Tell mankind _Jehovah_ reigns;
    He shall bind the world in chains,
    So as it shall never slide,
    And with sacred justice guide.
    Let the smiling heavens rejoice,
    Joyful earth exalt her voice:
    Let the dancing billows roar,
    Echoes answer from the shore,
    Fields their flowery mantles shake,
    All shall in their joy partake;
    While the wood-musicians sing
    To the ever-youthful spring,
    Fill His courts with sacred mirth.
    He, He comes to judge the earth.
    Justly He the world shall sway,
    And His truth to men display.
                       _Dr. Henry More._

    Before _Jehovah’s_ awful throne,
      Ye nations bow with sacred joy;
    Know that the Lord is God alone,
      He can create, and He destroy.

    His sovereign power, without our aid,
      Made us of clay, and formed us men;
    And when like wand’ring sheep we stray’d,
      He brought us to His fold again.

    We’ll crowd His gates with thankful songs,
      High as the heavens our voices raise,
    And earth, with her ten thousand tongues,
      Shall find thy courts with sounding praise.

    Ascribe, ye mighty, to _Jehovah_ might
    And glory, victor o’er his enemies--
    Give to _Jehovah_ glory in the height,
    The glory due unto His name! Adore
    Him in the beauty of Holiness aright!

    Thy voice, _Jehovah!_ on the waters hoar
    Careers; the God of glory thundereth;
    _Jehovah_ speaks where many waters roar--
    Thy voice, _Jehovah!_ is more strong than death--
    Thy powerful voice is full of majesty;
    Thy voice o’erthrows the cedar with its breath.
    And Lebanon and Sirion before Thee
    Skip like a calf, and like a unicorn,
    In youth transcilient, and by nature free,--
    Thy voice _Jehovah!_ shakes the desert lorn;
    _Jehovah_ shakes the wilderness; His voice
    Maketh the hinds to calve, the forest-born.

    Within His temple shall His sons rejoice,
    And all declare His glory. On the sea
    He sitteth--hushed is its tempestuous noise--
    Behold _Jehovah_ sitteth royally
    Upon the calmed flood, eternal Lord:
    And strength unto His people giveth He,
    And them with peace and blessing hath restored.
                                       _J. A. Heraud._

    The name of _Jehovah_ defend thee!
      For He from His dwelling above,
    Shall hear thee in trouble, and send thee
      The might of His covenant love.
        His rod of dread powers
        Shall bind with sweet flowers,
      In the ark of His covenant love.

    Then kneel; for the prayer of the lowly
      As incense, all odour shall be,
    In the cloud of the holocaust holy,
      That pleads in His presence for thee.
        His word, like strong mountains,
        Still shed forth the fountains
      Of strength from His presence for thee.


_Jerusalem_ is builded as a city that is compact together.--Psalm
cxxii. 3.

O _Jerusalem, Jerusalem_, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest
them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy
children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her
wings, and ye would not!

Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.--Matthew, xxiii. 37, 38.

_Jerusalem_ shall be trodden down of the Gentiles, until the time of
the Gentiles be fulfilled.--Luke, xxi. 24.

But ye are come unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living
God, the heavenly _Jerusalem_, and to an innumerable company of
angels.--Hebrews, xii. 22.

    _Jerusalem_, that place divine,
      The vision of sweet peace is named,
    In heaven her glorious turrets shine,
      Her walls of living stones are framed;
        While angels guard her on each side,
        Fit company for such a bride.

    She, decked in new attire, from heaven,
      Her wedding-chamber, now descends,
    Prepared in marriage to be given
      To Christ, on whom her joy depends.
        Her walls wherewith she is enclosed,
        And streets are of pure gold composed.

    The gates adorn’d with pearls most bright,
      The way to hidden glory show,
    And thither by the blessed might
      Of faith in Jesus’ merits go
        All those who are on earth distress’d,
        Because they have Christ’s name profess’d.

    These stones the workmen dress and beat,
      Before they throughly polish’d are,
    Then each in his own proper seat,
      Established by the builder’s care,
        In this fair frame to stand for ever,
        So join’d, that them no power can sever.

      The signs are full, and never shall the sun
    Shine on the cedar roofs of Salem more:
      Her tale of splendour now is done;
      Her wine-cup of festivity is spilt,
    And all is o’er--her grandeur and her guilt.
      Oh, fair and favoured city, where of old,
    The balmy airs were rich with melody,
    That led her pomp beneath the cloudless sky
      In vestments flaming with the orient gold;
    Her gold is dim, and mute her music’s voice,
    The heathen o’er her perish’d pomp rejoice!
      How stately then was every palm-deck’d street
      Down which the maidens danced with tinkling feet!
    How proud the elders in the lofty gate!
      How crowded all her nation’s solemn feasts
      With white-robed Levites, and high-mitred priests;
    How gorgeous her temple’s sacred state!
    Her streets are razed, her maidens sold for slaves,
    Her gates thrown down, her elders in their graves;
    Her feasts are holden ’mid the Gentile’s scorn,
    By stealth her priesthood’s holy garments worn.

        _Jerusalem!_ alas! alas! of old,
    Deaf to whate’er prophetic seers foretold,
    Assailing all, whom Heaven, in mercy sent
    And murdering those that warned thee to repent!
    Thou, the world’s Saviour who suspendedst high,
    His works reviled, and mocked His agony,
    How oft hath God, still gracious, striven to bring
    Thy devious brood beneath His sheltering wing,
    To save thee from the hovering eagle’s power,
    And shield the unequalled misery of this hour!
    But no! thou would’st not! thence this signal fate!
    Thence art thou fallen! deserted! desolate!
                                       _William Gibson._

    _Jerusalem!_ my happy home!
      Name ever dear to me;
    When shall my labours have an end
      In joy, and peace, and thee?

    When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls
      And pearly gates behold?
    Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,
      And streets of shining gold?


And thou shalt call his name JESUS; for he shall save his
people from their sins.--Matthew, i. 21.

But we see JESUS, who was made a little lower than the angels,
for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honour; that he by
the grace of God should taste death for every man.--Hebrews, ii. 9.

Whosoever shall confess that JESUS is the Son of God, God
dwelleth in him, and he in God.--I. John, iv. 15.

    To Thee, O _Jesu_, I direct my eyes,
      To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
    To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,
      To Thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees;
    To Thee myself, myself and all I give,
    To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
                                 _Sir Walter Raleigh._

    _Jesus_, I love Thy charming name,
      ’Tis music in my ear;
    Fain would I sound it out so loud
      That earth and heaven should hear.

    Yes, thou art precious to my soul,
      My transport and my trust;
    Jewels to Thee are gaudy toys,
      And gold is sordid dust.

    All my capacious powers can wish,
      In Thee doth richly meet:
    Nor to mine eyes is light so dear,
      Nor friendship half so sweet,

    Thy grace still dwells upon my heart,
      And sheds its fragrance there;
    The noblest balm of all its wounds,
      The cordial of its care.

    I’ll speak the honours of Thy name
      With my last labouring breath;
    Then, speechless, clasp Thee in my arms,
      The antidote of death.

    O God, of good the unfathomed sea!
    Who would not give his heart to Thee?
      Who would not love Thee with his might?
    O _Jesu_, Lover of mankind!
    Who would not his whole soul and mind,
      With all his strength, to Thee unite;

    Hell’s armies tremble at Thy nod,
    And, trembling, own th’ Almighty God,
      Sovereign of earth, hell, air, and sky:
    But who is this that comes from far,
    Whose garments roll’d in blood appear?
      ’Tis God made man, for man to die.

    Weary souls that wander wide,
      From the central point of bliss,
    Turn to _Jesus_ crucified,
      Fly to those dear wounds of His,
    Sink into the purple flood--rise into the life of God.

    _Jesus_ shall reign where’er the sun
    Does his successive journeys run;
    His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
    ’Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

    _Jesus_, in Thy transporting name
      What blissful glories rise!
    _Jesus_ the angels’ sweetest theme!
      The wonder of the skies!

    Well might the skies with wonder view
      A love so strange as thine,
    No thought of angels ever knew
      Compassion so divine.

    We know that “He will save us” Lord,
      If we on Him depend,
    _Jesus_, the true and living word,
      The sinner’s only friend.
    May He be ours, in life and death,
      _Jesus_ enthroned above,
    And may we with our latest breath
      Adore redeeming love!
                           _J. Burbidge._


The Lord shall establish thee an holy people unto himself, as He hath
sworn unto thee, if thou shalt keep the commandments of the Lord thy
God, and walk in His ways.

And all people of the earth shall see that thou art called by the name
of the Lord; and they shall be afraid of thee.

But it shall come to pass, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice
of the Lord thy God, to observe to do all his commandments and
his statutes, * * * thou shalt become an astonishment, a proverb
and a bye-word, among all nations whither the Lord shall lead
thee.--Deuteronomy, xxviii. 9, 10, 15, 37.

Salvation is of the _Jews_.--John, iv. 22.

He is not a _Jew_, which is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision
which is outward in the flesh;

But he is a _Jew_, which is one inwardly; and circumcision is that of
the heart, in the spirit, and not in the letter, whose praise is not of
men but of God.--Romans, ii. 28, 29.

What advantage then hath the _Jew_, or what profit is there in
circumcision? Much every way: chiefly, because that unto them were
committed the oracles of God.--Romans, iii. 1, 2.

    They, and they only, amongst all mankind,
    Received the transcript of the Eternal Mind;
    Were trusted with His own engraven laws,
    And constituted guardians of His cause;
    Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call,
    And theirs, by birth, the Saviour of us all.

    Thrice happy nation! Favourite of Heaven!
    Selected from the kingdoms of the earth
    To be His chosen race, ordained to spread
    His glory through remotest realms, and teach
    The Gentile world Jehovah’s awful name.
                                _William Hodson._

                    That people once
    So famed, whom God Himself vouchsafed to call
    His chosen race, and with a guardian hand
    Deigned to protect, from Palestine exiled,
    Are doomed to wander; although scattered thus
    Through all the globe, there is no clime which they
    Can call their own, no country where their laws
    Hold sovereign rule. Irrefragable proof,
    That every oracle of Holy Writ
    Was given by Heaven itself!
                                         _Samuel Hayes._


And Lot lifted up his eyes and beheld all the plain of _Jordan_, that
it was well watered every where.--Genesis, xiii. 10.

If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how
canst thou contend with horses? and if in the land of peace wherein
thou trustedst, they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the
swelling of _Jordan_.--Jeremiah, xii. 5.

Then went out to him Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region round
about _Jordan_.

And were baptized of him in _Jordan_ confessing their sins.--Matthew,
iii. 5, 6.

    The waters slept. Night’s silvery veil hung low
    On _Jordan’s_ bosom, and the eddies curled
    Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
    Unbroken beatings of the sleeper’s pulse.
    The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves,
    With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
    Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
    Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
    Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way
    And leaned in graceful attitudes, to rest.
    How strikingly the course of nature tells
    By its light heed of human suffering
    That it was fashioned for a happier world.
                                        _N. P. Willis._

    Christian, behold the typic shade
      Of that dim path prepared for thee--
    Behold, in _Jordan’s_ tide displayed,
      Death’s overflowing sea.
    But if thou still hast kept the Ark
    Of God before thee as a mark,
    Fear not the troubled waters dark,
      Howe’er they rage, and chafe, and roar;
    On that mysterious voyage embark,
      And God will guide thee o’er.
                               _J. H. Clinch._

    When I tread the banks of _Jordan_
      May my soul no tremblings know;
    Be my Saviour near to guide me,
      And uphold me as I go
              Through the waters,
      Fearing not their overflow.


Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of
_joy_; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.--Psalm xvi.

Weeping may endure for a night, but _joy_ cometh in the morning.--Psalm
xxx. 5.

And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your
heart shall rejoice, and your _joy_ no man taketh from you.--John, xvi.

    What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
    The soul’s calm sunshine, and the heartfelt _joy_.

    A Deity believed, is _joy_ begun;
    A Deity adored, is _joy_ advanced;
    A Deity beloved, is _joy_ matured.
    Each branch of piety delight inspires.

    Words of eternal truth proclaim
      All mortal _joys_ are vain;
    A diamond pen engraves the theme
      Upon a mortal pane.

    When on some balmy-breathing night of spring
      The happy child to whom the world is new,
    Pursues the evening moth of mealy wing,
      Or from the heath-bell shakes the sparkling dew,
    He sees before his inexperienced eyes,
      The brilliant glow-worm like a meteor shine
    On the turf-bank, surprised, and pleased, he cries
      “Star of the dewy grass! I make thee mine.”
    Then, ere he sleeps, collects the moistened flower,
      And bids soft leaves his glittering prize unfold,
    And dreams that fairy lamps illume his bower;
      But in the morning shudders to behold
    His shining treasure viewless as the dust;
    So fade the world’s bright _joys_ to cold and blank disgust.
                                               _Charlotte Smith._

    I see a forest, dark, dim, deep, and dread,
    Whose solemn shades no human foot or eye
    Can penetrate; but now, oh see! a veil
    Falls from my strengthened eyes; and now
    Even in its deepest centre I behold
    A spot more beautiful than human heart
    Can comprehend; it is the home of _Joy_,
    And there the blessed spirit broods for ever,
    Making her dwelling-place a heaven: there
    The skies are pure as crystal, and the eye
    Looks through their clear expanse direct to God.
    No sun is there; the air itself is light
    And life; a rainbow spans it like a crown
    Of tearless glory, and the forest trees
    Sweep round it in a belt of living green.
    Colour, that wayward sprite of changeful mien,
    Is here subdued to an intensity
    Of burning lustre. Sound has but one voice,
    And that _joyous_ song; sight but one object,
    And that is happiness; mine eyes are strained
    To catch the lineaments of the bright queen,
    Whose dwelling-place I see; but ’tis in vain;
    Nowhere distinct, yet felt in all, she glides,
    A shape of light and colour through the air,
    Making its pure transparency to thrill
    With the soft music of her viewless step.
                                      _C. L. Reddel._

    Christ had His _joys_--but they were not
      The _joys_ the son of pleasure boasts--
    O, no! ’twas when His Spirit sought
      Thy will, Thy glory, God of hosts!
    Christ had His _joys_--and so hath he,
      Who feels His Spirit in his heart;
    Who yields, O God, his all to Thee,
      And loves Thy name, for what thou art!

    _Joy_ dwells not in external things,
      It hath an inner birth;
    The sweetest bird in darkness sings,
    And fairest flowers oft nurture stings,--
      Such is our life on earth.

    Then measure not by outward show
      The depth of real _joy_;
    The heart can o’er the darkest woe
    A stream of sunlight softly throw,
      Or purest bliss destroy.
                                _W. J. Brock._


When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of
strange language;

_Judah_ was his sanctuary and Israel his dominion.--Psalm cxiv. 1, 2.

_Judah_ shall dwell for ever, and Jerusalem from generation to
generation.--Joel, iii. 20.

It is evident that our Lord sprang out of _Judah_.--Hebrews, vii. 14.

    _Judah!_ thou art he whom thy brethren shall praise,
    Thy hand shall be on the neck of thine enemies:
    Thy father’s children shall bow down before thee.
            _Judah_ is a lion’s whelp!
    From the prey, my son, thou art gone up:
    He stooped down, he crouched as a lion,
    And as an old lion; who shall rouse him up?
    The sceptre shall not depart from _Judah_,
    Nor a lawgiver from between his feet,
            Until Shiloh come,
    And unto him shall the gathering of the people be.
    _Jacob’s Benediction of Judah_, Genesis, xlix. 8, 9, 10.
                        _Dr. Caunter’s Metrical Arrangement._

    O, Thou, the Shepherd of Thy flock,
      Who led’st Thy people through the wave,
    And gav’st them water from the rock,
      And bar’dst thine arm in might to save:--
    Hear Thou the strain our hearts prolong--
      List--list the suppliant captive’s cry--
    O, when shall cease the mournful song,
      O, when shall _Judah’s_ tears be dry?
                                _C. W. Everest._

    For yet the tenfold film shall fall
      O, _Judah_, from thy sight,
    And every eye be purged to read
      Thy testimonies right,
    When thou, with all Messiah’s signs
      In Christ distinctly seen,
    Shall, by Jehovah’s nameless name,
      Invoke the Nazarene.
                    _William Crosswell._


The Lord loveth _judgment_.--Psalm xxxvii. 28.

Hear my prayer, O Lord, give ear to my supplications.

And enter not into _judgment_ with thy servant: for in thy sight shall
no man living be justified.--Psalm cxliii. 1, 2.

_Judge_ not, that ye be not _judged_.--Matthew, vii. 1.

We shall all stand before the _judgment_-seat of Christ.

Let us not therefore _judge_ one another any more, but _judge_ this
rather, that no man put a stumbling-block, or an occasion to fall, in
his brother’s way.--Romans, xiv. 10, 13.

    He should be born grey-headed, that will bear
    The sword of empire: _judgment_ of the life,
    Free state, and reputation of a man,
    If he be just and worthy, dwells so dark,
    That it denies access to sun and moon;
    The soul’s eye, sharpen’d with that sacred light
    Of whom the sun itself is but a beam,
    Must only give that _judgment_. O how much
    Err those kings then that play with life and death,
    And nothing put into their serious states
    But humour and their lusts! For which alone
    Men long for kingdoms, whose huge counterpoise
    In cares and dangers, could a fool comprise,
    He would not be a king, but would be wise.

    The day of Christ; the last, the dreadful day;
      When thou and I, and all the world, shall come
      Before His _judgment_-seat, to bear their doom
    For ever and for ever; and when they
    Who loved not God, far, far from Him away
      Shall go;--but whither banished? and with whom?--
      And they who loved Him shall be welcomed home
    To God, and Christ, and Heaven, and Heaven’s array,
    Angels and saints made perfect--may the scene
      Of that dread day be always present here--
    Here in my heart! That every day between,
      Which brings my passage to the goal more near,
    May find me fitter, by His love made clean,
      Before His throne of justice to appear.
                                          _Bishop Mant._

    Then, all Thy saints assembled, Thou shalt _judge_
    Bad men and angels; they, arraigned, shall sink
    Beneath Thy sentence: Hell, her numbers full,
    Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Meanwhile
    The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring
    New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell,
    And after all their tribulations long,
    See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds,
    With joy and love triumphing, and fair truth.
    Then Thou Thy regal sceptre shalt lay by,
    For regal sceptre thee no more shall need,
    God shall be All in All.

    The world is grown old, and her pleasures are past;
    The world is grown old, and her form may not last;
    The world is grown old, and trembles for fear,
    For sorrows abound, and _judgment_ is near!

    The sun in the heaven is languid and pale;
    And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale;
    And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear,
    For the world is grown old, and _judgment_ is near!

    The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
    The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
    The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer;
    For the world is grown old, and _judgment_ is near!

    The world is grown old, but should we complain
    Who have tried her, and know that her promise is vain;
    Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here,
    And we look for our crown when _judgment_ is near.
                                            _Bishop Heber._

    From Adam to his youngest heir,
      Not one shall ’scape that muster-roll;
    Each, as if he alone were there,
      Shall stand, and win, or lose his soul:
    These from the Judge’s presence, go
    Down into everlasting woe;
    Vengeance hath barred the gates of hell--
    The scenes within no tongue can tell.

    But lo! far off, the righteous pass
      To glory; from the king’s right hand,
    In silence, on the sea of glass,
      Heaven’s numbers without number stand,
    While He who bore the cross, lays down
    His priestly robe and victor crown;
    The mediatorial reign complete,
    All things are put beneath His feet.
                           _James Montgomery._

    Hath functions awful and sublime,
    And on its viewless lapse are traced
    Stern chronicles of all the past,
    A writing every sunset laid,
    While heaven is still within the shade
    Of Christ’s high throne, one day to be
    A part of the solemnity
    And pomp of _judgment_, endless Woe,
    Or endless Weal! to some a show
    Of fiery ciphers, symbols dread,
    Of unchaste things unpardoned.

           *       *       *       *       *

    And some there are to whom that scroll
    Sad record still, may yet unroll
    A fairer vision, dark and bright,
    Like dawn o’er-mastering tardy night
    In dubious streaks, with here and there
    A firm and radiant character,
    To angels’ eyes not new, but known
    And recognised the _Judge’s_ own.
                        _Frederic W. Faber._

    The _judgment_! the _judgment_! the thrones are all set,
    Where the Lamb and the white-vested Elders are met!
    All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
    And the doom of eternity hangs on His word!

    O mercy! O mercy! look down from above,
    Creator! on us thy sad children, with love!
    When beneath, to their darkness, the wicked are driven,
    May our sanctified souls find a mansion in Heaven!
                                              _H. H. Milman._


Shall mortal man be more _just_ than God? Shall a man be more pure than
his Maker.--Job, iv. 17.

Touching the Almighty, we cannot find him out: he is excellent in
power, and in judgment and in plenty of _justice_.--Job, xxxvii. 23.

_Justice_ and judgment are the habitation of Thy throne.--Psalm lxxxix.

To do _justice_ and judgment is more acceptable to the Lord than
sacrifice.--Proverbs, xxi. 3.

      Whoso upon himself will take the skill
      True _justice_ unto people to divide,
      Has need have mighty hands for to fulfil
      That which he doth with righteous doom decide,
      And for to maister wrong and puissant pride;
      For vain it is to deem of things aright,
      And make wrong doers _justice_ to deride,
      Unless it be performed with dreadless might;
    For power is the right hand of _justice_ truly hight.

      A _just_ man cannot fear,
    Not, though the malice of traducing tongues,
    The open vastness of a tyrant’s ear,
    The senseless rigour of the wrested laws,
    Or the red eyes of strain’d authority,
    Should, in a point meet all to take his life,
    His innocence is armour ’gainst all these.
                                     _Ben Jonson._

    The words of Heaven, on whom it will, it will;
    On whom it will not, so; yet still ’tis _just_.

                    His life is parallel’d
    Even with the stroke and line of his great _justice_;
    He doth with holy abstinence subdue
    That in himself, which he spurs on his power
    To qualify in others; where he meal’d
    With that which he corrects, than where he tyrannous;
    But this being so, he’s _just_.

          Heaven’s king
    Keeps register of every thing,
    And nothing may we use in vain;
    Ev’n beasts must be with _justice_ slain.

    Well, then, my soul, joy in the midst of pain;
      Thy Christ, that conquered hell, shall from above
    With greater triumph yet return again
      And conquer His own _justice_ with His love.
    Commanding earth and seas to render those
    Unto His bliss for whom he paid His woes.

    So sure the fall of greatness raised on crimes!
    So fixed the _justice_ of all-conscious Heaven!
      When haughty guilt exalts with impious joy,
      Mistake shall blast, or accident destroy;
      Weak man, with erring rage, may throw the dart,
      But Heaven shall guide it to the guilty heart.
                                        _Dr. Johnson._

      Say, how can man be _justified_ by God?
    Thy vaults eternity would echo. How?
    But from the cross, responding grace replies
    To this high question. Faith in Christ is life
    And Love and Righteousness. Completely fit
    To each vast claim of violated law.
                                   _R. Montgomery._

    The Sun of _Justice_ may withdraw his beams
    Awhile from earthly ken, and sit concealed
    In dark recess pavilioned round with clouds:
    Yet let not guilt presumptuous rear her crest,
    Nor virtue droop despondent: soon these clouds,
    Seeming eclipse, will brighten into day,
    And in majestic splendour He will rise,
    With healing and with terror on His wings.
                                     _George Bally._

      Peace to the _just_ man’s memory,--let it grow
      Greener with years, and blossom through the flight
      Of ages; let the mimic canvas show
      His calm benevolent features; let the light
      Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight
      Of all but heaven, and, in the book of fame,
      The glorious record of his virtues write,
      And hold it up to men, and bid them claim
    A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame.
                                             _W. C. Bryant._


Blessed be the Lord: for he hath shewed me his marvellous
_kindness_.--Psalm xxxi. 21.

Rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your
God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great
_kindness_.--Joel, ii. 13.

Be _kindly_ affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour
preferring one another.--Romans, xii. 10.

Be ye _kind_ one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another,
even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.--Ephesians, iv. 32.

                        The poorest poor
    Long for some moments in a weary life,
    When they can know and feel that they have been
    Themselves the fathers and the dealers out
    Of some small blessings--have been _kind_
    To such as needed _kindness_; for this single cause,
    That we have all of us a human heart.

    Awake, my soul, in joyful lays,
    And sing thy great Redemer’s praise;
    He justly claims a song from me,
    His loving-_kindness_ O how free!

    He saw me ruined in the fall,
    Yet loved me notwithstanding all:
    He saved me from my lost estate,
    His loving-_kindness_ O how great!

    Often I feel my sinful heart
    Prone from my Jesus to depart;
    But, though I have Him oft forgot,
    His loving-_kindness_ changes not.

    Soon shall I pass the gloomy vale;
    Soon all my mortal powers shall fail:
    O may my last expiring breath
    His loving-_kindness_ sing in death!

    Then let me mount and soar away
    To the bright world of endless day:
    And sing with rapture and surprise,
    His loving-_kindness_ in the skies.

    As from the bosom of her mystic fountains,
      Nile’s sacred water windeth to the main,
    Flooding each vale embosom’d ’mong the mountains,
      From far Alata’s fields to Egypt’s plain:
    So from the bosom of the Fount of Love,
      A golden stream of sympathy is gushing;
    And winding, first through intellect above,
      Then through each vale of mortal mind is rushing;
    Sweeping the heart of iceberg and of storm,
      Purging humanity of every blindness,
    Melting all spirits earthly into one,
      And leaving holiness and joy--’tis _Kindness_.
                                            _D. K. Lee._

    Meanwhile as we idly rave,
    Thousands hasten to the grave;
    No _kind_ voice their footsteps guides
    To the home where truth abides;
    Tones of truth within them stirred,
    Meet with no _kind_ answering word.
                              _J. Gostick._

    Be _kind_ to each other!
      The night’s coming on,
    When friend and when brother
      Perchance may be gone.
    Then, ’midst our dejection,
      How sweet to have earn’d
    The blest recollection
      Of _kindness_ return’d!
    When day hath departed,
      And Memory keeps
    The watch, broken-hearted,
      Where all the loved sleeps,
    Let falsehood assail not,
      Nor envy disprove;
    Let trifles prevail not
      Against those ye love.
    Nor change with to-morrow
      Should fortune take wing,
    But the deeper the sorrow
      The closer still cling.
    Oh, be _kind_ to each other,
      For night’s coming on,
    When friend and when brother
      Perchance may be gone.


The Lord is _King_ for ever and ever.--Psalm x. 16.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates; even lift them up, ye everlasting
doors; and the _King_ of glory shall come in.

Who is this _King_ of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the _King_ of
glory.--Psalm xxiv. 9, 10.

The _King_ that faithfully judgeth the poor, his throne shall be
established for ever.--Proverbs, xxix. 14.

Fear God. Honour the _King_.--I. Peter, ii. 17.

              The _king_-becoming graces
    Are justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
    Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
    Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude.

                    O take heed, sir,
    Saints stand upon heaven’s silver battlements,
    When _kings_ make vows, and lay their listening ears
    To princes’ protestations.
                                          _R. Davenport._

    The silver trumpet’s heavenly call
    Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all;
    _Kings_ are invited, and, would _kings_ obey,
    No slaves on earth more welcome were than they;
    But royalty, nobility, and state,
    Are such a dead preponderating weight,
    That endless bliss, how strange soe’er it seem,
    In counterpoise flies up, and kicks the beam.

    There’s not a leaf within the bower;
      There’s not a bird upon the tree;
    There’s not a dew-drop on the flower;
      But leaves the impress Lord of Thee.

    Thy hand the varied leaf designed,
      And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
    Thy power the dew-drop’s tints combined,
      Till like the diamond’s blaze they shone.

    Yes, dew-drops, leaves, and buds, and all,
      The smallest, like the greatest things;
    The sea’s vast space, the earth’s wide hall,
      Alike proclaim Thee _King_ of _Kings_.
                                     _Mrs. Opie._


The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens; and his _kingdom_
ruleth over all.--Psalm ciii. 19.

Thy _kingdom_ come.--Matthew, vi. 10.

Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed
of my Father, inherit the _kingdom_ prepared for you from the
foundation of the world.--Matthew, xxv. 34.

Jesus answered, My _kingdom_ is not of this world: if my _kingdom_
were of this world, then would my servants fight; that I should not be
delivered to the Jews: but now is my _kingdom_ not from hence.--John,
xviii. 36.

And there were great voices in heaven, saying, The _kingdoms_ of this
world are become the _kingdoms_ of our Lord, and of his Christ and he
shall reign for ever and ever.--Revelation, xi. 15.

    “His _kingdom_ come!” For this we pray in vain,
    Unless He does in our affections reign.
    How fond it were to wish for such a King,
    And no obedience to His sceptre bring,
    Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light;
    His service freedom, and His judgments right.

    _Kingdoms_ and thrones to God belong;
    Crown Him, ye nations, in your song;
    His wondrous names and powers rehearse,
    His honours shall enrich your verse.

    Proclaim Him King, pronounce Him blest;
    He’s your defence, your joy, your rest:
    When terrors rise, and nations faint,
    God is the strength of every saint.

    Thy _kingdom_ come! and shall we dare
    With lips unhallowed breathe that prayer?
    With hearts unsanctified within,
    How can we ever hope to win
    A place or _kingdom_ such as Thine,
    Where all is holy and benign?
    Send down Thy spirit, Lord, and bless
    The prayer we falteringly express:
    Oh, give us grace, and give us power,
    To wait with confidence the hour
    When we shall in thy _kingdom_ be,
    And dwell to all eternity.


Shall any teach God _knowledge_?--Job, xxi. 22.

He that teacheth man _knowledge_, shall not he _know_?

The Lord _knoweth_ the thoughts of man, that they are vanity.--Psalm
xciv. 10, 11.

Wise men lay up _knowledge_.--Proverbs, x. 14.

Many shall run to and fro, and _knowledge_ shall be increased.--Daniel,
xii. 4.

According as his divine power hath given unto us all things that
pertain unto life and godliness, through the _knowledge_ of him that
hath called us to glory and virtue.--II. Peter, i. 3.

    O Lord! in me there lieth nought,
      But to Thy search revealed lies;
            For when I sit
            Thou markest it,
      No less Thou notest when I rise;
    Yea, closest closet of my thought
      Hath open windows to Thine eyes.

    Thou walkest with me when I walk,
      When to my bed for rest I go,
            I find Thee there,
            And every where;
      Not youngest thought in me doth grow,
    No, not one word I cast to talk,
      But yet unuttered thou dost _know_.

    To shun Thy notice, leave Thine eye,
      O whither might I take my way?
            To starry sphere?
            Thy throne is there.
      To dead men’s undelightsome stay?
    There is Thy walk, and there to lie
      _Unknown_, in vain I should essay.

    O sun! whom light nor flight can match,
      Suppose Thy lightful, flightful wings
            Thou lend to me,
            And I could flee,
      As far as Thee the evening brings;
    Ev’n led to west He would me catch,
      Nor should I lurk with western things.

    Do thou thy best, O secret night
      In sable vail to cover me;
            The sable vail
            Shall vainly fail:
      With day unmask’d my night shall be:
    For night is day, and darkness light,
      O Father of all lights to Thee.
                      _Countess of Pembroke._

                      Almighty Being,
    Cause and support of all things, can I view
    These objects of my wonder: can I feel
    These fine sensations, and not think of Thee?
    Thou who dost through th’eternal round of time,
    Dost through th’ immensity of space exist
    Alone, shalt Thou excluded be
    From this Thy universe? Shall feeble man
    Think it beneath his proud philosophy
    To call for Thy assistance, and pretend
    To frame a world, who cannot frame a clod?
    Not to _know_ Thee, is not to _know_ ourselves--
    Is to _know_ nothing--worth the care
    Of man’s exalted spirit.

    O for the coming of that glorious time
    When, prizing _knowledge_ as her noblest wealth
    And best protection, this imperial realm,
    While she exacts allegiance, shall admit
    An obligation, on her part, to teach
    Them who are born to serve her and obey;
    Binding herself by statute to secure
    For all the children whom her soil maintains,
    The rudiments of letters, and inform
    The mind with moral and religious truth,
    Both understood and practised,--so that none,
    However destitute, be left to droop
    By culture unsustained; or run
    Into a wild disorder: or be forced
    To drudge through a weary life without the help
    Of intellectual implements and tools;
    A savage horde among the civilized,
    A servile band among the lordly free.

    What hast thou, Man, that thou dar’st call thine own?
    What is there in thee, Man, that can be known?--
    Dark fluxion, all unfixable by thought,
    Vain sister of the worm,--life, death, soul, clod--
    Ignore thyself, and strive to _know_ thy God!

    What is true _knowledge_? is it with keen eye
      Of lucre’s sons to thread the mazy way?
      Is it of civil rights, and royal sway,
    And wealth political, the depth to try?
    Is it to delve the earth, to soar the sky?
      To marshal nations, tribes in just array;
      To mix, and analyze, and mete, and weigh
    Her elements, and all her powers descry?
    These things, who will may _know_ them, if to _know_
      Breed not vain glory; but, o’er all, to scan
    God in His works, and word shown forth below,
      Creation’s wonders; and Redemption’s plan
    Whence came we; what to do, and whither go;
      This is true _knowledge_, and the whole of man.
                                          _Bishop Mant._

    Let him stand who will on the giddy height
      Of the palace-top in his pride of place!
    In a humbler home may my heart delight,
      Where my couch is low, and my pillow,--peace.

    Be it _known_ to few how my life flows on,
      As I silent sail on its noiseless tide!
    When its days and years are expired and gone,
      Let my record be that,--I lived and died!

    For sadly he meets the stroke of death,
      (At the ends of earth though his name be _known_,)
    Who laments, when yielding his final breath,
      That he’s _known_ to all but himself alone.
                                      _Mordaunt Barnard._

    View all around the works of Power Divine,
    Inquire, explore, admire, extol, resign;
    This is the whole of human kind below;
    ’Tis only given beyond the grave to _know_.
                                  _W. Hamilton._

    Who loves not _knowledge_? who shall rail
      Against her beauty? May she mix
      With men and prosper! Who shall fix
    Her pillars? Let her work prevail.

    But on her forehead sits a fire;
      She sets her forward countenance,
      And leaps into the future chance,
    Submitting all things to desire.

    Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain,
      She cannot fight the fear of death.
      What is she, cut from love and faith,
    But some wild Pallas from the brain

    Of Demons? fiery hot to burst
      All barriers in her onward race
      For power. Let her know her place,
    She is the second, not the first.

    A higher hand must make her mild,
      If all be not in vain; and guide
      Her footsteps moving side by side
    With wisdom, like the younger child.

    For she is earthly of the mind,
      But wisdom heavenly of the soul.
      O friend, who earnest to thy goal
    So early, leaving me behind,

    I would the great world grew like thee,
      Who grewest not alone in power
      And _knowledge_, but from hour to hour
    In reverence and in charity.

    _Knowledge_ holdeth by the hilt, and heweth out a road to
    Ignorance graspeth the blade, and is wounded by its own good sword.
    _Knowledge_ distilleth health from the virulence of opposite
    Ignorance mixeth wholesomes unto the breeding of disease.
    _Knowledge_ is leagued with the universe, and findeth a friend
        in all things;
    But ignorance is everywhere a stranger, unwelcome, ill at ease, and
        out of place.
                                                         _M. F. Tupper._


Come unto me, all ye that _labour_ and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest.--Matthew, xi. 28.

The _labourer_ is worthy of his hire.--Luke, x. 7.

Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him _labour_, working
with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him
that needeth.--Ephesians, iv. 28.

    Inventive _Labour_! cunning to deceive
    Thyself, and skilful to no end but this,
    Still to be doing, never to achieve--
    What profitest?--though all, to such excess,
    Man cannot utter it, be full of thee--
    The eye unsatisfied, the ear no less--
    Sore travail, and the vainest vanity
    Ordained to exercise the sons of men--
    Who getteth wisdom, where thy trials be?
                                  _J. A. Heraud._

    _Labour_, with envy and annoyance, where strangers will thee
    _Labour_, with indolence and gloom, where wealth falleth from
        a father;
    _Labour_ unto all, whether aching thews, or aching head, or
    The curse on the sons of men, in all their states, is _labour_.
    Nevertheless, to the diligent, _labour_ bringeth blessing;
    The thought of duty sweeteneth toil, and travail is a pleasure;
    And time spent in doing, hath a comfort that is not for the idle,
    The hardship is transmuted into joy by the dear alchemy of mercy.
    _Labour_ is good for man, bracing up his energies to conquest,
    And without it life is dull, the man perceiving himself useless.
    For wearily the body groaneth, like a door on rusty hinges,
    And the grasp of the mind is weakened, as the talons of a caged
                                                       _M. F. Tupper._


And the Lord said, I have surely seen the affliction of my people which
are in Egypt.

And I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians,
and to bring them up out of that _land_ unto a good _land_, and a
large, unto a _land_ flowing with milk and honey.--Exodus, iii. 7, 8.

He that tilleth his _land_ shall be satisfied with bread.--Proverbs,
xii. 11.

Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty: they shall behold the
_land_ that is vary far off.--Isaiah, xxxiii. 17.

    Beautiful _Landscape_! I could look on thee
      For hours, unmindful of the storm and strife,
      And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life.
    Here, all is still as fair--the stream, the tree,
    The wood, the sunshine on the bank; no tear--
    No thought of time’s swift wing, or closing night,
    Which comes to steal away the long sweet light,--
    No sighs of sad humanity are here.
    Here is no tint of mortal change--the day,--
    Beneath whose light the dog and peasant boy
    Gambol, with look, and almost bark, of joy--
    Still seems, though centuries have passed, to stay;
    Then gaze again, that shadow’d scenes may teach
    Lessons of peace and love, beyond all speech.

    There is a _land_ of pure delight,
      Where saints immortal reign;
    Infinite day excludes the night,
      And pleasures banish pain.

    There everlasting spring abides,
      And never withering flowers;
    Death like a narrow sea divides
      This heavenly _land_ from ours.
                           _Dr. Watts._

    Yes, far beyond the clouds outspread,
      Where soaring fancy oft hath been,
    There is a _land_ where Thou hast said
      The pure in heart shall enter in;
    They dream no more of grief and care,
    For Thou, the God of Peace, art there.
                              _Mrs. Welby._


And the Lord said unto Moses, come up to me into the mount, and be
there: and I will give thee tables of stone, and a _law_.--Exodus,
xxiv. 12.

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor
standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

But his delight is in the _law_ of the Lord; and in his _law_ doth he
meditate day and night.--Psalm i. 1, 2.

Think not that I am come to destroy the _law_, or the prophets; I am
not come to destroy, but to fulfil.

For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot
or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the _law_, till all be
fulfilled.--Matthew, v. 17, 18.

              The good need fear no _law_;
    It is his safety, and the bad man’s awe.

    _Law_ hath dominion over all things, over universal mind and
    For there are reciprocities of right which no creature can gainsay.
    Unto each was there added by its Maker, in the perfect chain of
    Dependencies and sustentations, accidents, and qualities, and
    And each must fly forward in the curve, unto which it was forced
        from the beginning;
    Each must attract and repel, or the monarchy of order is no more.
    _Laws_ are essential emanations from the self-poised character
        of God,
    And they radiate from that sun to the circling edges of creation.
    Verily the mighty _Law_giver hath subjected himself unto
    And God is the primal grand example of free unrestrained obedience;
                                                     _Martin F. Tupper._

                      Adam’s foul revolt
    From the primeval _law_, on all his sons,
    Through every age, the sad inheritance
    Of sin and death entailed.
                               _Samuel Hayes._


We all do fade as a _leaf_.--Isaiah, lxiv. 6.

    See the _leaves_ around us falling
      Dry and withered to the ground;
    Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,
      In a sad and solemn sound:

    Sons of Adam, once in Eden,
      Blighted when like us he fell,
    Hear the lecture we are reading,
      ’Tis, alas! the truth we tell.

    Virgins, much, too much presuming
      On your boasted white and red,
    View us, late in beauty blooming,
      Number’d now among the dead.

    Sons of honour, fed on praises,
      Fluttering high in fancied worth,
    Lo! the fickle air, that raises,
      Brings us down to parent earth.

    Learned sophs, in systems jaded,
      Who for new ones daily call,
    Cease, at length, by us persuaded,
      Ev’ry _leaf_ must have its fall.

    Youths, though yet no losses grieve you,
      Gay in health and manly grace,
    Let not cloudless skies deceive you,
      Summer gives to autumn place.

    Venerable sires, grown hoary,
      Hither turn th’ unwilling eye,
    Think, amidst your falling glory,
      Autumn tells a winter nigh.

    Yearly in our course returning,
      Messengers of shortest stay,
    Thus we preach, this truth concerning,
      “Heaven and Earth shall pass away.”

    On the Tree of Life eternal,
      Man, let all thy hope be staid,
    Which alone, for ever vernal,
      Bears a _leaf_ that shall not fade.
                              _Bishop Horne._


A wise man will hear, and will increase _learning_; and a man of
understanding shall attain unto wise counsels.--Proverbs, i. 5.

Cease to do evil; _Learn_ to do well.--Isaiah, i. 16, 17.

For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our
_learning_.--Romans, xv. 4.

    What is the pomp of _learning_? the parade
    Of letters and of tongues? Even as the mists
    Of the grey morn before the rising sun,
    That pass away and perish. Earthly things
    Are but the transient pageants of an hour;
    And earthly pride is like the passing flower
    That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.
                                     _H. K. White._

      Of the deep _learning_ of the schools of yore
      The reverend pastor hath a golden stock;
      Yet with a vain display of useless lore,
      Or sapless doctrine never will he mock
      The better cravings of his simple flock;
      But faithfully their humble shepherd guides
      Where streams eternal gush from Calvary’s rock;
      For well he knows not _learning’s_ purest tides
    Can quench the immortal thirst that in the soul abides.
                                              _Mrs. Little._

    _Learning_ is good, but holiness is better:
      _Learning_ with holiness combined--what then?
        Aye, that is best of all; th’ instructed mind,
    Which ignorance nor prejudice can fetter,
      That looks through nature with a searching ken,
        And knows the history of human kind,
    And hath a store of treasures at command;
      If such can meekly bend, and humbly wait
        Beside the footstool of the Infinite,
          Eager to bask in beams of saving grace,
    _Learning_ and goodness then go hand in hand,
      And happy is the people and the state,
        That hath such _learned_ men to shed the light
          Of their example round their early resting-place.


Because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of
corruption into the glorious _liberty_ of the children of God.--Romans,
viii. 21.

Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is _liberty_.--II. Corinthians,
iii. 17.

So speak ye, and so do, as they that shall be judged by the law of
_liberty_.--James, ii. 12.

    In vain from thee, O love, expecting ease,
      Few hours of calm, but years of grief I passed,
      And lived on joys and hopes that would not last--
    Food ill adapted to my heart’s disease.
    But now that I desire a full release,
      And heaven has granted me this sweet contrast
      Of light, and life, and _liberty_ so vast,
    Far as I can from thee I fly for peace;
    Even as a bird, which, rescued from the snare,
      Wings to the shady covert of the grove,
        Still fluttering at the danger it has seen.
      I hear thee call indeed, as I remove;
    But He who sought me, and who hears my prayer,
        Allows not earthly love to come between.
                                       _Gabriel Fiamma._

    But there is yet a _liberty_, unsung
    By poets, and by senators unpraised,
    Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers
    Of earth and hell confederate, take away;
    A _liberty_ which persecution, fraud,
    Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind;
    Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more.
    ’Tis _liberty_ of heart, derived from Heaven,
    Bought with His blood, who gave it to mankind,
    And sealed with the same token.

    True _Liberty_ was Christian; sanctified,
    Baptized and found in Christian hearts alone.
    First-born of Virtue, daughter of the skies,
    Nursling of truth divine; sister of all
    The graces, meekness, holiness, and love.
    Giving to God, and man, and all below
    That symptom showed of sensible existence,
    Their due, unasked.


A man’s _life_ consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he
possesseth.--Luke, xii. 15.

This is _life_ eternal, that they might know thee the only true God,
and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.--John, xvii. 3.

In hope of eternal _life_, which God, that cannot lie, promised before
the world began.--Titus, i. 2.

For what is your _life_? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a
little time, and then vanisheth away.--James, iv. 14.

Hereby perceive we the love of God; because he laid down his _life_ for
us: and we ought to lay down our _lives_ for the brethren.--I. John,
iii. 16.

    So, in the passing of a day, doth pass
      The bud and blossom of the _life_ of man,
    Nor e’er doth flourish more, but like the grass
      Cut down, becometh withered, pale, and wan.

    I _live_ on earth upon a stage of sorrow;
    Lord, if Thou pleasest, end the play to-morrow.
    I _live_ on earth, as in a dream of pleasure;
    Awake me when Thou wilt, I wait Thy leisure.
    I _live_ on earth, but as of _life_ bereaven;
    My _life_’s with Thee, for, Lord, Thou art in Heaven.

    Thy _life_’s a warfare, thou a soldier art,
    Satan’s thy foeman, and a faithful heart
    Thy two-edged weapon, patience thy shield,
    Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.
    To be afraid to die, or wish for death,
    Are words and passions of despairing breath:
    Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yield;
    And who the second, basely flies the field.

    While man is growing, _life_ is in decrease;
    And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb.
    Our birth is nothing but our death begun;
    As tapers waste that instant they take fire.

           *       *       *       *       *

    He sins against this _life_, who slights the next.

                        _Life_ is most enjoyed
    When courted least; most worth when disesteemed;
    Then ’tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace,
    In prospect richer far; important, awful,
    Not to be mentioned, but with shouts of praise!
    Not to be thought on, but with tides of joy!
    The mighty basis of eternal bliss!

           *       *       *       *       *

    In the same brook, none ever bathed him twice:
    To the same _life_, none ever twice awoke.
    We call the brook the same; the same we think
    Our _life_, though still more rapid in its flow;
    Nor mark the much irrevocably lapsed,
    And mingled with the sea.

    Opening the map of God’s expansive plan,
    We find a little isle, this _life_ of man;
    Eternity’s unknown expanse appears
    Circling around, and limiting his years.
    The busy race examine and explore
    Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore,
    With care collect what in their eyes excels,
    Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells,
    Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great,
    And happiest be that groans beneath his weight.
    The waves o’ertake them in their serious play,
    And every hour sweeps multitudes away;
    They shriek and sink--survivors start and weep,
    Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.

    This mortal _life_,
    Seeming so fair, is like a feather tossed,
    Borne on the wind, and in a moment lost.
    Or if with sudden wheel it flies
    Further sometimes, and upwards springs,
    And then upon its wings
    Sustained in air, as if self-balanced, lies,
    The lightness of its nature is the cause--
    And swiftly, after little pause,
    With thousand turns, and thousand idle stops,
    Because it is of earth, to earth it drops.
                  _From the Italian of Sanazzaro._

    Transient, fickle, light, and gay,
    Flattering only to betray;
    What, alas! can _life_ contain!
    _Life_ like all its circles,--vain.

    Man’s _life_’s a book of history;
      The leaves thereof are days;
    The letters, mercies closely joined;
      The title is God’s praise.

    How short is human _life_! the very breath
    Which frames my words, accelerates my death.
                                   _Hannah More._

    Ah, what is _Life_! a dream within a dream;
      A pilgrimage from peril rarely free;
      A bark that sails upon a changing sea,
    Now sunshine and now storm; a mountain stream
      Heard, but scarce seen ere to the dark deep gone;
    A wild star blazing with unsteady beam,
      Yet for a season fair to look upon.
    _Life_ is an infant on Affection’s knee,
    A youth now full of hope and transient glee,
      In manhood’s peerless noon, now bright, anon
    A time-worn ruin silvered o’er with years.
      _Life_ is a race where slippery steeps arise,
      Where discontent and sorrow are the prize,
    And where the goal appears the grave is won.
                                             _E. Moxon._

    In deserts of the Holy Land I strayed,
    Where Christ once _lived_, but seems to _live_ no more,
    On Lebanon my lonely home I made,
    I heard the wind among the cedars roar,
    And saw, far off, the Great Sea’s solemn shore:
    “But ’tis a dreary wilderness,” I said,
    Now the prophetic spirit hence has fled:
    Then, from a convent in the vale, I heard,
    Slow-chanted forth, the everlasting Word,
    Saying “I am he that _liveth_, and was dead,
    And lo! I am _alive_ for evermore.”
    Then forth upon my pilgrimage I fare,
    Resolved to find and praise Him everywhere.
                                               _J. Gostick._

    Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
      “_Life_ is but an empty dream!”
    For the soul is dead that slumbers,
      And things are not what they seem.

    _Life_ is real! _Life_ is earnest!
      And the grave is not its goal;
    “Dust thou art, to dust returnest,”
      Was not spoken of the soul.

    Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
      Is our destined end or way,
    But to act, that each to-morrow
      Find us farther than to-day.

    Art is long, and time is fleeting,
      And our hearts, though stout and brave,
    Still, like muffled drums, are beating
      Funeral marches to the grave.

    In the world’s broad field of battle,
      In the bivouac of _Life_,
    Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
      Be a hero in the strife!

    Trust no future, howe’er pleasant!
      Let the dead Past bury its dead!
    Act,--act in the _living_ Present!
      Heart within, and God o’erhead!

    _Lives_ of great men all remind us
      We can make our _lives_ sublime,
    And, departing, leave behind us
      Footprints on the sands of time;

    Footprints, that perhaps another,
      Sailing o’er _life’s_ solemn main,
    A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
      Seeing, shall take heart again.

    Let us, then, be up and doing,
      With a heart for any fate,
    Still achieving, still pursuing,
      Learn to labour and to wait.


And God said. Let there be _light_: and there was _light_.

And God saw the _light_ that it was good: and God divided the _light_
from the darkness.

And God called the _light_ Day.--Genesis, i. 3, 4, 5.

Truly the _light_ is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to
behold the sun.--Ecclesiastes, xi. 7.

Come ye, and let us walk in the _light_ of the Lord.--Isaiah, ii. 5.

Let your _light_ so shine before men that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven.--Matthew, v. 16.

The dayspring from on high hath visited us, to give _light_ to them
that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet
into the way of peace.--Luke, i. 78, 79.

Every one that doeth evil, hateth the _light_; neither cometh to the
_light_, lest his deeds should be reproved.--John, iii. 20.

    The day that only springeth from on high,
    That high day-_light_ wherein the heavens do live:
    The life that loves but to behold that eye
    Which doth the glory of all brightness give,
    And from the enlightened doth all darkness drive:
      Where saints do see, and angels know to see
      A brighter _light_ than saints or angels see.

    In this _light’s_ love, O, let me ever live!
    And let my soul have never other love
    But all the pleasures of this world to give,
    The smallest spark of such a joy to prove,
    And ever pray unto my God above,
      To grant my humble soul good Simeon’s grace,
      In love to see my Saviour in the face.
                                     _Nicholas Breton._

    Hail, holy _Light_, offspring of heav’n first born,
    Or of th’ Eternal coeternal beam,
    May I express thee unblam’d? Since God is _Light_,
    And never but in unapproached _light_
    Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
    Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
    Or hear’st thou rather pure ethereal stream,
    Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun,
    Before the heav’ns thou wert, and at the voice
    Of God, as with a mantle, did’st invest
    The rising world of waters dark and deep,
    Won from the void and formless infinite!

    He that hath _light_ within his own clear breast,
    May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day;
    But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts,
    Benighted walks under the mid-day sun:
    Himself is his own dungeon.

                  Prime cheerer, _Light_!
    Of all material beings, first and best!
    Efflux divine! Nature’s resplendent robe!
    Without whose vesting beauty, all were wrapt
    In unessential gloom! and thou, O Sun!
    Soul of surrounding worlds, in whom, best seen,
    Shines out thy Maker!

    See, the time for sleep has run,
    Rise before, or with the sun:
    Lift thy hands, and humbly pray
    The fountain of eternal day.
    That, as the _light_, serenely fair,
    Illustrates all the tracts of air;
    The Sacred Spirit so may rest,
    With quickening beams, upon thy breast.

    When Israel of the Lord beloved,
      Out from the land of bondage came,
    Her father’s God before her moved,
      An awful guide in smoke and flame,
    By day along the astonish’d lands
      The cloudy pillar glided slow;
    By night Arabia’s crimson’d sands
      Return’d the fiery column’s glow.

    And present still, though now unseen!
      When brightly shines the prosperous day.
    Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen,
      To temper the deceitful ray;
    And oh, when stoops in Judah’s path,
      In shade and storm, the frequent night,
    Be Thou long-suffering, slow to wrath,
      A burning and a shining _light_.
                            _Sir Walter Scott._

    O _light_, thy subtle essence who may know?
    --Ask not, for all things but myself I show.
                                 _J. Montgomery._

    Almighty Framer of the skies!
    O let our pure devotion rise
      Like incense in thy sight!
    Wrapt in impenetrable shade,
    The texture of our souls was made,
      Till thy command gave _light_.

    Awake, arise, thy _light_ is come;
      The nations that before outshone thee,
    Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb,
      The glory of the Lord is on thee!

    Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
      From ev’ry nook of earth shall cluster;
    And kings and princes haste to pay
      Their homage to thy rising lustre.

    Walk in the _light_! so shalt thou know
      That fellowship of love
    His Spirit only can bestow,
      Who reigns in _light_ above.

    Walk in the _light_! and sin, abhorred,
      Shall ne’er defile again;
    The blood of Jesus Christ the Lord
      Shall cleanse from every stain.

    Walk in the _light_! and thou shalt find,
      Thy heart made truly His,
    Who dwells in cloudless _light_ enshrined,
      In whom no darkness is.

    Walk in the _light_! and thou shalt own
      Thy darkness passed away,
    Because that _light_ hath on thee shone,
      In which is perfect day.

    Walk in the _light_! and e’en the tomb
      No fearful shade shall wear;
    Glory shall chase away its gloom,
      For Christ hath conquered there.

    Walk in the _light_! and thou shalt be
      A path, though thorny, bright;
    For God, by grace, shall dwell in thee,
      And God Himself is _light_!

    “Let there be _light_!” The Eternal spoke,
      And from the abyss where darkness rode
    The earliest dawn of nature broke,
      And _light_ around creation flowed:
    The glad earth smiled to see the day,
      The first-born day come blushing in;
    The young day smiled to shed its ray
      Upon a world untouched by sin.

    “Let there be _light_!” O’er heaven and earth,
      The God who first the day-beam poured,
    Uttered again His fiat forth,
      And shed the gospel’s _light_ abroad;
    And, like the dawn, its cheering rays
      On rich and poor were meant to fall,
    Inspiring their Redeemer’s praise,
      In lowly cot, and lordly hall.

    Then come, when in the orient first
      Flushes the signal-_light_ for prayer;
    Come with the earliest beams that burst
      From God’s bright throne of glory there;
    Come, kneel to Him who through the night
      Hath watched above thy sleeping soul;
    To Him whose mercies, like His _light_,
      Are shed abroad from pole to pole.
                              _Charles F. Hoffman._

    Then moved upon the waveless deep
      The quickening Spirit of the Lord;
    And broken was its pulseless sleep
      Before the Everlasting Word!
    “Let there be _Light_!” and listening earth,
      With tree, and plant, and flowery sod,
    “In the beginning” sprang to birth,
      Obedient to the voice of God.
                                 _W. H Burleigh._

      Heard as each morn relumes the eastern cloud,
      Thy voice of holiest comfort cries aloud,
      Bidding us rise, the night-like past above,
    And soar on morning’s wing to thoughts of _light_ and love!


The _Lord_ shall reign for ever and ever.--Exodus, xv. 18.

Hear, O _Lord_, and have mercy upon me: _Lord_, be thou my
helper.--Psalm xxx. 10.

By the word of the _Lord_ were the heavens made; and all the host of
them by the breath of His mouth.--Psalm xxxiii. 6.

Exalt the _Lord_ our God, and worship at his holy hill, for the _Lord_
our God is holy.--Psalm xcix. 9.

And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as the voice
of many waters, and as the voice of many thunderings, saying. Alleluia:
for the _Lord_ God omnipotent reigneth.--Revelation, xix. 6.

    Thou art of all created things
    O _Lord_, the essence and the cause,
    The source and centre of all bliss;
    What are those veils of woven light,
    Where sun and moon and stars unite,
    The purple morn, the sprangled night,
    But curtains which Thy mercy draws
    Between the heavenly world and this?
    The terrors of the sea and land,
    When all the elements conspire,
    The earth and water, storm and fire,
    Are but the shadows of Thy hand;
    The lightning’s flash, the howling storm,
    The dread volcano’s awful blaze,
    Proclaim Thy glory and Thy praise!
    Beneath the sunny summer showers
    Thy love assumes a milder form
    And writes its angel name in flowers;
    The wind that flies with winged feet
    Around the grassy gladdened earth,
    Seems but commissioned to repeat
    In echo’s accents--silvery sweet--
    That Thou, O _Lord_, didst give it birth.
    There is a tongue in every flame,
    There is a tongue in every wave,
    To these the bounteous Godhead gave
    These organs but to praise His name!
    O mighty _Lord_ of boundless space
    Here canst Thou be both sought and found.
    For here in everything around
    Thy presence and Thy power I trace;
    With faith my guide and my defence,
    I burn to serve in love and fear;
    If as a slave, oh! leave me here,
    If not, O _Lord_, remove me hence!
        _M’ Carthy, from the Spanish of Calderon._

    The _Lord_ of all, Himself through all diffused,
    Sustains, and is the life of all that lives.
    Nature is but a name for an effect,
    Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire
    By which the mighty process is maintained;
    Who sleeps not, is not weary; in whose sight
    Slow circling ages are as transient days;
    Whose work is without labour; whose designs
    No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts;
    And whose beneficence no charge exhausts.
    Him blind antiquity profaned, not served,
    With self-taught rites, and under various names,
    Female and Male Pomona, Pales, Pan,
    And Flora, and Vertumnus; peopling earth
    With tutelary goddesses and gods
    That were not; and commending as they would
    To each some province, garden, field, or grove.
    But all are under one. One Spirit, His
    Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows,
    Rules universal nature. Not a flower
    But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain,
    Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires
    Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
    And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
    In grains as countless as the sea-side sands,
    The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth.

    The _Lord_ will come! the earth shall quake,
    The hills their fixed seat forsake;
    And, with’ring, from the vault of night
    The stars withdraw their feeble light.

    The _Lord_ will come! but not the same
    As once in lowly form He came,
    A silent Lamb to slaughter led,
    The bruis’d, the suff’ring, and the dead.

    The _Lord_ will come! a dreadful form,
    With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,
    On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
    Anointed Judge of human-kind!

    Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain!
    Go, seek the mountain’s cleft in vain!
    But faith, victorious o’er the tomb,
    Shall sing for joy, the _Lord_ is come!

    Great Former of this various frame,
    Our souls adore thine awful name;
    And bow and tremble while they praise
    The Ancient of eternal days.

    Thou _Lord_, with unsurprised survey,
    Saw’st nature rising yesterday;
    And, as to-morrow, shall thine eye,
    See earth and stars in ruin lie.

    In the dark winter of affliction’s hour,
    When summer friends and pleasures haste away,
    And the wrecked heart perceives how frail each power
    It made a refuge, and believed a stay;
    When man, all wild and weak is seen to be--
    There’s none like Thee, O _Lord_! there’s none like Thee!

    Thou in adversity canst be a sun;
    Thou hast a healing balm, a sheltering tower,
    The peace, the truth, the life, the love of One,
    Nor wound, nor grief, nor storm can overpower
    Gifts of a King; gifts, frequent and yet free,--
    There’s none like Thee, O _Lord_! none, none like Thee!
                                              _Miss Jewsbury._

    Attired with majesty, the _Lord_ doth reign,
    And girt with strength. The world immovably
    Is stablished, and His throne shall aye remain!
    Thou art for ever! The floods have lifted high,
    O _Lord_! the floods have lifted high their voice,
    The floods lift up their billows mightily--
    The _Lord_ on high is mightier than the noise
    Of many waters, stronger than the seas--
    Thy word is sure--Let all the earth rejoice!
                                        _J. A. Heraud._


The Lord preserveth all them that _love_ Him.--Psalm xciv. 20.

_Love_ your enemies, bless them that curse you.--Matthew, v. 44.

This is my commandment, that ye _love_ one another, as I have _loved_

Greater _love_ hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends.

Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.--John, xv. 12, 14.

God commendeth his _love_ toward us, in that, while we were yet
sinners, Christ died for us.--Romans, v. 8.

Behold, what manner of _love_ the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we
should be called the sons of God.--I. John, iii. 1.

Beloved, let us _love_ one another: for _love_ is of God; and every one
that _loveth_ is born of God, and knoweth God.--I. John, iv. 7.

    Weak though we are, to _love_ is no hard task,
    And _love_ for _love_ is all that Heaven does ask.

           *       *       *       *       *

    ’Tis with our minds as with a fertile ground;
    Wanting this _love_, they must with weeds abound;
    Unruly passions, whose effects are worse
    Than thorns and briars, springing from the curse.

    Legions of angels, which He might have used,
    For us resolved to perish, He refused;
    While they stood ready to prevent His loss,
    _Love_ took Him up, and nailed Him to the cross.
    Immortal _love_! which in His bowels reigned,
    That we might be by such high _love_ constrained
    To make return of _love_; upon this pole
    Our duty does, and our religion roll.
    To _love_ is to believe, to hope, to know;
    ’Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below.
    He to proud potentates would not be known;
    Of those who _loved_ Him, He was hid from none.

                            Humble _love_,
    And not proud science, keeps the door of Heaven;
    _Love_ finds admission where proud science fails.

    _Love_ celestial! wondrous heat!
    O, beyond expression great!
    What resistless charms were thine,
    In thy good, thy best design!
    When God was hated, sin obeyed,
    And man undone, without thy aid,
    From the seats of endless peace
    They brought the Son, the Lord of Grace;
    They taught Him to receive a birth,
    To clothe in flesh, to live on earth,
    And after, lifted Him on high,
    And taught Him on the cross to die.

    He prayeth best, who _loveth_ best
    All things, both great and small;
    For the dear God who _loveth_ us,
    He made and _loveth_ all.

    They sin who tell us _love_ can die!
    With life all other passions fly,
      All others are but vanity;
    In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
    Nor avarice in the vaults of hell;
    Earthly these passions of the earth,
    They perish where they have their birth.
      But _love_ is indestructible,
      Its holy flame for ever burneth,
    From heaven it came, to heaven returneth:
      For oft on earth a troubled guest,
      At times deceived, at times oppress’d;
      It here is tried and purified,
      Then hath in heaven its perfect rest:
      It sowest here with toil and care,
    But the harvest-time of _love_ is there.

      I must _love_ on, O God!
      This bosom must _love_ on! but let thy breath
      Touch and make pure the flame that knows not death
    Bearing it up to Heaven, _Love’s_ own abode.
                                           _Mrs. Hemans._

    No mortal object did these eyes behold
      When first they met the placid light of thine,
      And my soul felt her destiny divine;
    And hope of endless peace in me grew bold:
    Heaven-born, the soul a heavenward course must hold;
      Beyond the visible world she soars to seek
      (For what delights the sense is false and weak)
    Ideal form, the universal mould.
    The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest
      In that which perishes: nor will he lend
      His heart to ought which doth on time depend.
    ’Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true _love_,
    Which kills the soul: _love_ betters what is best
    Even here below, but more in heaven above.
                       _Wordsworth, from Michael Angelo._

    O _Love_! thy essence is thy purity!
      Breathe one unhallowed breath upon thy flame,
    And it is gone for ever, and but leaves
      A sullied vase--its pure light lost in shame.
                                      _Miss Landon._

    _Love_ Thee! Oh, clad in human lowliness,--
    In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows,--
    Our flesh, our forms, our tears, our pains, our woes;
    A fellow-wanderer o’er earth’s wilderness!
    _Love_ Thee!--whose very word but breathes to bless!
    Through Thee, from long-seal’d lips, glad language flows;
    The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
    And babes, unchid, Thy garment’s hem caress.
    I see thee--doomed by bitterest pangs to die,
    Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps move,
    With scorge, and taunt, and wanton agony;
    While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,
    Though all--even there--be radiant Deity!
    Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is _Love_.

    They err, who deem _love’s_ brightest hour in blooming youth
        is flown:
    Its purest, tenderest, holiest power in after life is known,
    When passions chastened and subdued, to riper years are given,
    And earth, and earthly things, are viewed in light that breaks from
                                                       _Bernard Barton._

    Music of the bough that waves,
      As the wind plays lightly o’er;
    Music of the stream that laves
      Pebbly marge or rocky shore;
    Sweet your melody to me,
      Singing to the soul--the tone
    Exceeds by far the minstrelsy
      Of halls wherein bright harpers shone;
    For ye attune His praise who made
      The wondrous perfect frame we view,
    Each hill, and plain, and leafy shade,
      And yon fair canopy of blue:
    Ye seem to sing,--“How great the arm
      Of that high God who reigns above;
    Him worship! but without alarm;
      His dearest, best known name is _Love_.”
                              _James Edmeston._

    All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away,
    Except the _Love_ of God, which shall live and last for aye.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Anon the great globe itself (so the holy writings tell,)
    With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell,
    Shall melt with fervent heat--they all shall pass away,
    Except the _Love_ of God, which shall live and last for aye.
                                                  _W. C. Bryant._

    God is _Love_, saith the Evangel;
      And our world of woe and sin
    Is made light and happy only,
      When a _love_ is shining in.
                     _J. G. Whittier._

    Oh, _loving_ and forgiving--
      Ye angel words of earth
    Years were not worth the living
      If ye too had not birth!
    Oh, _loving_ and forbearing--
      How sweet your mission here;
    The grief that ye are sharing
      Hath blessings in its tear.

    Oh, stern and unforgiving--
      Ye evil words of life,
    That mock the means of living
      With never-ending strife.
    Oh, harsh and unrepenting
      How would ye meet the grave,
    If Heaven, as unrelenting,
      Forbore not, nor forgave?

    Oh, _loving_ and forgiving--
      Sweet sisters of the soul,
    In whose celestial living
      The passions find control!
    Still breathe your influence o’er us
      Whene’er by passion crost,
    And, angel-like, restore us
      The paradise we lost.
                         _Charles Swain._

                    ’Tis the angel _Love_,
    He, who for ever strives with Death, and yet
    Doth live! I see a form erect and motionless,
    Veiled with a cloud of darkness, that no eye
    Can pierce; that spectre form is Death, and there
    I see _Love_ crushed and bleeding ’neath his feet:
    But still undying--still a conqueror--still
    A thing that Death may wound but cannot quell.
    In his warm blood a spirit still survives;
    In his bright eye a soul is living yet;
    In his undying heart, eternal life
    Throbs fixedly. Oh strife most beautiful!
    Thou crowned martyr! thou enduring _Love_!
    How beautiful thou art!
                               _Constantia L. Riddell._

    Why should I a stranger be
      In my Father’s dwelling,
    While hill and river, rock and tree,
      Of his _love_ are telling?
    Always heard their simple voice,
    Bidding child-like hearts rejoice,
    Whispers us this _love_ is near;
    What we seek in yonder sphere,
    _Love_ can find it now--and here.
                        _Joseph Gostick._

    Hail, holy _love_! ethereal essence, hail!
    Heaven’s earliest offspring, earliest visitant
    From thence to earth, here latest found to soothe
    Man’s burdened heart, with pains and griefs oppressed,
    (Sad fruit of disobedience,) thou, ere time
    His race had yet begun, the glorious plan
    Of mercy didst devise, the day of grace,
    That with mild lustre dawned in Eden’s shades,
    What time primeval sinners strove to hide
    (Vain subterfuge!) from God’s all-piercing eye
    Their guilt and shame; and thousand promises
    With kindling radiance on the raptured mind
    Of patriarchs, and kings, and prophets rose,
    And saints expectant.
                                              _S. Stennet._

    _Love_ never fails: though knowledge cease,
      Though Prophecies decay,
    _Love_, Christian _love_, shall still increase,
      Shall still extend her sway.
    Here dimly, through life’s shadowy glass,
      We strain our infant eyes;
    Soon shall the earth-born vapours pass,
      And light, unclouded, rise;
    Then Hope shall sink in changeless doom,
      Then Faith’s bright race be o’er,
    But Thou, Eternal _Love_, shalt bloom
      More glorious than before.
                                         _W. Peter._

    Before the sparkling lamps on high
    Were kindled up, and hung around the sky:
    Before the sun led on the circling hours,
    Or vital seeds produced their active powers;
    Before the first intelligences strung
    Their golden harps and soft preludiums sung
    To _Love_, the mighty cause whence their existence sprung,
                  Th’ ineffable Divinity
                  His own resemblance meets in thee.
    By this thy glorious lineage thou dost prove
    Thy high descent--for God Himself is _Love_.
                                                   _Mrs. Rowe._


Though the Lord be high, yet hath He respect unto the _lowly_: but the
proud He knoweth afar off.--Psalm cxxxviii. 6.

When pride cometh, then cometh shame: but with the _lowly_ is
wisdom.--Proverbs, xi. 2.

Let nothing be done through strife or vain glory; but in _lowliness_ of
mind let each esteem other better than themselves.--Philippians, ii. 3.

              The man whose eye
    Is ever on himself, doth look on one
    The least of nature’s works, one who might move
    The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
    Unlawful ever. O be wiser, Thou!
    Instructed that true knowledge leads to love;
    True dignity abides with him alone,
    Who in the silent hour of inward thought,
    Can still suspect, and still revere himself
    In _lowliness_ of heart.

    There are briars besetting every path,
      That call for patient care;
    There is a cross in every lot,
      And an earnest need for prayer;
    But a _lowly_ heart that leans on Thee
      Is happy anywhere.
                           _Ann L. Waring._

    The blessing of a _lowly_ mind
      Lord, unto me be given,
    Joy in the meanest spot to find,
    To see in all of human kind,
    But fellow-travellers, designed
      To rest at last in heaven.

    The pleasures of a _lowly_ state
      Oh, let me ne’er despise;
    And should I sit among the great,
    Ne’er be my heart with pride elate,
    But meekly let me watch and wait
      In _lowliness_ of guise.


In the day that God created _man_, in the likeness of God made he him.

Male and female created he them; and blessed them, and called their
name Adam, in the day when they were created.--Genesis, v. 1, 2.

Behold, even to the moon, and it shineth not; yea, the stars are not
pure in his sight.

How much less _man_, that is a worm? and the son of _man_, which is a
worm?--Job, xxv. 5, 6.

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the
stars, which thou hast ordained.

What is _man_ that thou art mindful of him, and the son of _man_ that
thou visitest him.

For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned
him with glory and honour.--Psalm viii. 3, 4, 5.

_Man’s_ goings are of the Lord; how can a _man_, then, understand his
own way?--Proverbs, xx. 24.

_Man_ shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth
out of the mouth of God.--Matthew, iv. 4.

    O, what is _man_, great Maker of _mankind_!
      That Thou to him so great respect dost bear;
    That Thou adornest him with so bright a mind,
      Mak’st him a king, and even an angel’s peer?

    O, what a lively life, what heavenly power,
      What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire,
    How great, how plentiful, how rich a dower
      Dost Thou within the dying flesh inspire!

    Thou leav’st Thy print in other works of Thine,
      But Thy whole image Thou in _man_ hast writ;
    There cannot be a creature more divine,
      Except, like Thee, it should be infinite.

    But it exceeds _man’s_ thoughts, to think how high
      God hath raised _man_, since God a _man_ became;
    The angels do admire this mystery,
      And are astonished when they view the same:

    Nor hath He given these blessings for a day,
      Nor made them on the body’s life depend;
    The soul, though made in time, survives for aye;
      And though it hath beginning, sees no end.
                                     _Sir John Davies._

    So fair is _man_, that death (a parting blast,)
    Blasts his fair flower, and makes him earth at last;
    So strong is _man_, that with a gasping breath
    He totters, and bequeaths his strength to death;
    So wise is _man_, that if with death he strive,
    His wisdom cannot teach him how to live;
    So rich is _man_, that (all his debts being paid,)
    His wealth’s the winding-sheet wherein he’s laid;
    So young is _man_, that (broke with care and sorrow,)
    He’s old enough to-day to die to-morrow.
                                        _Francis Quarles._

    _Man’s_ not a lawful steersman of his days,
    His bootless wish nor hastens, nor delays;
    We are God’s hired workmen, He discharges
    Some late at night, and (when He list) enlarges
    Others at noon, and in the morning some:
    None may relieve himself, till He bid, Come.
                                  _Francis Quarles._

    Let us make _man_ in our own image, _man_
    In our similitudes, and let them rule
    Over the fish and fowl of both sea and air,
    Beast of the field, and over all the earth,
    And every creeping thing that creeps the ground.
    This said, He formed thee Adam, thee, O _man_!
    Dust of the ground; and in thy nostrils breathed
    The breath of life: in His own image, He
    Created thee--in the image of God

    When by His Word God had accomplished all,
    _Man_ to create He did a council call:
    Employed His hand to give the dust He took
    A graceful figure and majestic look;
    With His own breath conveyed into his breast
    Life and a soul fit to command the rest.

                Alas! that _man_
    Must prove the direst enemy of _man_--
    His boasted reason wielded to contrive
    Dark systems of despair--his vaunted skill,
    To forge the fetters which enthral the soul.
                                  _A. Alexander._

    A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt!
    Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine;
    Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
    An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
    Helpless immortal! insect infinite!
    A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,
    And in myself am lost. At home a stranger,
    Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
    And wondering at her own. How reason reels!
    Oh! what miracle to _man_ to _man_!

    Say, why was _man_ so eminently rais’d
    Amid the vast creation; why ordain’d
    Through life and death to dart his piercing eye,
    With thoughts beyond the limits of his frame;
    But that the Omnipotent might send him forth
    In sight of mortal and immortal powers,
    As on a boundless theatre, to run
    The great career of justice; to exalt
    His generous aim to all diviner deeds;
    To chase each partial purpose from his breast;
    And through the mists of passion and of sense,
    And through the tossing tide of chance and pain,
    To hold his course unfaltering; while the voice
    Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent
    Of nature, calls him to his high reward--
    The applauding smile of Heaven?

    Traveller, as roaming over vales and steeps,
    Thou hast, perchance, beheld in foliage fair
    A willow bending o’er a brook--it weeps,
        Leaf after leaf, into the stream, till bare
        Are the best boughs, the lovliest and the brightest,
        Oh! sigh, for well thou may’st, yet as thou sighest,
          Think not ’tis o’er imaginary woe;
    I tell thee, traveller, such is mortal _man_,
        And so he hangs o’er fancied bliss, and so,
    While life is verging to its shortest span,
        Drop one by one his dearest joys away,
          Till hope is but the ghost of something fair,
          Till joy is mockery, till life is care,
        Till he himself is unreflecting clay.
                                               _Henry Neele._

    Whate’er of earth is formed, to earth returns
    Dissolved: the various objects we behold--
    Plants, animals, this whole material mass--
    Are ever changing, ever new. The soul
    Of _man_ alone, that particle divine,
    Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail:
    Hence the great distance ’twixt the beasts that perish,
    And God’s bright image, _man’s_ immortal race.

    Prostration vile, an alienate from God
    _Man_ is, and shall his fallen nature rise,
    Her height regain, and fill ethereal thrones?
    Many a cloud of evil shall be burst,
    Ere that day come, severe and dread the strife
    Of sullied nature with the soul of _man_,
    Whate’er his climate, character, or creed,
    Temptation, like a spirit, tracks his path.
                                   _R. Montgomery._

    And what is _man_? In outward guise
      Let him be prince, or peer, or slave,
    Or poor and weak, or great and wise--
      A mortal, tending to the grave:
    Such are all _men_--from earth we came,
    Earth doth her own poor dust reclaim.
                               _H. H. Weld._

      But, of Thy works, through sea and land,
    Or the wide fields of ether wending,
    In _man_ Thy noblest thoughts are blending;
      _Man_ is the glory of thy hand;--
    _Man_ modelled in a form of grace,
    Where every beauty has its place;
      A gentleness and glory sharing
      His spirit, where we may behold
    A higher aim, a nobler daring:
      ’Tis Thine immortal mould.
                                _Jacob Bellamy._

    When the Almighty Fiat, from the gloom
    Of chaos drawn to light, had now arranged
    The jarring seeds, the last, the most sublime
    Of all His works, was _Man_ called forth; to him
    The Sovereign Word gave empire o’er the whole.
                                      _Samuel Hayes._


Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave
unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.--Genesis, ii. 24.

And the third day there was a _marriage_ in Cana of Galilee; and the
mother of Jesus was there:

And both Jesus was called, and his disciples to the _marriage_.--John,
ii. 1, 2.

_Marriage_ is honourable in all.--Hebrews, xiii. 4.

Blessed are they which are called unto the _marriage_ supper of the
Lamb.--Revelations, xix. 9.

                  Save the love we pay
    To Heaven, none purer, holier than that
    A virtuous woman feels, for him she’d cleave
    Thro’ life to. Sisters part from sisters--brothers
    From brothers--children from their parents--but
    Such woman from the husband of her choice,
                                    _Sheridan Knowles._

                      Joy, serious and sublime,
    Such as doth nerve the energies of prayer,
    Should swell the bosom, when a maiden’s hand,
    Filled with life’s dewy flowerets, girdeth on
    That harness which the ministry of death
    Alone unlooseth, but whose fearful power
    May stamp the sentence of Eternity.
                                 _Mrs. Sigourney._

                    Look down, O Thou
    Who wast at Cana! Bless the rite that’s past!
    Help me to put a wedding-garment on
    For the great _marriage_ supper; and to wear
    Thy choice of ornaments, while I await
    The coming of the Bridegroom.
                                _Hannah F. Gould._

    There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
    Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand.
    What trying thoughts in the bosom swell,
    As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
    Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
    And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.
                                      _Henry Ware, Jun._


And others had trial of cruel mockings and scourgings, yea, moreover of
bonds and imprisonment;

They were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with
the sword: they wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins; being
destitute, afflicted, tormented;

(Of whom the world was not worthy:) they wandered in deserts, and in
mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.--Hebrews, xi. 36, 37, 38.

I saw the souls of them that were beheaded for the witness of Jesus,
and for the Word of God.--Revelations, xx. 4.

    The Sacred Book, its value understood,
    Received the seal of _martyrdom_ in blood.
    These holy men, so full of truth and grace,
    Seem, to reflection, of a different race;
    Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere,
    In such a cause they could not dare to fear;
    They could not purchase earth with such a price,
    Or spare a life too short to reach the skies.
    From them to thee conveyed along the tide,
    Their streaming hearts poured freely when they died;
    Those truths which neither use nor years impair,
    Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share.

        In vain the Roman lord
        Waved the relentless sword,
    And spread the terrors of the circling flame;
        In vain the heathen sought,
        If chance some lurking spot,
    Might mar the lustre of the Christian name:
    The Eternal Spirit, by His fruits confessed,
    In life secured from stains, and steel’d in death, the breast.
                                                     _Bishop Mant._

    The Son of God is gone to war,
      A kingly crown to gain;
    His blood-red banner streams afar;
      Who follows in his train?
    --Who best can drink his cup of woe,
      Triumphant over pain;
    Who boldest bears his cross below,--
      He follows in his train.

    The _martyr_ first, whose eagle-eye
      Could pierce beyond the grave;
    Who saw his Master in the sky,
      And call’d on him to save:
    Like him, with pardon on his tongue,
      In midst of mortal pain,
    He pray’d for them who did the wrong:
      --Who follows in the train?

    When persecution’s torrent blaze
      Wraps the unshrinking _martyr’s_ head,
    When fade all earthly flowers and bays,
      When summer friends are gone and fled,
    Is he alone in that dark hour,
    Who owns the Lord of love and power?

    Or waves there not around his brow,
      A wand no human arm may wield,
    Fraught with a spell no angels know,
      His steps to guide, his soul to shield?
    Thou, Saviour, art his Charmed Bower,
    His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower.

    In rendering to the Lord what is the Lord’s,
      Doth not the thought of violence bring shame?
    Think ye, He gave the branching forest-tree
      To furnish fagots for the funeral pyre,
    Or bid His sunrise light the world, to see
      Pale, tortured victims perish there by fire?
                                      _Mrs. Norton._

    The blood of _martyrs_, living still,
      Makes the ground pregnant where it flows,
    And for their temporary ill
      Thereon eternal triumph grows.
                                 _J. A. Heraud._

    Thy children, even as _martyrs_ perished:
      Those first-loved fruits that sprang from thee,
    From which thy heart was doomed to sever,
    In praise of God, shall bloom for ever,
      Unhurt, untouched, by tyranny.


The Lord lifteth up the _meek_.--Psalm cxlvii. 6.

The Lord taketh pleasure in his people: he will beautify the _meek_
with salvation.--Psalm cxlix. 4.

Blessed are the _meek_: for they shall inherit the earth.--Matthew, v.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me: for I am _meek_ and lowly in
heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.--Matthew, xi. 29.

    O, what a doctrine of almighty depth
    Messiah founded, when His truth declar’d
    In _meekness_ lies the majesty of man!
    At once the wisdom of the world was dumb,
    And fortune blasted on her throne of bliss.
    The ways of pleasantness, the paths of peace,
    Are dim and narrow, tracks of noiseless gloom
    Which glory flies, and grandeur seldom walks:
    The poor in spirit, and the _meek_ in heart,
    Who thirst and hunger for Thy righteous word.--
    Oh! these are blest, for Thine unerring voice
    Hath call’d them so.
                                    _R. Montgomery._

    Behold! where, in the friend of man,
      Appears each grace divine:
    The virtues, all in Jesus met,
      With mildest radiance shine.

    To spread the rays of heavenly light;
      To give the mourner joy;
    To preach glad tidings to the poor,
      Was His divine employ.

    ’Midst keen reproach and cruel scorn,
      Patient and _meek_ He stood;
    His foes, ungrateful, sought His life;--
      He laboured for their good.

    _Meek_ souls there are, who little dream
    Their daily strife an angel’s theme;
    And that the end they take so calm,
    Shall prove in heaven a martyr’s palm.


And thou shalt put the mercy seat above upon the ark; and in the ark
thou shalt put the testimony that I shall give thee.

And there I will _meet_ with thee, and I will commune with thee from
above the mercy seat.--Exodus, xxv. 21, 22.

    O, when a mother _meets_ on high
    The babe she lost in infancy,
    Hath she not then for pains and fears,
    The day of woe, the watchful night,
    For all her sorrows, all her tears,
    An over-payment of delight?

    O, ’tis one scene of parting here,
      Love’s watchword is farewell!
    And almost starts the following tear,
      Ere dried the last that fell!
    ’Tis but to feel that one most dear
      Is needful to the heart,
    And straight a voice is muttering near,
      Imperious, Ye must part!

    But happiest he, whose gifted eye
      Above this world can see,
    And those diviner realms descry,
      Where partings cannot be;
    Who, with One changeless Friend on high,
      Life’s various path has trod,
    And soars to _meet_, beyond the sky,
      The ransomed and their God.

    Oh, what an all-glorious _meeting_,
      In yonder bright world we shall know;
    When glorified spirits are greeting
      The friends they left mourning below.

    Earth’s friendships renewed shall then heighten
      The loud-rolling anthem of praise;
    While each happy spirit shall brighten
      At the feet of the ancient of days.
                                      _W. J. Brock._


All the paths of the Lord are _mercy_ and truth unto such as keep his
covenant and his testimonies.--Psalm xxv. 10.

The Lord is good to all: and His tender _mercies_ are over all His
works.--Psalm cxlv. 9.

He that hath _mercy_ on the poor, happy is he.--Proverbs, xiv. 21.

Blessed are the _merciful_: for they shall obtain _mercy_.--Matthew, v.

Be ye therefore _merciful_, as your Father also is _merciful_.--Luke,
vi. 36.

    Ye Sacred Writings! in whose antique leaves,
      The wondrous deeds of heaven recorded lie,
    Say what might be the cause, that _mercy_ heaves
      The dust of sin above the starry sky,
      And lets it not to dust and ashes fly?
        Could Justice be of sin so over-woo’d,
        Or so great ill be cause of so great good,
    That, bloody man to save, man’s Saviour shed his blood.

    Here, when the ruin of that beauteous frame,
      Whose golden building shin’d with every star
    Of excellence, deform’d with sin became;
      _Mercy_ rememb’ring peace in midst of war,
      Lift up the music of her voice to bar
        Eternal fate, lest it should quite erase
        That from the world, which was the first world’s grace.
    And all again into their nothing--chaos--chase.
                                               _Giles Fletcher._

    Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
    And He that might the vantage best have took,
    Found out the remedy. How would you be,
    If He which is the top of judgment, should
    But judge you, as you are? O, think on that!
    And _mercy_ then will breathe within your lips,
    Like men new made.

    It is an attribute of God himself,
    And earthly power doth then show liker God’s,
    When _mercy_ seasons justice.

    When winter fortunes cloud the brows
      Of summer friends,--when eyes grow strange,--
    When plighted faith forgets its vows,
      When earth and all things in it change,--
    O Lord, thy _mercies_ fail me never--
    Where once thou lovest, thou lovest for ever!
                                     _John Quarles._

    _Mercy_ is the highest reach of wit,
    A safety unto them that save with it:
    Born out of God, and unto human eyes,
    Like God, not seen, till fleshly passion dies.
                                     _Lord Brooke._

    ’Tis He supports my mortal frame,
      My tongue shall speak His praise,
    My sins would rise His wrath to flame,
      And yet His wrath delays.

    On a poor worm Thy power might tread,
      And I could ne’er withstand,
    Thy justice might have crushed me dead,
      But _mercy_ held Thy hand.

    Hard is his fate who builds his peace of mind
    On the precarious _mercy_ of mankind;
    Who hopes for wild and visionary things,
    And mounts o’er unknown seas with vent’rous wings.

    Though Nature her inverted course forego,
    The day forget to rest, the time to flow,
    Yet shall Jehovah’s servants stand secure,
    His _Mercy_, fixed, eternal shall endure;
    On them her everlasting rays shall shine,
    More mild and bright, and sure, O sun! than thine.
                                        _Bishop Lowth._

    How are thy servants bless’d, O Lord!
      How sure is their defence!
    Eternal wisdom is their guide,
      Their help, Omnipotence!

    In foreign realms, and lands remote,
      Supported by thy care,
    Through burning climes I pass’d unhurt,
      And breathed in tainted air.

    In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
      Thy goodness I’ll adore;
    And praise thee for thy _mercies_ past,
      And humbly hope for more.

    With grief opprest, and prostrate in the dust,
    Shouldst Thou condemn, I own thy sentence just.
    But oh! Thy softer titles let me claim,
    And plead my cause by _Mercy’s_ gentle name.
    _Mercy_, that wipes the penitential tear,
    And dissipates the horrors of despair;
    From righteous Justice steals the vengeful hour,
    Softens the dreadful attributes of power,
    Disarms the wrath of an offended God,
    And seals my pardon in a Saviour’s blood.
                                       _Mrs. Carter._

    O, Thou, whose piercing thought
      Doth note each secret path,
    For _mercy_ to Thy Throne we fly
      From man’s condemning wrath.

    How fearless should our trust
      In thy compassion be,
    When from our brother of the dust
      We dare appeal to Thee.
                     _Mrs. Sigourney._

    Believe, and fear not! in the blackest cloud
    A sunbeam hides; and from the deepest pang,
    Some hidden _mercy_ may a God declare!
                                 _R. Montgomery._

    By all the tender _mercy_
      God hath shown to human grief,
    When fate, or man’s perverseness,
      Denied and barr’d relief,--
    By the helpless woe which taught me
      To look to Him alone,
    From the vain appeals for justice
      And wild efforts of my own,--
    By thy light--thou unseen future,
      And thy tears--thou bitter past,
    I will hope--though all forsake me--
      In His _Mercy_ to the last!
                           _Mrs. Norton._

                      If Heaven
    Did in the balance of strict justice weigh
    The iniquity of men, who could abide
    Its judgment? Did not _mercy_ temper wrath,
    Eternal ruin would o’erwhelm mankind.
                                 _Samuel Hayes._

                      _Mercy_ descends
    From heaven, and o’er the penitential heart,
    Rent by the agonizing pains of guilt,
    Spreads the soft blessings of internal peace.
                                   _Samuel Hayes._

    Mankind are all pilgrims on life’s weary road,
      And many would wander astray
    In seeking eternity’s silent abode,
      Did _Mercy_ not point out the way.
                                    _G. P. Morris._

    I hear a sound that comes from far;
      It fills my soul with joy and love;
    Not seraphs’ voices sweeter are,
      That echo through the courts above.

    ’Tis _mercy’s_ voice that strikes my ear,
      From Calvary it sounds abroad;
    It soothes my soul and calms my fear;
      It speaks of pardon bought with blood.

    And is it true that many fly
      The sound that bids my soul rejoice,
    And rather choose with fools to die,
      Than turn an ear to _mercy’s_ voice.

    With such, I own, I once appeared,
      But now I know how great their loss;
    For sweeter sounds were never heard,
      Than _mercy_ utters from the cross.

    Lord have _mercy_ when we strive
    To save, through Thee, our souls alive!
    When the pampered flesh is strong,
    When the strife is fierce and long;
    When our wakening thoughts begin
    First to loathe their cherished sin,
    And our weary spirits fail,
    And our aching brows are pale,
        Oh, then have _mercy_, Lord!
                             _H. H. Milman._


I have a _message_ from God unto thee.--Judges, iii. 20.

The priest’s lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law
at his mouth: for he is the _messenger_ of the Lord of Hosts.--Malachi,
ii. 7.

Behold I will send my _messenger_, and he shall prepare the way before
me.--Malachi, iii. 1.

This is the _message_ that ye heard from the beginning, that we should
love one another.--I. John, iii. 11.

                        Gently hast thou told
    Thy _message_, which might else in telling wound,
    And in performing end us.

        O for a _message_ from above
          To bear my spirit up!
        Some pledge of my Creator’s love
    To calm my terrors and support my hope!
      Let waves and thunders mix and roar;
    Be thou my God, and the whole world is mine:
        While thou art Sovereign, I’m secure;
      I shall be rich till Thou art poor;
    For all I fear, and all I wish, Heaven, Earth, and Hell, are thine.

    Oh, there are _messengers_ of wrath,
      And _messengers_ of love;
    And each one goeth on his path,
      Commissioned from above.

    Eternal justice sends the one,
      Mercy the other guides;
    Their ways at times so nearly run,
      That scarce a line divides.

    Which, oh my soul! shall come to thee,
      When my last hour is near?
    What shall the awful _message_ be,
      That thou shalt trembling hear?

    Momentous question! yet, alas!
      But little heed I pay,
    Although I see the _messengers_
      Speed by me every day.


Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the
commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the _Messiah_ the
Prince, shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street
shall be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times.

And after threescore and two weeks shall _Messiah_ be cut off, but not
for himself.--Daniel, ix. 25, 26.

We have found the _Messias_, which is, being interpreted, the
Christ.--John, i. 41.

    The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
    Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
    But, fixed, His word, His saving power remains;
    Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own _Messiah_ reigns.

    _Messiah_ comes!--Let furious discord cease;
    Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace!
    Disease and anguish feel His blest control,
    And howling fiends release the tortured soul!
    The beams of gladness Hell’s dark caves illume,
    And mercy broods above the distant gloom.
                                     _Bishop Heber._

    _Messiah_ comes! ye rugged paths be plain;
    The Shiloh comes, ye towering cedars bend;
    Swell forth ye valleys; and, ye rocks descend;
    The withered branch let balmy fruits adorn,
    And clustering roses twine the leafless thorn;
    Burst forth, ye vocal groves, your joy to tell--
    The God of Peace redeems His Israel.
                                     _C. H. Johnson._

    Rising from His cross and passion,
      Lo! the King _Messiah_ reigns;
    Lord! the strength of Thy salvation
      His triumphant joy sustains;
          Crowned with conquest
      Now th’ eternal throne He gains.

    Joy and triumph crown the Saviour,
      Seated on the throne above;
    There exalted in Thy favour,
      Safely trusting in Thy love:
          King of Sion!
      Never shall Thy throne remove!


Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose _mind_ is stayed on thee;
because he trusteth in thee.--Isaiah, xxvi. 3.

To be carnally _minded_ is death; but to be spiritually _minded_ is
life and peace.

Because the carnal _mind_ is enmity against God.--Romans, viii. 6, 7.

A double-_minded_ man is unstable in all his ways.--James, i. 8.

    Mylo, forbear to call him blest,
      That only boasts a large estate:
    Should all the treasures of the west
      Meet, and conspire to make him great,--
    Should a broad stream with golden sands
      Through all his meadows roll,--
    He’s but a wretch, with all his lands,
      That wears a narrow soul.

    Were I so tall as reach the pole,
      Or grasp the ocean with my span,
    I must be measured by my soul:
      The _mind_’s the standard of the man.

    When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
      Ah, whither strays the immortal _mind_?
    It cannot die, it cannot stay,
      But leaves its darken’d dust behind.

    The insate _mind_, but from without supplied,
    Languishes on a weak imperfect food;
    If sustenance more spiritual be denied,
    With flame consuming on itself ’twill brood.
                                 _Sir E. Brydges._

                      My voice proclaims
    How exquisitely the individual _Mind_
    (And the progressive powers perhaps no less
    Of the whole species,) to the External world
    Is fitted:--and how exquisitely too--
    Theme this but little heard of among men--
    The External world is fitted to the _Mind_;
    And the Creation, (by no lower name
    Can it be called,) which they with blended might
    Accomplish--this is our high argument.


Ye shall be named the Priests of the Lord: men shall call you the
_ministers_ of our God.--Isaiah, lxi. 6.

We will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the _ministry_ of
the word.--Acts, vi. 4.

If thou put the brethren in remembrance of these things, thou shalt be
a good _minister_ of Jesus Christ.--I. Timothy, iv. 6.

    Their _ministry_ performed, and race well run,
    Their doctrine and their story written left,
    They die.

    From essences unseen, celestial names,
    Enlight’ning spirits and _ministerial_ flames,
    Lift we our reason to that Sovereign Cause,
    Who blessed the whole with life.

    God gives us _ministers_ of love,
      Which we regard not, being near;
    Death takes them from us, then we feel
      That angels have been with us here!

    As mother, sister, friend, or wife,
      They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain;
    And when the grave has closed between
      Our heart and theirs, we love--in vain.

    Oh, thou who once on earth, beneath the weight
      Of our mortality did’st live and move,
      The incarnation of profoundest love;
    Who, on the Cross, that love didst consumate,--
      Whose deep and ample fulness could embrace
      The poorest, meanest of our fallen race!
    How shall we e’er that boundless debt repay?--
      By long, loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?
      By rich oblations on thine altars laid?--
    Ah no! not thus thou didst appoint the way.
      When thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,
      Then as a legacy thou didst bequeath
    Earth’s sorrowing children to our _ministry_;
    And as we do to them, we do to thee.
                                      _Anne C. Lynch._


After these things Jesus went over the sea of Galilee, which is the sea
of Tiberias.

And a great multitude followed him, because they saw his _miracles_
which he did on them that were diseased.--John, vi. 1, 2.

Jesus of Nazareth, a man approved of God among you, by _miracles_, and
wonders, and signs.--Acts, ii. 22.

And God wrought special _miracles_ by the hands of Paul.

So that from his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or
aprons, and the diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went
out of them.--Acts, xix. 11, 12.

God also bearing them witness, both with signs and wonders, and with
divers _miracles_.--Hebrews, ii. 4.

    O, what a scale of _miracles_ is here--
    Its lowest round high planted in the skies;
    Its towering summit lost, beyond the thought
    Of man or angel.

    A _miracle_, with _miracles_ enclosed,
    Is man; and starts his faith at what is strange?
    What less than wonders from the Wonderful;
    What less than _miracles_, from God can flow?
    Admit a God--that mystery supreme,
    That Cause uncaused, all other wonders cease.

                  Who! O, who shall tell
    His acts _miraculous_? When His own decrees
    Repeals He, or suspends; when by the hand
    Of Moses or of Joshua, or the mouths
    Of His prophetic seers, such deeds He wrought,
    Before the astonished sun’s all-seeing eye,
    That faith was scarce a virtue. Need I sing
    The fate of Pharaoh, and his numerous band,
    Lost in the reflux of the watery walls,
    That melted to their fluid state again?
    Need I recount bow Samson’s warlike arm
    With more than mortal nerves was strung, to o’erthrow
    Idolatrous Philistia? Shall I tell
    How David triumphed, and what Job sustained?
    --But, O supreme, unutterable mercy!
    O love unequalled, mystery immense,
    Which angels long to unfold! ’Tis man’s redemption
    That crowns Thy glory, and Thy power confirms.

    When God came down from Heaven, the Living God,
      What signs and wonders marked His stately way?
    Brake out the winds in music where He trode?
      Shone o’er the heavens a brighter, softer day?

    The dumb began to speak, the blind to see,
      And the lame leaped, and pain and darkness fled;
    The mourner’s sunken eye grew bright with glee,
      And from the tomb awoke the wondering dead.
                                        _H. H. Milman._

    “Come forth!” He cries, “thou dead!”
      O God, what means that strange and sudden sound,
    That murmurs from the tomb? That ghastly head,
      With funeral fillets bound?
    It is a living form--
      The loved, the lost, the won,
    Won from the grave, corruption, and the worm--
      “And is not this the Son
    Of God?” they whispered, while the sisters poured
    Their gratitude in tears, for they had known the Lord.

    At His command fled fever, thirsty fiend,
    Whose parching fire dries up the wholesome blood:
    And madness wild, whose moon-struck eye-balls glare,
    With steady gaze, on vacancy: His touch,
    With healing virtue, from the withered limbs
    Drove nerveless palsy, that with fatal stroke
    ’Numbs every fibre, grafting death on life--
    Unnatural union! Scaly leprosy,
    At His appearance, vanished: dropsy, swol’n,
    Withdrew his bloated form, and each confessed
    A present God.
                                       _William Bolland._

                    When raging winds
    Rushed from their caverns, and resistless swept
    The foaming waves, when hideous roared the storm,
    As if the wild contending elements
    Had strove for mastery, at His command
    The tempest ceased, the towering billows sunk
    In undulations calm, and zephyrs played
    Upon the bosom of the peaceful deep.
                                    _William Bolland._


Thou shalt forget thy _misery_, and remember it as waters that pass
away.--Job, xi. 16.

To every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the _misery_ of
man is great upon him.--Ecclesiastes, viii. 6.

Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your _miseries_ that shall
come upon you.--James, v. 1.

    Till in our eyes another sight we met;
    When fro my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,
    Rueing, alas, upon the woeful plight
    Of _Misery_, that next appear’d in sight.

    His face was lean, and some deal pined away,
    And eke his hands consumed to the bone;
    But, what his body was, I cannot say,
    For, on his carcase raiment had he none,
    Save clouts and patched pierced one by one,
    With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast,
    His chief defence against the winter’s blast.

    His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree,
    Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share,
    Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept be,
    As on the which full daint’ly would he fare;
    His drink, the running stream! his cup, the bare
    Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground,
    To this poor life was _Misery_ ybound.

            I do believe myself the creature,
    Subject, and soldier, if I so may speak,
    Of an Almighty Father, King and Lord;
    Before whose presence, when my soul shall be
    Of flesh and blood disrobed, I shall appear,
    There to remain with all the great and good
    That e’er have lived on earth; yea, and with spirits
    Higher than earth e’er owned, in such pure bliss
    As human hearts conceive not,--if my life,
    With its imperfect virtue, find acceptance
    From pard’ning love and mercy; but if otherwise,--
    That I shall pass into a state of _misery_,
    With souls of wicked men and wrathful demons.
                                        _Joanna Baillie._


How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth
good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings
of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God
reigneth!--Isaiah, lii. 7.

This gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a
witness unto all nations: and then shall the end come.--Matthew, xxiv.

They are the messengers of the churches, and the glory of Christ.--II.
Corinthians, viii. 23.

    By Heaven directed, by the world reviled,
    Amidst the wilderness they sought a home,
    Where beasts of prey and men of murder roam,
    And untamed Nature holds her revels wild.
    There on their pious toil their Master smiled,
    And prospered them, unknown or scorned of men,
    Till in the satyr’s haunt, and dragon’s den,
    A garden bloomed, and savage hordes grew mild.
    So, in the guilty heart, when heavenly grace
    Enters, it ceaseth not till it uproot
    All evil passions from each hidden cell;
    Planting again an Eden in their place,
    Which yields to men and angels pleasant fruit,
    And God Himself delighteth there to dwell.

    Strange scenes, strange men, untold, untried distress;
    Pain, hardships, famine, cold, and nakedness,
    Diseases; death, in every hideous form,
    On shore, at sea, by fire, by flood, by storm;
    Wild beasts, and wilder men:--unmoved with fear,
    Health, comfort, safety, life they count not dear,
    May they but hope a Saviour’s love to show,
    And warn one spirit from eternal woe:
    Nor will they faint, nor can they strive in vain,
    Since thus--to live is Christ, to die is gain.
                                        _James Montgomery._

    Thus saith the Lord,--My Church, to thee,
      Peace, like a river, I will send;
    The Gentiles in a stream shall see
      My mercy, flowing without end.

    The isles that never heard my fame,
      Nor knew the glory of my might,
    They shall be taught to fear my name
      Called out of darkness into light.

    And it shall come to pass, that vows
      From Sabbath unto Sabbath day,
    From moon to moon, in mine own house,
      All nations, tribes, and tongues, shall pay.
                                _James Montgomery._

    Our prayers be with them--we who know
      The value of a soul to save,
    Must pray for those who seek to show
      The heathen, hope beyond the grave.
                            _Miss Landon._

    Blessings be on their pathway, and increase!
      These are the moral conquerors, and belong
      To them the palm-branch and triumphal song--
    Conquerors,--and yet the harbingers of peace!
                                    _Miss Landon._

    Great Britain has her sons, both frank and brave,
    Who noble triumphs win, but wear no glave!
    Sons who in heart are firm, in toil are free,
    To spread her glorious name from sea to sea!
    Men, who have pushed their conquests wide and far,
    And changed to pruning-hooks the shafts of war;
    Who bear no glittering arms, no banners wave--
    Who strike no blow--are stricken but to save!
    Yet still they conquer! and where they appear,
    The painted savage breaks his poisoned spear;
    A bloodless triumph follows in their train--
    For those they vanquish feel no victor’s chain!
    They conquer!--nor like other conquerors boast
    A prostrate people and a plundered coast--
    Nor pant to hear a nation’s deafening peals,
    With captive warriors at their chariot wheels--
    Nor hang, like relics, in our holiest fane,
    The flags that blush with war’s unhallowed stains.--
    No, theirs are triumphs war can never bring!
    Theirs are the pæans guardian seraphs sing!
    Their noblest banner is the Book of Truth!
    Their trophies--age, and infancy, and youth!
    ’Tis theirs to free--exalt--and not debase--
    The painted brothers of our common race!
    Nor stripe--nor tribute--nor oppressive sway
    Degrade their labours, or obstruct their way!
    Their watchword still--Let war and sorrow cease!
    Their noblest epithet--The men of peace!
                                        _Dr. W. Beattie._

    He goes to speak the words of life
      To souls by error tossed:
    And bear the gospel’s joyful sound
      To lands in darkness lost--
    To speak his Master’s glorious works,
      His grace and power proclaim,
    And teach untutored savages
      To breathe Messiah’s name.

    And O, the rich reward that waits
      A work of grace like this!
    A life of love, a death of peace,
      A Heaven of endless bliss!
    Earth’s proudest, noblest honours, fall
      Far, far below the prize
    He gains, who claims this work his own--
      His glory never dies!
                           _S. D. Patterson._

                  O, bless the pious zeal
    And crown with glad success the labouring sons
    Of that best charity, whose annual mite
    Sends forth Thy gospel to the distant isles!
    So shall the nations, rescued myriads, hear,
    And own Thy mercy over all Thy works!
    So, from each corner of the enlightened earth,
    Incessant peals of universal joy
    Shall hail Thee, heavenly Father, God of all!

    Where is your heathen brother?--From his grave
      Near thy own gates, or ’neath a foreign sky,
    From the thronged depths of ocean’s mourning wave,
      His answering blood reproachfully doth cry,
    Blood of the soul!--Can all earth’s fountains make
    Thy dark stain disappear?--Stewards of God, awake!
                                      _Mrs. Sigourney._


In a _moment_ shall they die, and the people shall be troubled at
midnight, and pass away.--Job, xxxiv. 20.

Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors
about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little _moment_, until the
indignation be overpast.--Isaiah, xxvi. 20.

    _Minutes_ are number’d by the fall of sands,
    As by an hour-glass; the span of time
    Doth waste us to our graves and we look on it.
    An age of pleasures, revell’d out, comes home
    At last, and ends in sorrow; but the life,
    Weary of riot, numbers every sand,
    Waiting in sighs, until the last drop down;
    So to conclude calamity in rest.

    Catch, then, O catch the transient hour,
      Improve each _moment_ as it flies;
    Life’s a short summer,--man a flower;
      He dies--alas! how soon he dies!
                               _Dr. Johnson._

    Hark! What petty pulses, beating,
      Spring new _moments_ into light;
    Every pulse, its stroke repeating,
      Sends its _moment_ back to night;
    Yet not one of all the train
    Comes uncall’d, or flits in vain.

    In the highest realms of glory
      Spirits trace, before the throne,
    On eternal scrolls, the story
      Of each little _moment_ flown;
    Every deed, and word, and thought,
    Through the whole creation wrought.

    Were the volume of a _minute_
      Thus to mortal sight unroll’d,
    More of sin and sorrow in it,
      More of man, might we behold,
    Than on history’s broadest page
      In the reliques of an age.
                     _James Montgomery._


My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the _morning_ will
I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will look up.--Psalm v. 3.

My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the
_morning_: I say, more than they that watch for the _morning_.--Psalm
cxxx. 6.

Behold the day, behold it is come: the _morning_ is gone
forth.--Ezekial, vii. 10.

Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow
of death into the _morning_, and maketh the day dark with night.--Amos,
v. 8.

    When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
      To do the like; our bodies but forerun
    The spirit’s duty; true hearts spread and heave
      Unto their God, as flowers do the sun:
    Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep
    Him company all day, and in Him sleep.

    Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should
      Dawn with the day, there are set awful hours
    ’Twixt Heaven and us; the manna was not good
      After sun-rising, for day sullies flowers.
    Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
    And Heaven’s gate opens when the world’s is shut.

    Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush
      And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
    Or leaf but hath his _morning_ hymn; each bush
      And oak doth know I AM--canst thou not sing?
    O leave thy cares and follies! Go this way,
    And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

    _Mornings_ are mysteries: the first world’s youth,
      Man’s resurrection, and the future’s bud,
    Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth,
      Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food:
    Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
    Should move--They make us holy, happy, rich.
                                             _Henry Vaughan._

    Again the Lord of life and light
      Awakes the kindling ray,
    Unseals the eyelids of the _morn_,
      And pours increasing day.

    O, what a night was that which wrapp’d
      The heathen world in gloom!
    O, what a sun which broke this day
      Triumphant from the tomb!

    This day be grateful homage paid,
      And loud Hosannah’s sung;
    Let gladness dwell on every heart,
      And praise on every tongue.

    Then thousand different lips shall join
      To hail this happy _morn_;
    Which scatters blessings from its wings
      On nations yet unborn.

    Through the vales the breezes sigh;
    Twilight opes her bashful eye,
    Peeping from the east, she brings
    Dew-drops on her dusky wings:
    And the lark, with wak’ning lay,
    Upsprings, the harbinger of day.

    Now behold! the blushing sky
    Tells the bridegroom sun is nigh;
    Nature tunes her joyful lyre,
    And the trembling stars retire,
    Him the east, in crimson drest,
    Ushers, nature’s welcome guest,
    And the mountains of the west
    Seem to lift their azure heads,
    Jealous of the smile he sheds.

    Glory, beaming from on high,
    Charms devotion’s lifted eye;
    Bliss, to which sluggards ne’er were born,
    Waits the attendant of the _morn_.
                               _Maria Colling._

                      The _morning_ breaks,
    And earth in her Maker’s smile awakes;
    His light is on all, below and above,
    The light of gladness, and life, and love.
    O, then, on the breath of this early air,
    Send up the incense of grateful prayer!
                             _Henry Ware, Jun._

    The God of mercy walks His round
      From day to day, from year to year,
    And warns us each with awful sound,
      “No longer stand ye idle here.”

    Ye, whose young cheeks are rosy bright,
      Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear,
    Waste not of youth the _morning_ light,
      Oh fools, why stand ye idle here?

    And ye, whose scanty locks of grey
      Foretel your latest travail near,
    How fast declines your useless day,
      And stand ye yet so idle here?

    One hour remains, there is but one,
      But many a grief and many a tear,
    Through endless ages, must atone
      For moments lost and wasted here.

    Serve God at _morn_, that solemn hallowed hour,
    When Nature wakes, as from the sleep of death,
    When the glad song from mountain, grove, and bower,
    Is heard through heaven and on the earth beneath.
    Serve God! Let Him receive thy _morning’s_ early breath.

    _Morn_ is the time to think,
      While thoughts are fresh and free,
    Of life, just balanced on the brink
      Of vast eternity!
    To ask our souls if they are meet
    To stand before the judgment seat.
                             _Miss Gray._

    New, every _morning_, is the love
    Our wakening and uprising prove;
    Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
    Restored to life, and power, and thought.

    New mercies each returning day,
    Hover around us while we pray;
    New perils past, new sins forgiven,
    New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.


So _Moses_ the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab,
according to the word of the Lord.

And He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against
Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this
day.--Deuteronomy, xxxiv. 5, 6.

By faith _Moses_, when he was come to years, refused to be called the
son of Pharaoh’s daughter;

Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to
enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;

Esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in
Egypt; for he had respect unto the recompense of the reward.--Hebrews,
xi. 24, 25, 26.

    Slow glides the Nile; amid the margin flags,
    Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left;
    Left by a mother’s hand. His sister waits
    Far off; and pale, ’tween hope and fear, beholds
    The royal maid, surrounded by her train,
    Approach the river bank; approach the spot
    Where sleeps the innocent: she sees them stoop
    With meeting plumes; thy rushy lid is ope’d,
    And wakes the infant smiling in his tears.

    The son of Amram spurns the regal prize,
    From the rich scene the zealous hero flies,
    And dwells ’mongst Israel’s sons. Resigned he bears
    The servile yoke, and every burden shares;
    Rather than violate Jehovah’s trust,
    And live the pampered slave of sordid lust,
    He quits the Egyptian court, and, undismayed,
    Seeks poverty’s inhospitable shade.
                                         _Samuel Hayes._

                      In his hand
    The rod which blasted, with strange plagues, the realm
    Of Mizraim, and from its time-worn channels
    Upturned the Arabian Sea. Fair was his broad
    High front, and forth from his soul-piercing eye,
    Did legislation look.

                          On the Mount
    Of Sinai, whose foundations shook, whose top
    Was lost in smoke and fire, while seraphim
    At distance gazed, full forty days and nights,
    Guest of terrestrial mould, did he sojourn
    Within the dread pavilion, and the veil
    Of cloud and tempest; there as face to face,
    In visions of beatitude rejoiced
    Past utterance, till his countenance imbibed
    Transcendent splendours.
                                   _Charles Hoyle._

    _Moses_, the patriot fierce, became
      The meekest man on earth,
    To show us how love’s quickening flame
      Can give our souls new birth.

    _Moses_, the man of meekest heart,
      Lost Canaan by self-will,
    To show, where Grace has done its part,
      How sin defiles us still.
                          _Lyra Apostolica._

    Sweet was the journey to the sky
      The holy prophet tried;
    “Climb up the mount,” said God, “and die”--
      The prophet climbed, and died.

    Softly his fainting head he lay
      Upon his Maker’s breast;
    His Maker soothed his soul away,
      And laid his flesh to rest.

    In God’s own arms he left the breath
      That God’s own Spirit gave;
    His was the noblest road to death,
      And his the sweetest grave.

    God made his grave, to men unknown,
      Where Moab’s rocks a vale infold;
    And laid the aged seer alone,
      To slumber while the world grows old.
    Thus still, where’er the good and just
      Close the dim eye on life and pain,
    Heaven watches o’er their sleeping dust,
      Till the pure spirit comes again.
                              _W. C. Bryant._


He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful _mother_
of children. Praise ye the Lord.--Psalm cxiii. 9.

Despise not thy _mother_ when she is old.--Proverbs, xxiii. 22.

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his _mother_, and his _mother’s_
sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.

When Jesus therefore saw his _mother_, and the disciple standing by,
whom he loved, he saith unto his _mother_, Woman, behold thy son!

Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy _mother_! And from that hour
that disciple took her into his own home.--John, xix. 25, 26, 27.

    Her pious love excelled to all she bore;
    New objects only multiplied it more;
    And as the chosen found the pearly grain
    As much as every vessel could contain:
    As in the blissful vision, each shall share,
    As much of glory as his soul can bear,
    So did she love, and so dispense her care.

                          But when I go
    To my lone bed, I find no _mother_ there;
    And weeping kneel, to say the prayer she taught;
    Or when I read the Bible that she loved,
    Or to her vacant seat at church draw near,
    And think of her, a voice is in my heart,
    Bidding me early seek my God, and love
    My Blessed Saviour; and that voice is her’s,
    I know it is, because these were the words
    She used to speak so tenderly, with tears,
    At the still twilight hour,--or when we walked
    Forth in the Spring, among rejoicing birds,
    Or peaceful talked beside the Winter hearth.
                                    _Mrs. Sigourney._

    But if in yon immortal clime,
      Where flows no parting tear,
    That root of earthly love may grow,
      Which struck so deeply here;
    With what a tide of boundless bliss,
      A thrill of rapture wild,
    An angel _mother_ in the skies,
      Will greet her cherub child.
                        _Mrs. Sigourney._

    And say to _mothers_ what a holy charge
    Is theirs--with what a kingly power their love
    Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind.
    Warn them to wake at early dawn, and sow
    Good seed before the world has sown its tares.
                                  _Mrs. Sigourney._

    Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea,
    And counted the sands that under it be?
    Hast thou measured the height of heaven above?
    Then may’st thou mete out a _mother’s_ love.

    Hast thou talked with the blessed of leading on
    To the throne of God some wandering son?
    Hast thou witnessed the angel’s bright employ?
    Then may’st thou speak of a _mother’s_ joy.

    Evening and morn hast thou watched the bee
    Go forth on her errands of industry.
    The bee for himself hath gathered and toiled,
    But the _mother’s_ cares are all for her child.

    Hast thou gone with the traveller Thought afar--
    From pole to pole, and from star to star?
    Thou hast--but on ocean, earth, and sea,
    The heart of a _mother_ has gone with thee.

    There is not a grand, inspiring thought,
    There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
    There is not a feeling pure and high,
    That may not be read in a _mother’s_ eye.

    And ever, since earth began, that look
    Has been to the wise an open book,
    To win them back from the lore they prize,
    To the holier love that edifies.

    There are teachings in earth, and sky, and air,
    The heavens the glory of God declare;
    But louder than voice, beneath, above,
    He is heard to speak through a _mother’s_ love.
                                      _Emily Taylor._

    The _mother’s_ love--there’s none so pure,
      So constant, and so kind,
    No human passion doth endure
      Like this within the mind.
                                   _Mrs. Hale._

    Lo! where yon cottage whitens through the green,
    The loveliest feature of a matchless scene;
    Beneath its shading elm, with pious fear,
    An aged _mother_ draws her children near;
    While from the Holy Word, with earnest air,
    She teaches them the privilege of prayer.
    Look! How their infant eyes with rapture speak;
    Mark the flushed lily on the dimpled cheek;
    Their hearts are filled with gratitude and love,
    Their hopes are centred in a world above,
    Where, in a choir of angels, Faith portrays
    The loved, departed, father of their days.
                                       _Rufus Dawes._

    By thee, dear _Mother_, o’er whose darksome bed
    Summer now pours his beams in vain--by thee
    Gladly my infant love of flowers was fed;
      By thee my steps through flow’ry tracts were led,
    Where ne’er mine eye could aught but beauty see;
    Throughout our borne exotics perfume shed,
    In sooth, it was fair Flora’s treasury!
      Thy love, and use of heaven’s blest means of grace,
    Faith bids me trust, have placed thee with thy God,
    Where flowers unfading deck the lovely place.
      Oh, when I’ve closed my toilsome earthly race,
    With thee may those bright scenes by me be trod,
    With thee may I behold th’ eternal face.
                                        _William Pulling._

                    A _mother’s_ love
      Is an undying feeling. Earth may chill
    And sever other sympathies, and prove
      How weak all human bonds are; it may kill
    Friendships, and crush hearts with them--but the thrill
      Of the maternal breast must ever move
    In blest communion with her child, and fill
      Even Heaven itself with prayers and hymns of love.
                                          _S. D. Patterson._

    I see my _mother’s_ calm, sad face
      Look through the mist of by-gone years;
    And from yon high and holy place,
      Her accents come unto mine ears,
      To bid me hope amid my fears.


As the _mountains_ are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round
about his people from henceforth even for ever.--Psalm cxxv. 2.

It shall come to pass in the last days, that the _mountain_ of the
Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the _mountains_, and
shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto
it.--Isaiah, ii. 2.

    Once more, hoar _mount_! with thy sky-pointing peak,
    Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
    Shoots downward, glittering through the pine serene,
    Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast--
    Thou too again stupendous _mountain_! thou
    That, as I raise my head, awhile bow’d low
    In adoration, upward from thy base
    Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
    Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
    To rise before me--rise, O ever rise,
    Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
    Thou kingly spirit throned amongst the hills.
    Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
    Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
    And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
    Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

    Behold! the _mountain_ of the Lord
      In later days shall rise
    On _mountain_ tops above the hills,
      And draw the wondering eyes:

    To this the joyful nations round,
      All tribes and tongues shall flow;
    “Up to the hill of God,” they’ll say,
      And to his house we’ll go.

    The beam that shines from Zion’s hill,
      Shall lighten every land;
    The King who reigns in Salem’s towers,
      Shall all the world command.

    Calvary’s mournful _mountain_ climb;
      There, adoring at His feet,
    Mark that miracle of time,
      God’s own sacrifice complete.
                         _J. Montgomery._


I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly; I go _mourning_ all the day
long.--Psalm xxxviii. 6.

Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself:
for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy
_mourning_ shall be ended.--Isaiah, lx. 20.

Blessed are they that _mourn_: for they shall be comforted.--Matthew,
v. 4.

    O man! while in thy early years,
      How prodigal of time!
    Misspending all thy precious hours,
      Thy glorious youthful prime!
    Alternate follies take the sway;
      Licentious passions burn;
    Which tenfold force gives nature’s law,
      That man was made to _mourn_.

    Many and sharp the num’rous ills
      Inwoven with our fame!
    More pointed still we make ourselves,
      Regret, remorse, and shame!
    And man, whose heaven-erected face
      The smiles of love adorn,
    Man’s inhumanity to man
      Makes countless thousands _mourn_.

    See yonder poor, o’erlabour’d wight;
      So abject, mean, and vile,
    Who begs a brother of the earth
      To give him leave to toil;
    And see his lordly fellow-worm
      The poor petition spurn,
    Unmindful tho’ a weeping wife
      And helpless offspring _mourn_.

    Yet let not this too much, my son,
      Disturb thy youthful breast;
    This partial view of human kind
      Is surely not the best!
    The poor, oppressed, honest man,
      Had never, sure, been born,
    Had there not been some recompense
      To comfort those that _mourn_.

    God of my life, to thee I call,
    Afflicted at Thy feet I fall;
    When the great waterfloods prevail,
    Leave not my trembling heart to fail!

    Did ever _mourner_ plead with Thee,
    And Thou refuse that _mourner’s_ plea?
    Does not Thy word still fix’d remain,
    That none shall seek Thy face in vain?

    We _mourn_ for those who toil,
      The slave who ploughs the main,
    Or him who hopeless tills the soil
      Beneath the stripe and chain;
    For those who in the world’s hard race,
      O’erwearied and unblest,
    A host of restless phantoms chase,--
      Why _mourn_ for those who rest?

    We _mourn_ for those who sin,
      Bound in the tempter’s snare,
    Whom syren pleasure beckons in
      To prisons of despair,
    Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn,
      Are wrecked on folly’s shore,--
    But why in sorrow should we _mourn_
      For those who sin no more?

    We _mourn_ for those who weep,
      Whom stern afflictions bend
    With anguish o’er the lowly sleep
      Of lover or of friend;--
    But they to whom the sway
      Of pain and grief is o’er,
    Whose tears our God hath wiped away
      Oh! _mourn_ for them no more!
                             _Mrs. Sigourney._

    When _mourning_ o’er some stone I bend,
    Which covers all that was a friend;
    And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
    Divides me for a little while;
    Thou, Saviour, mark’st the tears I shed,
    For Thou didst weep o’er Lazarus dead.
                                  _R. Grant._


Jesus said, Thou shalt do no _murder_.--Matthew, xix. 18.

Whosoever hateth his brother, is a _murderer_; and ye know that no
_murderer_ hath eternal life abiding in him.--I. John, iii. 15.

                  The great King of kings
    Hath in the table of His law commanded
    That thou shalt do no _murder_; wilt thou then
    Spurn at His edict, and fulfil a man’s?

    Other sins only speak; _murder_ shrieks out.
    The element of water moistens the earth,
    But blood mounts upwards.
                                  _John Webster._

    Silently, swift as the lightning’s blast,
    A hand of fire across his temples passed;
    He ran, as in the terror of a dream,
    To quench his burning anguish in the stream;
    But, bending o’er the brink, the swelling wave
    Back to his eye the branded visage gave;
    As soon on _murdered_ Abel durst he look:
    Yet power to fly his palsied limbs forsook;
    There turned to stone, for his presumptuous crime,
    A monument of wrath to latest time,
    Might Cain have stood; but mercy raised his head
    In prayer for help,--his strength returned, he fled.
                                      _James Montgomery._

          The _murderer_ has no past
    But one eternal present.
                    _T. N. Talfourd._

    He told how _murderers_ walked the earth
      Beneath the curse of Cain;
    With crimson clouds before their eyes,
      And flames about their brain:
    For blood has left upon their souls
      Its everlasting stain!
                               _Thomas Hood._

    Lo, on the everlasting stone engraved,
    “No _murder_ shalt thou do.” From God to man
    The solemn law came down: by specious gloss
    Of subtle learning, seek not to evade
    The great command.
                                  _Samuel Hayes._


Sing unto Him a new song; play skilfully with a loud noise.--Psalm
xxxiii. 3.

Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet: praise Him with the psaltery
and harp.--Psalm cl. 3.

Cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of
_music_.--Daniel, iii. 5.

That chant to the sound of the viol, and invent to themselves
instruments of _music_ like David.--Amos, vi. 5.

                How sour sweet _music_ is
    When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
    So is it in the _music_ of men’s lives.

    There let the pealing organ blow,
    To the full-voiced choir below,
    In service high, and anthems clear,
    As may with sweetness through mine ear
    Dissolve me into ecstacies,
    And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

    The church triumphant, and the church below,
    In songs of praise their present union show;
    Their joys are full; our expectation long,
    In life we differ, but we join the song.
    Angels and we, assisted by this art,
    May sing together, though we dwell apart.

                  Hark! the organs blow
    Their swelling notes ’round the cathedral’s dome,
    And grace the harmonious choir, celestial feast
    To pious ears, and med’cine of the mind!
    The thrilling trebles, and the manly base,
    Join in accordance meet, and with one voice
    All to the sacred subject suit their song;
    While in each breast sweet melancholy reigns,
    Angelically pensive, till the joy
    Improves and purifies.

    Born on the swelling notes, our soul aspire,
    While solemn airs improve the sacred fire,
    And angels lean from Heaven to hear.

    Should the well-meant songs I leave behind,
    With Jesus’ lovers an acceptance find,
    ’Twill heighten even the joys of Heaven, to know
    That in my verse the saints hymn God below.
                                        _Bishop Ken._

    The song of Zion is a tasteless thing,
    Unless when rising on a joyful wing,
    The soul can mix with the celestial bands,
    And give the strain the compass it demands.

    How shall the harp of poesy regain
      That old victorious tone of prophet-years--
      A spell divine o’er guilt’s perturbing fears,
    And all the hovering shadows of the brain?
    Dark, evil wings took flight before the strain,
      And showers of holy quiet, with its fall,
      Sank on the soul:--O, who may now recall
    The mighty _music’s_ consecrated reign?--
    Spirit of God! whose glory once o’erhung
      A throne, the Ark’s dread cherubim between,
      So let Thy presence brood, though now unseen,
    O’er those two powers by whom the harp is strung--
    Feeling and thought!--till the rekindled chords
    Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words.
                                         _Mrs. Hemans._

    O, surely melody from Heaven was sent
    To cheer the soul, when tired with human strife,
    To soothe the wayward heart by sorrow rent,
    And soften down the rugged road of life.
                                       _Kirke White._

    O, what a gentle ministrant is _music_
    To piety--to mild, to penitent piety!
    O, it gives plumage to the tardy prayer
    That lingers in our lazy, earthly air,
    And melts with it to Heaven.
                             _H. H. Milman._

    _Music_, the tender child of rudest times,
    The gentle native of all lands and climes;
    Who hymns alike man’s cradle and his grave,
    Lulls the low cot, or peals along the nave.
                                  _Mrs. Norton._

    ’Tis He that taught the lark, from earth upspringing,
      To warble forth his matin strain;
    And the pure stream, in liquid gushes singing,
      Gladly to bless the thirsty plain;
    And from the laden bee, when homeward winging
      Its tuneful flight doth not disdain,
        To hear the song of praise.
    There’s not a voice in Nature, but is telling
      (If we will hear that voice aright,)
    How much, when human hearts with love are swelling,
      His blessed bosom hath delight
        In our rejoicing lays.
        His love, that never slumbers,
        Taught thee those tuneful numbers.

    But O, her richest, dearest notes to man,
    In strains aerial over Bethlehem poured,
    When He, whose brightness is the light of Heaven,
    To earth descending, for a mortal’s form,
    Laid by His glory, save one radiant mark,
    That moved through space, and o’er the infant hung,
    He summoned _Music_ to attend Him here,
    Announcing peace below!
                                  He called her, too,
    To sweeten that sad Supper, and to twine
    Her mantles round Him and His few grieved friends,
    To join their mournful spirits with the hymn,
    Ere to the Mount of Olives He went out
    So sorrowful.
                  And now, His blessed word,
    A sacred pledge, is left to dying man,
    That at His second coming, in His power,
    _Music_ shall still be with Him, and her voice
    Sound through the tombs, and wake the dead to life.
                                      _Hannah F. Gould._

    The solemn hymn to ancient _music_ set
    In many a heart response of memory met.
    To me, it seemed departed Sabbaths hung
    Upon those notes, which gave the past a tongue
    To speak again in voices from the dead,
    And wake an echo from their silent bed.
                                _Elizabeth Bogart._


Behold I shew you a _mystery_; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all
be changed.

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump.--I.
Corinthians, xv. 51, 52.

The _mystery_ which hath been hid from ages and from generations, but
now is made manifest to his saints.--Colossians, i. 26.

Praying also for us, that God would open unto us a door of utterance,
to speak the _mystery_ of Christ.--Colossians, iv. 3.

                        With outstretched arms,
    Stern justice and soft-smiling love embrace,
    Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne,
    When seemed its majesty to need support,
    Or that, or man, inevitably lost:
    What, but the fathomless of love divine
    Could labour such expedient from despair,
    And rescue both? Both rescue? Both exalt!
    O, how are both exalted by the deed!
    The wondrous deed! or shall I call it more?
    A wonder in Omnipotence itself!
    A _mystery_ no less to gods than men.

    Hail, Sovereign Lord! by all Thy works confess’d!
    By angels worship’d, and by saints address’d!
    Hail, Sovereign Lord! _mysterious_ Wisdom! hail;
    In whom the Father and His fulness dwell.
    In whom the Godhead and the man unite,
    Stamp of His form, and glory of His light!
    In whom complete, in Thee completed shine,
    The God incarnate, and the man divine.
    _Mysterious_ truth! withheld from reason’s eye;
    Outcast on earth! but loftiest on high!
    Hail, wondrous cross!--yet how more wondrous He
    That cross who bore!--Thyself its _mystery_!--
    And borne for man!--a greater _mystery_ still;
    So great Thy love, and love’s _mysterious_ will!

    That things to mortals are _mysterious_,
    Is not because the things themselves are dark,
    But the perceptions through which they are viewed.
                                         _David Bates._


Thou shalt not take the _name_ of the Lord thy God in vain.--Exodus,
xx. 7.

Blessed be the _name_ of the Lord from this time forth and for
evermore.--Psalm cxiii. 2.

A good _name_ is rather to be chosen than great riches.--Proverbs,
xxii. 1.

God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above
every _name_.

That at the _name_ of Jesus every knee should bow.--Philippians, ii. 9,

    We wish our _names_ eternally to live.
    Wild dream! which ne’er had haunted human thought,
    Had not our natures been eternal too.
    Instinct points out an interest in hereafter,
    But our blind reason sees not where it lies;
    Or seeing, gives the substance for the shade.

    In the fair book of life and grace,
      O may I find my _name_
    Recorded in some humble place,
      Beneath my Lord the Lamb.

    I read His awful _name_ emblazoned high,
    With golden letters, on the illumined sky;
    Nor less the mystic characters I see
    Wrought in each flower, inscribed on every tree:
    In every leaf that trembles to the breeze,
    I hear the voice of God among the trees.
                                     _Mrs. Barbauld._

                        Wide he extends
    His royalties, and still the throne adorns
    With piety and mercy. Loved and feared.
    Twice twenty years, with equitable hand,
    He sways the sceptre; then in peace repose
    His ashes, but his _name_ lives evermore.
                               _Charles Hoyle._

    O blessed Father, righteous Lord!
    Within Thy book of life record
      My undeserving _name_;
    Teach me to know and do Thy will;
    My heart with holy longings fill,
      And heavenly love inflame.

    Alone I walk’d the ocean strand,
    A pearly shell was in my hand;
    I stoop’d and wrote upon the sand
      My _name_, the year, the day.
    As onward from the spot I pass’d,
    One lingering look I fondly cast;
    A wave came rolling high and fast,
      And wash’d my lines away.

    And so, methought, ’twill shortly be
    With every mark on earth from me;
    A wave of dark oblivion’s sea
      Will sweep across the place
    Where I have trod the sandy shore
    Of time, and been to be no more;
    Of me--my day--the _name_ I bore,
      To leave no track nor trace.

    And yet with Him, who counts the sands,
    And holds the waters in His hands,
    I know a lasting record stands
      Inscribed against my _name_,
    Of all this mortal part has wrought--
    Of all this thinking soul has thought,
    And from these fleeting moments caught
      For glory or for shame.
                               _Miss Gould._

    The card-built house amused our infant age;
    The child was pleased; but is the man more sage?
    A breath could level childhood’s tottering toy:
    See manhood--effort, art, and time employ,
    To build that brittle _name_ a whisper can destroy!

    There is a Book where nought our _name_ can spot,
    If we ourselves refuse to fix the blot;
    ’Tis kept by One that sets alike at nought
    The tale with malice or with flatt’ry fraught,--
    He reads the heart, and sees the whisper in the thought.
                                              _C. C. Colton._

    Jesus, the spring of joys divine,
      Whence all our hopes and comforts flow:
    Jesus, no other _name_ but Thine
      Can save us from eternal woe.


O Lord God of hosts, who is a strong Lord like unto Thee?

Thou rulest the raging of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou
stillest them.

The heavens are Thine, the earth also is Thine: as for the world and
the fulness thereof, Thou hast founded them.--Psalm lxxxix. 8, 9, 11.

The Lord is a great God, and a Great King above all Gods.

In His hand are the deep places of the earth; the strength of the hills
is His also.

The sea is His, and he made it; and His hands formed the dry
land.--Psalm xcv. 3, 4, 5.

Mine hand also hath laid the foundation of the earth, and my right
hand hath spanned the heavens; when I call unto them they stand up
together.--Isaiah, xlviii. 13.

    From dearth to plenty, and from death to life,
    Is _Nature’s_ progress, when she lectures man
    In heavenly truth; evincing as she makes
    The grand transition, that there lives and works
    A soul in all things, and that soul is God.

    _Nature_, employed in her allotted place,
    Is hand-maid to the purposes of Grace;
    By good vouchsafed, makes known superior good,
    And bliss not seen, by blessings understood.

    He looks abroad into the varied field
    Of _Nature_; and though poor, perhaps, compared
    With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
    Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
    His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
    And the resplendent rivers; his to enjoy
    With a propriety that none can feel,
    But who, with filial confidence inspired,
    Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
    And smiling say, “My Father made them all!”

    By swift degrees the love of _Nature_ works,
    And warms the bosom; till, at last sublimed
    To rapture and enthusiastic heat,
    We feel the present Deity, and taste
    The joy of God to see a happy world.

    From _Nature’s_ constant or eccentric laws,
    The thoughtful soil this general inference draws--
    That an effect must pre-suppose a cause.

    All _Nature_ is but art, unknown to thee;
    All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
    All discord, harmony not understood;
    All partial evil, universal good.

    Read _Nature_; _Nature_ is a friend to truth:
    _Nature_ is Christian; preaches to mankind;
    And bids dead matter aid us in our creed.

    How faint is language when we strive to sing
      The beauties of the Almighty hand!
    Each year upon our outward sense they win,
    With all increasing and still varying force;
      The seasons, days, months, years, incessant bring
      Contrasting changes! First seeds, leaves, expand
    As the young years with tender warmth begin,
    Then bloom and fruit, and life bursts from its source,
      In animated _Nature_, then decays,
    And with revolving time is still renew’d.
    Thus hope’s bright beam the distant scene displays
      Where no repelling shadow’s may intrude;
    So life may joyous be, and genius dwells
    In new awaked fires, and fresh enchantment spells.
                                          _Sir E. Brydges._

    Almighty Father! such the lesson is
    That in these cool and venerable woods,
    I con to-day; and firmer in my breast,
    By every syllable, these truths are fixed
    That Thou art the Beginning and the End
    Of all this glorious work, and that Thy love
    Pervades the universe; and that Thy smile
    Seeketh all hearts, to sun them; and that Thou,
    In every glorious thing we here behold,
    Declarest and reveal’st Thyself to be
    The Majesty Supreme--Eternal God.
                                  _W. D. Gallagher._

    _Nature’s_ self, which is the breath of God,
    Or His pure Word by miracle revealed.

    _Nature_, when sprung thy glorious frame?
    --My Maker called me, and I came.
                              _J. Montgomery._

    Live thou with God in _Nature_: never falter
      In thy communings with Him. Be
    Like those blest birds we read of in the Psalter,
      Who found a borne from peril free
    In God’s own house, and nestled near His altar,
      Making it ring with melody.
        That temple stands no more,
    But _Nature_ standeth still; God’s holy presence
      Abideth with us, and the offering
    Of thankful joy to Him whose perfect essence
      Is perfect love, our glowing lips may bring,
        Till this brief life is o’er;
        And in a brighter, better,
        Our spirits know no fetter.

    Never have the works of _Nature_
      Yet to mortal man revealed,
    How his much offended Maker
      May to him be reconciled.

    Flower, nor tree, nor rock, nor mountain,
      Ever yet have showed the way,
    Ever told him of a Fountain
      That could wash his guilt away.

    Man could never yet discover,
      From the sky, the earth, the sea,
    When his days on earth are over,
      Where or what his state should be.

    But the page of inspiration
      Casts a light upon the whole,
    Bringing peace and consolation
      To the never-dying soul.
                           _Alexander Letham._


Day unto day uttereth speech, and _night_ unto _night_ showeth
knowledge.--Psalm xix. 2.

Thou makest darkness, and it is _night_.--Psalm civ. 20.

If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the _night_ shall be
light about me.

Yea, the darkness hideth not from Thee; but the _night_ shineth as the
day: the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee.--Psalm cxxxix.
11, 12.

    One sun by day, by _night_ ten thousand shine,
    And light us deep into the Deity;
    How boundless in magnificence is _night_!
    O what a confluence of ethereal fires,
    From urns unnumber’d, down the steep of heaven,
    Streams to a point, and centres in my sight!
    Nor tarries there, I feel it at my heart.
    My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts;
    Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.
    Who sees it unexalted? or unaw’d?
    Who sees it, and can stop at what is seen?
    Material offspring of Omnipotence!
    Inanimate, all animating birth!
    Work worthy Him who made it! worthy praise!
    All praise! praise more than human! nor denied
    Thy praise divine!--But tho’ man, drown’d in sleep,
    Withholds his homage, not alone I wake;
    Bright legions swarm unseen, and sing, unheard
    By mortal ear, the glorious Architect,
    In this his universal temple hung
    With lustres, with innumerable lights,
    That shed religion on the soul; at once
    The temple and the preacher! O how loved
    It calls devotion! genuine growth of _night_!

              The glorious sun is gone,
    And the gathering darkness of _night_ comes on.
    Like a curtain from God’s kind hand it flows,
    To shade the couch where His children repose.
    Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
    And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of _night_.
                                          _Henry Ware, Jun._

    And still as day concludes in _night_
    To break again with new-born light,
    God’s wondrous bounty let me find,
    With still a more enlightened mind;
    When Grace and Love in one agree,
    Grace from God and Love from me;
    Grace that will from Heaven inspire,
    Love that seals it in desire.

    Now, with religious awe, the farewell light
    Blends with the solemn colouring of the _night_.

    Ye quenchless stars! so eloquently bright;
    Untroubled sentries of the shadowy _night_,
    While half the world is lapp’d in blissful dreams,
    And round the lattice creep your fairy beams,
    How sweet to gaze upon those placid eyes,
    In lambent beauty looking from the skies!
    And when, oblivious of the world, we stray
    At dead of _night_ along some noiseless way,
    How the heart mingles with a moon-lit hour,
    And feels from heaven a sympathetic power!
    See! not a cloud careers yon pathless deep
    Of molten azure,--mute as lovely sleep;
    Full in her pallid light the moon presides,
    Shrined in a halo, mellowing as she rides;
    And far around, the forest and the stream
    Wear the rich garment of her woven beam.
    The lull’d winds, too, are sleeping in her caves,
    No stormy prelude rolls upon the waves;
    Nature is hush’d, as if her works ador’d,
    Still’d into homage of her living Lord!
                                       _R. Montgomery._

    O, blessed _Night_! that comes to rich and poor
    Alike; bringing us dreams that lure
        Our hearts to One above!
                                   _Henry B. Hirst._

    Clouds and thick darkness are thy throne,
    Thy wonderful pavilion;
    O, dart from thence a shining ray,
    And then my _midnight_ shall be day!
                             _Thomas Flatman._


For as by one man’s _disobedience_ many were made sinners, so by the
_obedience_ of one shall many be made righteous.--Romans, v. 19.

Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to _obey_, his
servants ye are to whom ye _obey_; whether of sin unto death, or of
_obedience_ unto righteousness?--Romans, vi. 16.

Though He were a Son, yet learned He _obedience_ by the things which He
suffered.--Hebrews, v. 8.

                    The will of heav’n
    Be done in this and all things! I _obey_.

    Of man’s first _disobedience_, and the fruit
    Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
    Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
    With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
    Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
    Sing Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
    Of Oreb or of Sinai, didst inspire
    That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed
    In the beginning, how the heavens and earth
    Rose out of Chaos. Or if Sion hill
    Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flow’d
    Fast by the oracle of God; I thence
    Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
    That with no middle flight intends to soar
    Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues
    Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme.
    And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
    Before all temples, th’ upright heart and pure,
    Instruct me, for Thou know’st: Thou, from the first
    Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
    Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast abyss,
    And mad’st it pregnant. What in me is dark
    Illumine; what is low raise and support;
    That to the height of this great argument
    I may assert eternal Providence,
    And justify the ways of God to men.
    Say first, for Heaven hides nothing from Thy view,
    Nor the deep tract of hell; say first what cause
    Moved our grand parents, in that happy state
    Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
    From their Creator, and transgress His will.
    For one restraint, lords of the world besides?
    Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
    Th’ infernal serpent: he it was whose guile,
    Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
    The mother of mankind, what time his pride
    Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
    Of rebel angels; by whose aid, aspiring
    To set himself in glory ’bove his peers,
    He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
    If He opposed; and, with ambition’s aim
    Against the throne and monarchy of God,
    Raised impious war in Heaven, and battle proud
    With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
    Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky,
    With hideous ruin and combustion, down
    To bottomless perdition; there to dwell
    In adamantine chains and penal fire,
    Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.

                    Nor can this be
    But by fulfilling that which thou didst want--
    _Obedience_ to the law of God, imposed
    On penalty of death.

    Flatter not folly with an idle faith,
      Nor let earth stand upon her own desert;
    But show what wisdom in the Scripture saith
      The fruitful hand doth shew the fruitful heart;
    Believe the word, and thereto bend thy will,
    And teach _obedience_ for a blessed skill.
                                    _Nicholas Breton._

                  Other bond have I
    None with the Father, but _obedience_ whole.
    The Son returns through all eternity
    Entire _obedience_ to the Father’s will
    Inscrutable, devout and finally--
    Relying on his love, that shall fulfil
    All gracious purposes--and so became
    The Mediator to all creatures, till
    God shall be all in all.
                                  _J. A. Heraud._


And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit
of the ground an _offering_ unto the Lord.

And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock, and of the
fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto Abel and to his _offering_.

But unto Cain and to his _offering_ He had not respect.--Genesis, iv.
3, 4, 5.

So Christ was once _offered_ to bear the sins of many; and unto them
that look for Him shall He appear the second time, without sin unto
salvation.--Hebrews, ix. 8.

For by one _offering_ He hath perfected for ever them that are
sanctified.--Hebrews, x. 14.

    Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
      Dawn on our darkness and lend us Thy aid!
    Star of the east the horizon adorning,
      Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!

    Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining,
      Low lies His bed with the beasts of the stall;
    Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
      Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all!

    Say, shall we yield Him in costly devotion,
      Odours of Edom, and _offerings_ divine;
    Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
      Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine.

    Vainly we _offer_ each ample oblation,
      Vainly with gold would His favour secure,
    Richer by far is the heart’s adoration;
      Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
                                      _Bishop Heber._

    What _offering_ can I bring to Thee
      Which may find favour in Thine eye?
    Is it some work of charity?
    Some form of prayer on bended knee,
    Some spoil of earthly treasury,
      That toil can win, or gold can buy?
    Nay, all were worthless, all were vain
    As that oblation made by Cain,
    If a sad spirit, and a contrite heart,
    Form of the sacrifice no part.


That they all may be _one_; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee,
that they also may be _one_ in us: that the world may believe that thou
hast sent me.--John, xvii. 21.

_One_ Lord, _one_ faith, _one_ baptism.--Ephesians, iv. 5.

    _One_ baptism, and _one_ faith,
      _One_ lord, below, above!
    The fellowship of Zion hath
      _One_ only watchword,--Love.
    From different temples though it rise,
    _One_ song ascendeth to the skies.

    Our Sacrifice is _one_;
      _One_ priest before the throne,--
    The crucified, the risen Son,
      Redeemer, Lord alone!
    And sighs from contrite hearts that spring,
    Our chief, our choicest offering.

    Oh, why should they who love
      _One_ Gospel to unfold,
    Who look for _one_ bright home above,
      On earth, be strange and cold?
    Why, subjects of the Prince of Peace.
    In strife abide, and bitterness?

    Oh, may that holy prayer,
      His tenderest and his last,
    The utterance of his latest care,
      Ere to his throne he pass’d,--
    No longer unfulfill’d remain
    The world’s offence, the people’s stain!

    Head of thy church beneath,
      The catholic,--the true,--
    On her disjointed members breathe,
      Her broken frame renew!
    Then shall thy perfect will be done
    When Christians love and live as _one_.
                                  _E. Robinson._

    O Thou Eternal _One_! whose presence bright
    All space doth occupy, all motion guide,
    Unchanged through time’s all-devastating flight,
    Thou only God!
                                  _From the Russian._


And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto Thee, To-day shalt thou be
with me in _Paradise_.--Luke, xxiii. 43.

To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is
in the midst of the _Paradise_ of God.--Revelation, ii. 7.

    So on he fares, and to the border comes
    Of Eden, whose delicious _Paradise_
    Now nearer crowns with her enclosure green,
    As with a rural mound, the champaign head
    Of a steep wilderness, whose hoary sides,
    With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild,
    Access denied: and overhead up-grew
    Insuperable height of loftiest shade,
    Cedar and pine, and fir, and branching palm;
    A sylvan scene! And as the ranks ascend,
    Shade above shade, a woody theatre
    Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops
    The verdurous wall of _Paradise_ up-sprung;
    Which to our general sire gave prospect large
    Into his nether empire neighb’ring round.

    Say’st thou there was no “_Paradise_ of God?”
      No happy, sinless state of early man?
      Ask all the ages past, each record scan,
    And see if always cursed was this now barren sod.
      Go ask the Greek--he tells of Golden age,
    When the god-governed earth was heavenly pure;
    When never death, nor woes men now endure
      Had entered here, nor hate, nor guile, nor rage.
      The eastern Magian speaks of earliest days,
    When holy Oromasdes reign’d o’er man:
      The far Egyptian tells Osiris’ praise,
    Governing all in peace, ere rude revolt began.
      And wilt thou God’s own _Paradise_ deny,
      When e’en the heathen tales affirm it ceaselessly?
                                          _Ann Flinders._

    Lord I will take no comfort but of Thee!
      I had an earthly plant--a pleasant vine,
      From whose dear grapes I pressed delightful wine,
    Which made my heart as merry as could be.
    Thine anger hath cut down that cheerful tree;
      Or at the least, (for yet I but divine,)
    Thou hast cut off its joyful fruit from me,
      And made its precious shade no longer mine.
    Shall I then murmur? If my road henceforth
      Lies but before me wearisome and bare,
      And no green garland twined amid my hair
        Will guard, as it was wont, my tortured eyes,
    What then? The sweeter after this stripped earth
        Will be the shady rest of _Paradise_.
                                      _Thomas Burbidge._

    The God of nature and of grace
      In all His work appears;
    His goodness through the earth we trace,
      His grandeur in the spheres.

    Behold this fair and fertile globe,
      By Him in wisdom planned;
    ’Twas He who girded, like a robe,
      The ocean round the land.

    Lift to the firmament your eye,
      Thither His path pursue;
    His glory boundless as the sky,
      O’erwhelms the wandering view.

    The forests in His strength rejoice,
      Hark! on the evening breeze,
    As once of old, the Lord God’s voice
      Is heard among the trees.

    His blessings fall in plenteous showers
      Upon the lap of earth,
    That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers,
      And rings with infant mirth.

    If God hath made the world so fair,
      Where sin and death abound;
    How beautiful, beyond compare,
      Will _Paradise_ be found!
                              _James Montgomery._


And Moses said unto the Lord, _Pardon_, I beseech Thee, the iniquity of
this people according unto the greatness of Thy mercy, and as Thou hast
forgiven this people, from Egypt even until now.

And the Lord said, I have _pardoned_ according to thy word.--Numbers,
xiv. 13, 19, 20.

Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts;
and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon him; and
to our God, for He will abundantly _pardon_.--Isaiah, lv. 7.

    But infinite in _pardon_ is our judge.

    What can we better do than prostrate fall
    Befort Him reverent, and there confess
    Humbly our faults, and _pardon_ beg, with tears
    Watering the ground?

    When with deep agony His heart was racked,
    Not for Himself the tear-drop dewed His cheek,
    For them He wept, for them to Heaven He prayed,--
    His persecutors--“Father _pardon_ them;
    They know not what they do.”
                                       _Charles Lamb._

    O Time! O Life! ye were not made
    For languid dreaming in the shade,
    Nor sinful hearts to moor all day
    By lily-isle, or grassy bay,
    Nor drink at noontide’s balmy hours
    Sweet opiates from the meadow-flowers.
    O give me grace, dear Lord! to win
    Thy _pardon_ for my youthful sin,
    For all the days, in woods embowered,
    When currents of sweet thought o’erpowered
    With pleasant force the sense of duty,
    And gentle nature’s harmless beauty,
    Too much adored, gave birth to throngs
    Of joys effeminate, and songs
    Which sprung from earth, and, like a breeze,
    Died wantonly among the trees,
    Without a moral or a mirth
    Above the passing bliss of earth!
                             _Frederic W. Faber._


Children, obey your _parents_ in all things: for this is well pleasing
unto the Lord.--Colossians, iii. 20.

    Honour thy _parents_ to prolong thine end;
    With them, though for a truth, do not contend;
    Whoever makes his father’s heart to bleed,
    Shall have a son that will avenge the deed.
                                 _Thomas Randolph._

    Not those alone are _parents_, to whose cares
      The opening buds of human life are given;
    Truth, Beauty, Love, have each unnumbered heirs,
      And Earth itself is but the child of Heaven.

    Nature repeats herself; and human thought
      Mirrored in deeds, becomes more truly real:
    Thus only on the web of life are wrought
      The glowing pictures of the world ideal.

    The labourer who embowers his cottage round
      With tasteful gifts--his honest hand the donor,
    Makes of that little spot of cultured ground,
      A pleasing transcript of its joyful owner.

    The matron, toiling with unselfish aim
      To bless her little band of cherished creatures,
    But mounts the picture, from whose shining frame
      For ever beam her dear, benignant features.

    Thought is the favoured child of thoughtful ones,
      As heaven is mirrored in the quiet waters;
    The statesman’s high achievements are his sons,
      And the sweet poet’s lays his tuneful daughters.

    The sculptor, bending o’er his marble child,
      Models himself in fixed, enduring beauty;
    The painter’s soul hath from the canvass smiled,
      Breathing deep tones of passion or of duty.

    None shall die childless; and the frailest one
      Of all the living crowds around us pressing,
    May, like the Eternal Father, give his son
      To be humanity’s perpetual blessing.
                                    _Mrs. F. H. Cooke._


We also are men of like _passions_ with you, and preach unto you that
ye should turn from those vanities unto the living God.--Acts, xiv. 15.

    What profits us, that we from heaven derive
    A soul immortal, and with looks erect
    Survey the stars, if, like the brutal kind
    We follow where our _passions_ lead the way?

    While _passions_ glow, the heart like heated steel
    Takes each impression, and is worked at pleasure.

                              The gales
    Of pleasure haply waft him, and he bounds
    Exultingly upon the flattering main;
    Nor heeds the inexperienced boy the hints
    Of prudence, and the counsel of the wise;
    He steers impetuously through dancing waves
    And oceans of illusive bliss, till now,
    Crashing upon the keel, his vessel lies
    A total wreck upon th’ undreaded reef!
    “Avoid the shoal!” the sacred preacher cries,
    The volumes of the dead and living, ope
    The monitory page, alas, in vain!
    If _passion_ hold the helm, and pleasure fill
    The swelling sail, though reason, conscience, say
    “Avoid the shoal!” the voyager is lost.

    Thou must chain thy _passions_ down;
    Well to serve, but ill to sway,
    Like the fire they must obey.
    They are good, in subject state,
    To strengthen, warm, and animate;
    But if once we let them reign,
    They sweep with desolating train,
    ’Till they but leave a hated name,
    A ruined soul, and blackened fame.
                            _Eliza Cook._

    _Passions_, indulged beyond a certain bound,
    Lead to a precipice, and plunge in woe
    The heedless agent.
                                  _George Bally._


That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been;
and God requireth that which is _past_.--Ecclesiastes, iii. 15.

                        The _past_ lives o’er again,
    In its effects, and to the guilty spirit
    The ever-frowning present is its image.

    Who bears no trace of passion’s evil force?
    Who shuns thy sting, O, terrible Remorse?--
        Who does not cast
    On the thronged pages of his memory’s book,
    At times, a sad, and half-reluctant look,
        Regretful of the _Past_?
                               _J. G. Whittier._

        Full many a mighty name
    Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered;
        With thee are silent fame,
    Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.

        Thine for a space are they--
    Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last;
        Thy gates shall yet give way,
    Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable _Past_!

        All that of good and fair
    Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
        Shall then come forth, to wear
    The glory and the beauty of its prime.
                                    _W. C. Bryant._

    Whene’er upon the _past_ I gaze,
      Though thorns and clouds appear,
    Rich gifts from Heaven demand my praise,
      Gifts to the heart most dear,
    The strong One’s arm, the friend above,
    The fulness of Redeeming Love.

    Through childhood’s hours and youthful snares,
      That Arm my footsteps led,
    That friend amid the heart’s own cares,
      The balm of pity shed,
    And raised my drooping soul to feel
    How deep the wound Love’s power can heal.
                                     _W. J. Brock._


I will give you _pastors_ according to mine heart, which shall feed you
with knowledge and understanding.--Jeremiah, iii. 15.

Woe be unto the _pastors_ that destroy and scatter the sheep of my
pasture! saith the Lord.--Jeremiah, xxiii. 1.

    He was a shepherd, and no mercenary.
    And though he holy was and virtuous,
    He was to sinful men full piteous;
    His words were strong, but not with anger fraught;
    A love benignant he discreetly taught.
    To draw mankind to Heaven by gentleness
    And good example, was his business.
    But if that any one were obstinate,
    Whether he were of high or low estate,
    Him would he sharply check with altered mien:
    A better parson there was nowhere seen.
    He paid no court to pomps and reverence,
    Nor spiced his conscience at his soul’s expense;
    But Jesus’ love, which owns no pride or pelf,
    He taught--but first he followed it himself.

    Do not, as some ungracious _pastors_ do,
    Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
    Whilst, like a puff’d and reckless libertine,
    Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
    And recks not his own road.

    A genial hearth, a hospitable board,
    And a refined rusticity, belong
    To the neat mansion, where, his flock among,
    The learned _pastor_ dwells, their watchful lord.
    Though meek and patient as a sheathed sword,
    Though pride’s least lurking thought appears a wrong
    To human kind; though peace be on his tongue,
    Gentleness in his heart; can earth afford
    Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free,
    As when, array’d in Christ’s authority,
    He from the pulpit lifts his awful hand;
    Conjures, implores, and labours all he can
    For re-subjecting to divine command
    The stubborn spirit of rebellious man?

    He is a faithful _pastor_ of the poor;--
    He thinks not of himself; his Master’s words,
    “Feed, feed my sheep,” are ever at his heart,
    The Cross of Christ is aye before his eyes.

      So glorious let Thy _pastors_ shine,
    That, by their speaking lives, the world may learn
      First, filial duty, then divine;
    That sons to parents, all to Thee may turn.

    Of the deep learning in the schools of yore,
      The reverend _pastor_ hath a golden stock;
    Yet, with a vain display of useless lore,
      Or sapless doctrine, never will he mock
      The better cravings of his simple flock;
    But faithfully their humble shepherd guides
      Where streams eternal gush from Calvary’s rock;
    For well he knows, not learning’s purest tides
    Can quench the immortal thirst that in the soul abides.
                                              _Mrs. Little._

    By weakest ministers, the Almighty thus
    Makes known His sacred will, and shows His power;
    By Him inspired, they speak with urgent tongue
    Authoritative, while the illumined breast
    Heaves with unwonted strength; high as their theme,
    Their great conceptions rise in rapturous flow,
    As quick the ready organs catch the thought,
    And, in such strains as science could not teach,
    Bear it, in all its radiance, to the heart;
    The listening throng there feel its bless’d effect,
    And deep conviction glows in every breast.
                                       _Charles Jenner._

    Shepherd of Israel, Thou dost keep
    With constant care, Thy humble sheep,
    By Thee inferior _pastors_ rise
    To feed our souls and bless our eyes.

    Fed by their active, tender care,
    Healthful may all Thy sheep appear,
    And by their fair example led,
    The way to Zion’s pastures tread.


In your _patience_ possess ye your souls.--Luke, xxi. 19.

And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that
tribulation worketh _patience_;

And _patience_, experience; and experience, hope.--Romans, v. 3, 4.

Take, my brethren, the prophets, who have spoken in the name of the
Lord, for an example of suffering affliction, and of _patience_.

Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the
_patience_ of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is
very pitiful, and of tender mercy.--James, v. 10, 11.

    Many are the sayings of the wise,
    In ancient and in modern books unroll’d,
    Extolling _patience_ as the truest fortitude;
    And to the bearing well of all calamities,
    All chances incident to man’s frail life,
    Consolitaries writ
    With studied argument, and much persuasion sought,
    Lenient of grief and anxious thought:
    But with th’ afflicted in his pangs their sound
    Little prevails, or rather seems a tune
    Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint,
    Unless he feel within
    Some source of consolation from above,
    Secret refreshings, that repair his strength
    And fainting spirits uphold.

                      Give me care,
    By thankful _patience_, to prevent despair:
    Fit me to bear whate’er Thou shalt assign;
    I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine.
                              _Francis Quarles._

    _Patience_ and resignation are the pillars
    Of human peace on earth.

    Like some well-fashioned arch thy _patience_ stood,
    And purchased strength from each increasing load.

    A dungeon, dark and drear
    As death, but in its cold and gloomy depths
    I see a form of beauty, round whose locks
    A glory plays, that lights the dungeon with
    A quivering lustre--she is stretched upon
    The damp cold earth, her head is pillowed on
    One arm, the while its fellow presses to
    Her heart a holy volume. O’er her eyes
    The dove of peace seems brooding, while deep sleep
    Heaves the long ringlets of the golden hair
    That cluster on her neck, and sweep the earth:
    A smile is lingering on her placid lip,
    As though she dreamt of heaven, the while her brow,
    As that same heaven, arched and calm, shoots forth
    A halo--in her breast a dove is nestling,
    And angel wings are spread to guard her dreams
    From evil--favoured one of God--who art thou?

    ’Tis _patience_, the beloved of Heaven! the meek,
    The mild, the lowly, and the gentle _patience_,
    Whose eye looks up to God; and ne’er unbends
    Its fixed and placid gaze to look upon
    The thorns that tear her bleeding breast; who stands
    Pale, calm, unmoved amid the storms of life;
    Whose soul weeps not for heart’s torture--_patience_,
    The meek-eyed pilgrim of the earth, that child
    Of heaven--perfection’s crown.
                                          _C. L. Reddell._

    For God, who binds the broken heart,
      And dries the mourner’s tear,
    If faith and _patience_ be their part,
      Will unto these be near.

    Let such but say “Thy will be done!”
      And He who Jesus raised,
    Will qualify them, through His Son,
      To say “Thy name be praised!”
                          _Bernard Barton._

    When, in justice, he appals us
      By the threat of endless pain,
    Sink not--soon His mercy calls us
      To His pardoning arms again.
    Father! O, with _patience_ bless us,
      Till each seeming ill be past:
    Let whatever gloom oppress us,
      All must end in light at last.
                           _Thomas Ward._


Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man
is _peace_.--Psalm xxxvii. 37.

Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth

Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are
_peace_.--Proverbs, iii. 13, 17.

Lord, thou wilt ordain _peace_ for us.--Isaiah, xxvi. 12.

Blessed are the _peacemakers_, for they shall be called the children of
God.--Matthew, v. 9.

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth _peace_, good will toward
men.--Luke, ii. 14.

_Peace_ I leave with you, my _peace_ I give unto you: not as the world
giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it
be afraid.--John, xiv. 27.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, _peace_.--Galatians, v. 22.

The _peace_ of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your
hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.--Philippians, iv. 7.

    No war or battle’s sound
    Was heard the world around:
      The idle spear and shield were high up hung,
    The hooked chariot stood
    Unstained with hostile blood,
      The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;
    And kings sat still, with awe-full eye
    As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.

    But _peaceful_ was the night
    Wherein the Prince of Light,
      His reign of _peace_ upon the earth began:
    The winds, with wonder whist,
    Smoothly the waters kissed,
      Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
    Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
    While birds of calm sat brooding on the charmed wave.

    No more shall nation against nation rise,
    Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
    Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o’er,
    The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
    But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
    And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.

    My soul, there is a country
      Far beyond the stars,
    Where stands a winged sentry
      All skilful in the wars;
    There above noise and danger
      Sweet _peace_ sits crown’d with smiles;
    And One born in a manger
      Commands the beauteous files.
    He is thy gracious friend,
      And oh! my soul, awake;
    Did in pure love descend
      To die here for my sake.
    If thou canst get but thither,
      There grows the flower of _peace_;
    The rose that cannot wither,
      Thy fortress and thy ease
    Leave then thy foolish ranges;
      For none can thee secure,
    But one who never changes,
      Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
                              _Henry Vaughan._

                      Sure the last end
    Of the good man is _peace_. How calm his exit!
    Night dews fall not more calmly on the ground,
    Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.

    Hear the last words the believer saith.
    He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
    There is _peace_ in his eye that upward bends;
    There is _peace_ in his calm confiding air;
    For his last thoughts are God’s, his last words, prayer.
                                           _Henry Ware, Jun._

    “_Peace_” was the word our Saviour breathed,
      When from our world His steps withdrew;
    The gift He to His friends bequeathed,
      With Calvary and the Cross in view:--
    Redeemer! With adoring love
      Our spirits take Thy rich bequest,
    The watchword of the host above,
      The passport to their realm of rest.
                                _Mrs. Sigourney._

    Oh, _peace_; thou source and soul of social life,
    Beneath whose calm inspiriting influence,
    Science his views enlarges; art refines,
    And swelling Commerce opens all her ports;
    Blest be the man divine who gives us thee;
    Who bids the trumpet hush its horrid clang,
    Nor blow the giddy nations into rage.
    Who sheathes the murderous blade, the deadly gun
    Into the well-piled armoury returns;
    And every vigour from the work of death
    To grateful industry converting, makes
    The country flourish and the city smile.

    When groves by moonlight silence keep,
      And winds the vexed waves release,
    And fields are hushed, and cities sleep,--
      Lord! is not this the hour of _Peace_?

    When Infancy at Evening tries
      By turns to climb each Parent’s knees,
    And gazing meets their raptured eyes,--
      Lord! is not this the hour of _Peace_?

    In golden pomp when autumn smiles;
      And every vale its rich increase
    In man’s full barns exulting piles;--
      Lord! is not this the hour of _Peace_?

    When Mercy points where Jesus bleeds,
      And Faith beholds thine anger cease;
    And Hope to black despair succeeds;--
      This, Father! this alone is _Peace_!

    Wherefore from His throne exalted,
      Came He on this earth to dwell;
    All His pomp an humble manger--
      All His court a narrow cell?
    “From that world to bring to this,
      _Peace_, which of all earthly blisses
    Is the brightest, purest bliss.”
                          _Violante Di Ceo._

    Down the dark future, through long generations,
      The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease!
    And like a bell with solemn sweet vibrations,
      I hear once more the voice of Christ say “_Peace_!”

    _Peace_! and no longer from its brazen portals
      The blast of war’s great organ shakes the skies;
    But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,
      The holiest melodies of love arise.

    “_Peace_,” shall the world outwearied ever see
      Its universal reign? Will states, will kings,
      Put down these murderous and unholy things,
    Which fill the earth with blood and misery?
    Will nations learn that love--not enmity--
      Is heaven’s first lesson--which beneath the wings
    Of mercy, brooding over land and sea,
      Fills earth with joy by its soft ministerings?
    ’Twere a sad prospect--’twere a vista dark
      As midnight--could this wearied mortal eye,
      Through the dim mists that veil futurity,
    Discern not that heaven-bright though distant spark,
      Lighted by prophecy, whose ray sublime
      Sheds a soft gleam of hope o’er the dull path of time.

    I hate that noisy drum, it is a sound
      That tells of war, of bondage, and I blush
      That liberty had ever cause to rush
    Into a warrior’s arms; that right e’er found
      Asylum in the furious field. Not so
      The holy crowns of genuine glory grow;
    Not there should they who bear the badge serene
    Of Him who was the Prince of _Peace_, be seen;
      Can such His faithful followers be?--Oh no!
    His laurels are not drenched in blood,--but green
      And beautiful as spring:--His arms are love
    And mercy and forgiveness; and with them
    He rules the nations’ mighty destinies
      And gently leads us to our homes above.
                                               _Dr. Bowring._

    If there be sore strife and care,
      In the world below,
    Restless spirits never there
      Could chase away their woe,
    Let the storm that raves about us,
    By our faith be kept without us;
    Let us from our troubles cease,
    Power and conquest dwell in _peace_.
                            _J. Gostick._


Out of Zion, the _perfection_ of beauty, God hath shined.--Psalm l. 2.

O when wilt thou come unto me? I will walk within my house with a
_perfect_ heart.--Psalm ci. 2.

I have seen an end of all _perfection_.--Psalm cxix. 96.

Be ye therefore _perfect_, even as your Father which is in heaven is
_perfect_.--Matthew, v. 48.

    Give glory to the Son, who came
    Clothed in our fleshy, mortal frame;
    Who bore our sins, vouchsafed to give
    Himself to die, that we might live;
    Who--holy, harmless, undefiled,
    Was patient--spurned, was dumb--reviled;
    Who, in the agonies of death,
    Poured for His foes His parting breath;
    Was _perfect_ God and man in one:
    Give glory to the Incarnate Son!

    Behold the beauty of His matchless life
    In deed and thought connecting earth and heaven:--
    Call every virtue which the mind conceives,
    Or view _perfection_ in sublime excess
    Of glory, such as dreams of God pourtray,
    And what can emulate the Prince of Peace!
                                       _R. Montgomery._

    Oh! who shall paint them--let the sweetest tone
    That ever trembled on the harps of Heaven,
    Be discord; let the chanting seraphim,
    Whose anthem is eternity, be dumb;
    For praise and wonder, adoration,--all
    Melt into muteness, ere they soar to Thee,
    Thou sole _Perfection_!--Theme of countless worlds!
                                        _R. Montgomery._

    Oh, Thou, who all _perfection_ art!
      How shall my soul approach to Thee?
    How can my black, polluted heart
      Endure Thy searching scrutiny?
    Only through grace of Him by whom
      The just avenging arm is stayed;
    By whose descent into the tomb
      Was im_perfection perfect_ made.


And the Lord said unto Moses, Rise up early in the morning, and stand
before Pharoah, and say unto him, Thus saith the Lord God of the
Hebrews, Let my people go, that they may serve me.

For I will at this time send all my _plagues_ upon thine heart, and
upon thy servants, and upon thy people; that thou mayest know that
there is none like me in all the earth.

For now I will stretch out my hand, that I may smite thee and
thy people with _pestilence_; and thou shalt be cut off from the
earth.--Exodus, ix. 13, 14, 15.

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under
the shadow of the Almighty.

Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the
noisome _pestilence_.

There shall no evil befal thee, neither shall any _plague_ come nigh
thy dwelling.--Psalm xci. 1, 3, 10.

    A terrible change is come; I see a cloud
    Brooding above the valley like the wing
    Of a destroying angel dark and dread;
    And in its awful depth I see a brow
    On which is stamped in fiery characters
    The one word--_Plague_. The beds of dewy flowers
    Are pressed by loathsome forms of dark disease,
    Putrid though living; some have dragged their weak
    And fainting limbs to where the pure stream glides,
    But sink ere they can quench their burning thirst
    In its cool waters; some bow down their heads
    In prayer, but the unfinished words are quelled
    By groans of agony; some wait for death
    With stubborn pride that scorns to murmur; some
    Rave of cool forests and of shady rivers,
    In their delirious pain; the dead and dying
    Tenant that valley only.
                                        _C. L. Reddell._

    From the sword at noonday wasting,
      From the noisome _pestilence_,
    In the depth of midnight blasting,
      God shall be thy sure defence.

    Thee, though winds and waves be swelling,
      God, thine hope, shall bear through all,
    _Plague_ shall not come nigh thy dwelling,
      Thee no evil shall befall.
                               _J. Montgomery._


Beware lest any man spoil you through _philosophy_ and vain deceit,
after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not
after Christ.--Colossians, ii. 8.

                  Philosophy consists not
    In airy schemes, or idle speculation;
    The rule and conduct of all social life
    Is her great province. Not in lonely cells
    Obscure she lurks; but holds her heavenly light
    To senates and to kings, to guide their councils,
    And teach them to reform and bless mankind.
    All policy but her’s is false and rotten;
    All valour not conducted by her precepts
    Is a destroying fury sent from hell,
    To plague unhappy man, and ruin nations.

    What is an high-praised _philosophy_,
      But books of poesy in prose compil’d,
    Far more delightful than they fruitful be,
      Witty appearance, guile that is beguil’d;
    Corrupting minds much rather than directing,
    Th’ alloy of duty, and our pride’s erecting.

    For, as among physicians, what they call
      Word magic, never helpeth the disease,
    Which drugs and diet ought to deal withal,
      And by their real working give us ease;
    So these word-sellers have no power to cure
    The passions which corrupted lives endure.
                            _Sir Falke Greville._

    In its sublime research, _philosophy_
    May measure out the ocean deep--may count
    The sands or the sun’s rays--but God! for Thee
    There is no weight nor measure:--none can mount
    Up to Thy mysteries: Reason’s brightest spark,
    Though kindled at Thy light, in vain would try
    To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark
    And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
    Even like past moments in eternity.
                                   _From the Russian._

    With thee, serene _Philosophy_, with thee
    And thy bright garland, let me crown my song!
    Effusive source of evidence and truth!
    A lustre shedding o’er the ennobled mind
    Stronger than summer noon; and pure as that
    Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul,
    New to the dawning of celestial day.
    Hence through her nourished powers, enlarged by thee
    She springs aloft, with elevated pride,
    Above the tangling mass of low desires
    That bind the fluttering crowd; and, angel-winged,
    The heights of science and of virtue gains,
    Where all is calm and clear; with nature round,
    Or in the starry regions, or the abyss,
    To reason and to fancy’s eye displayed:
    The first up-tracing from the dreary void,
    The chain of causes and effects to Him,
    The world-producing Essence, who alone
    Possesses being; while the last receives
    The whole magnificence of Heaven and earth,
    And every beauty, delicate or bold,
    Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense,
    Diffusive painted on the rapid mind.

    Survey the magnet’s sympathetic love,
    That woos the yielding needle; contemplate
    Th’ attractive amber’s power, invisible
    Ev’n to the mental eye; or when the blow
    Sent from th’ electric sphere assaults thy frame,
    Show me the hand that dealt it!--Baffled here
    By His Omnipotence, _Philosophy_
    Slowly her thoughts inadequate revolves,
    And stands with all His circling wonders round her,
    Like heavy Saturn, in th’ ethereal space
    Begirt with an inexplicable ring.

                    Sublime _Philosophy_!
    Thou are the patriarch’s ladder, reaching heaven,
    And bright with beckoning angels; but, alas!
    We see thee, like the patriarch, but in dreams,
    By the first step, dull slumbering on the earth.


These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having
seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and
confessed that they were strangers and _pilgrims_ on the earth.

For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a
country.--Hebrews, xi. 13, 14.

Dearly beloved, I beseech you, as strangers and _pilgrims_, abstain
from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul.--I. Peter, ii. 11.

    Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
    My staff of faith to walk upon;
    My scrip of joy, immortal diet;
    My bottle of salvation;
    My gown of glory, (hope’s true gage,)
    And thus I’ll take my _pilgrimage_.
    Blood must be my body’s only balmer
    Whilst my soul, like a quiet Palmer,
    Travelleth towards the land of Heaven;
    No other balm will there be given.
                          _Sir W. Raleigh._

    From darkness, here, and dreariness,
      We ask not full repose;
    Only be Thou at hand to bless
      Our trial hour of woes.
    Is not the _pilgrim’s_ toil o’erpaid
    By the clear rill and palmy shade?
    And see we not up earth’s dark glade,
      The gate of Heaven unclose?

    While his staff the traveller handles
      In his weary journeying,
    Thorns may tear his dusty sandals,
      Fangs his tender feet may sting;
    But were life devoid of pain,
    Bliss were proffered man in vain.
    Look aloft, where light is breaking
      Through this doubt-enveloped sky--
    Forward leap, the joy partaking,
      Of a higher destiny.
    Lift thy staff, and move apace
    In the _pilgrim_-thronging race.
                            _T. G. Spear._

    There is a light on the hills, and the valley is past!
      Ascend, happy _pilgrim_! thy labours are o’er!
    The sunshine of Heaven around thee is cast,
    And thy weak, doubting footsteps can falter no more.
    On, _pilgrim_! that hill richly circled with rays
      Is Zion! Lo, there is the “city of saints!”
    And the beauties, the glories, that region displays,
      Inspiration’s own language imperfectly paints.
                                               _Mrs. Opie._

    _Pilgrim_, burden’d with thy sin,
      Come the way to Zion’s gate,
    There, till mercy speaks within,
      Knock, and weep, and watch, and wait.
    Knock--he knows the sinner’s cry;
      Weep--he loves the mourner’s tears;
    Watch--for saving grace is nigh;
      Wait--till heavenly grace appears.
    Hark, it is thy Saviour’s voice,
      “Welcome _pilgrim_ to thy rest.”
    Now within the gate rejoice,
      Safe, and own’d, and bought, and blest.
    Safe--from all the lures of vice;
      Own’d--by joys the contrite know;
    Bought--by love and life the price;
      Blest--the mighty debt we owe.
    Holy _pilgrim_ what for thee,
      In a world like this remain?
    From thy guarded breast shall flee
      Fear, and shame, and doubt and pain.
    Fear--the hope of heaven shall flee;
      Shame--from glory’s view retire;
    Doubt--in full belief shall die;
      Pain--in endless joy expire.

    We journey through a vale of tears
      By many a cloud o’ercast;
    And worldly cares, and worldly fears,
      Go with us to the last!
    Not to the last--Thy word hath said,
      Could we but read aright;
    Poor _Pilgrim_! lift, in hope, thy head;
      At eve there shall be light.
                            _Bernard Barton._


To him that is afflicted _pity_ should be shewed from his friend.--Job,
v. 14.

Like as a father _pitieth_ his children, so the Lord _pitieth_ them
that fear him.--Psalm ciii. 13.

He that hath _pity_ upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord.--Proverbs,
xix. 17.

    Genius of _pity_! exercise thy sway,
      And with thy soft emotions soothe each breast;
    May every heart thy kind dictates obey,
      And be thy humanizing pow’r confess’d!

    May sweet Benevolence, auspicious fair,
      Vouchsafe thy cheering progress to attend,
    And smiling Charity, with constant care,
      Where’er distress appears, her succour lend.

    In the drear season of embitter’d woe,
      Oh! may the sons of opulence and ease
    Feel _pity’s_ genial animating glow,
      Nor suffer avarice their soul to freeze!

    May they, whene’er the child of want is seen,
      Dispense their warm benevolence around,--
    The hapless suff’rer from misfortune screen,
      Nor to a narrow sphere their mercies bound!

    Not to the wanderer their gifts confine,
      But the sad roofs of silent woe explore,
    Where modest mourners secretly repine,
      And, unsoliciting, their wants deplore.

    Then shall the orphan’s and the widow’s prayer,
      To Heav’n, with thanks for such relief, be made;
    The welcome boon with grateful hearts they share,
      And bless the donor for his timely aid.

    Oh! do not seek the mirthful throng,
      But find where friendship lingers,
    And feel the strings, untouched so long,
      Swept o’er by _Pity’s_ fingers.
    Though not a star has lent its light,
      Who knows what may be dawning?
    The mists that robe the earth at night
      Precede the brightest morning!
                               _J. Burbidge._


The Lord taketh _pleasure_ in them that fear Him.--Psalm cxlvii. 11.

He that loveth _pleasure_ shall be a poor man: he that loveth wine and
oil shall not be rich.--Proverbs, xxi. 17.

Hear now this, thou that art given to _pleasures_, that dwellest
carelessly, evil shall come upon thee.--Isaiah, xlvii. 8, 11.

Walk worthy of the Lord unto all _pleasing_, being fruitful in every
good work.--Colossians, i. 10.

So we speak; not as _pleasing_ men, but God, which trieth our
hearts.--I. Thessalonians, ii. 4.

    Admirers of false _pleasures_ must sustain
    The weight and sharpness of ensuing pain.
                               _John Beaumont._

    Short is the course of every lawless _pleasure_--
    Grief, like a shade, on all its footsteps waits,
    Scarce visible in joy’s meridian height;
    But, downwards as its blaze declining speeds,
    The dwarfish shadow to a giant spreads.

    _Pleasures_ are few, and fewer we enjoy;
    _Pleasure_, like quicksilver, is bright and coy;
    We strive to grasp it, with our utmost skill,
    Still it eludes us, and it glitters still:
    If seized at last, compute your mighty gains;
    What is it but rank poison in your veins?

    _Pleasure_ is good, and man for _pleasure_ made;
    But _pleasure_ full of glory as of joy;
    _Pleasure_ which neither blushes nor expires.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Death treads in _pleasure’s_ footsteps round the world,
    When _pleasure_ treads the paths which reason shuns.

    _Pleasure_, admitted in undue degree,
    Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Peace follows virtue as its sure reward;
    And _pleasure_ brings as surely in her train
    Remorse, and sorrow, and vindictive pain.

    _Pleasures_, like wonders, quickly lose their price,
    When reason or experience makes us wise.
                                           _Bishop King._

    If the soft hand of winning _pleasure_ leads
    By living waters and through flowery meads,
    Where all is smiling, tranquil, and serene;
    And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene;
    Oh! teach me to elude each latent snare,
    And whisper to my sliding heart--Beware!
    With caution let me hear the syren’s voice,
    And doubtful with a trembling heart rejoice.
                                   _Mrs. Barbauld._

    Graces withered by too warm a beam,
    May spread and flourish in the dreary shade:
    And _pleasure_, to voluptuous guilt denied,
    May bloom ambrosial from affliction’s thorn.
                                  _George Bally._

    All these fond _pleasures_, if fond things
      Deserve so good a name,
    Should not seduce a noble mind
      To stain itself with shame.
    The time shall come when all these same,
      Which seem so rich with joy,
    Like tyrants, shall torment thy mind,
      And vex thee with annoy.

    I ask Thee for the daily strength,
      To none that ask denied,
    And a mind to blend with outward life
      While keeping at Thy side;
    Content to fill a little space,
      If Thou be glorified.
    And if some things I do not ask,
      In my cup of blessing be,
    I would have my spirit fill’d the more
      With grateful love to Thee--
    More careful--not to serve Thee much,
      But to _please_ Thee perfectly.
                            _A. L. Waring._

    That _pleasure_ is of all
      Most bountiful and kind,
    That fades not straight, but leaves
      A living joy behind.


The Lord maketh _poor_, and maketh rich: He bringeth low, and lifteth
up.--I. Samuel, ii. 7.

Give me neither _poverty_ nor riches; feed me with food convenient for

Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be
_poor_, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.--Proverbs, xxx.
8, 9.

Blessed be ye _poor_: for yours is the kingdom of God.--Luke, vi. 20.

In a great trial of affliction, the abundance of their joy, and their
deep _poverty_, abounded unto the riches of their liberality.--II.
Corinthians, viii. 2.

    If well thou view’st us with no squinted eye,
      No partial judgment, thou wilt quickly rate
    Thy wealth no richer than my _poverty_;
      My want no _poorer_ than thy rich estate.
        Our ends and births alike, in this as I,
        _Poor_ thou wert born, and _poor_ again shalt die.

    My little fills my little-wishing mind,
      Thou having more than much, yet seekest more;
    Who seeks, still wishes what he seeks to find;
      Who wishes, wants; and whoso wants, is _poor_:
        Then this must follow of necessity,
        _Poor_ are thy riches, rich my _poverty_.

    Though still thou gett’st, yet is thy want not spent,
      But as thy wealth, so great thy wealthy itch;
    But with my little I have great content--
      Content hath all, and who hath all is rich;
        Then this in reason thou must needs confess,
        If I have little, yet that thou hast less.

    Whatever man possesses, God has lent,
      And to his audit liable is ever,
    To reckon how, and where, and when he spent.
      Then thus thou bragg’st thou art a great receiver.
        Little my debt, when little is my store,
        The more thou hast, thy debt still grows the more.

    But seeing God himself descended down,
      T’ enrich the _poor_ by His deep _poverty_,
    His meat, his house, his grave were not his own,
      Yet all is His from all eternity;
        Let me be like my Head, whom I adore,
        Be thou great, wealthy, I still base and _poor_.
                                        _Phineas Fletcher._

    I would be great, but that the sun doth still
    Level his rays against the rising hill;
    I would be high, but see the proudest oak,
    Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke;
    I would be rich, but see men, too unkind,
    Dig in the bowels of the richest mine:
    I would be wise, but that I often see
    The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free:
    I would be fair, but see the fair and proud,
    Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud:
    I would be _poor_, but know the humble grass
    Still trampled on by each unworthy ass;
    Rich hated: wise suspected: scorn’d if _poor_:
    Great fear’d: fair tempted: high still envied more:
      I have wish’d all; but now I wish for neither;
      Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair; _poor_ I’ll be rather.
                                             _Sir Henry Wotton._

    No soil like _poverty_ for growth divine,
    As leanest land supplies the richest mine.
    Earth gives too little, giving only bread,
    To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head.

    Around each pure, domestic shrine,
    Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine;
      Our hearths are altars all:
    The prayers of hungry souls and _poor_,
    Like armed angels at the door,
      Our unseen foes appal.

    And what is want? ’Tis virtue’s test:
      What weakness? An escape from pride:
    That life on earth may be the best
      In which, by woe, the soul is tried:
    For He whose word is ever sure,
    Hath said that “Blessed are the _Poor_.”
                                _H. H. Weld._

      If _poverty_--a bitter medicine--cure
      The soul’s distempers, blessed are the _poor_;
    Yea, if ye be Christ’s _poor_, thrice blessed men are ye.
                                            _Thomas McKellar._


_Power_ belongeth unto God.--Psalm lxii. 11.

Let every soul be subject unto the higher _powers_. For there is no
_power_ but of God; the _powers_ that be are ordained of God.

Whosoever therefore resisteth the _power_, resisteth the ordinance of
God.--Romans, xiii. 1, 2.

Upholding all things by the word of His _power_.--Hebrews, i. 3.

    O, all-preparing Providence divine!
      In thy large book, what secrets are enrolled,
    What sundry helps doth Thy great power assign,
      To prop the course which Thou intend’st to hold!
    What mortal sense is able to define
      Thy mysteries, Thy councils manifold!
    It is Thy wisdom strangely that extends
    Obscure proceedings to apparent ends.
                                     _Michael Drayton._

                  There is a _power_
    Unseen, that rules the illimitable world,
    That guides its motions from the brightest star
    To the least dust of this sin-tainted mould.
    While man, who madly deems himself the Lord
    Of all, is nought but weakness and dependence.
    This sacred truth, by sure experience taught,
    They must have learn’d when wand’ring all alone,
    Each bird, each insect, flitting through the sky,
    Was more sufficient for itself than thou.

    For the strong spirit will at times awake,
    Piercing the mists that wrap her clay abode;
    And, born of thee, she may not always take
    Earth’s accents for the oracles of God;
    And ev’n in this--O dust, whose mask is _power_!
    Reed, that wouldst be a scourge thy little hour!
    Spark, whereon yet the mighty hath not trod,
    And therefore thou destroyest,--where were flown
    Our hope, if man were left to man’s decrees alone.
                                         _Mrs. Hemans._

    O put away thy pride,
      Or be ashamed of _power_,
    That cannot turn aside
      The breeze that waves a flower.

    I’ve thought, at gentle and ungentle hour,
    Of many an act and giant shape of _power_;
    Of the old kings with high exacting looks
    Sceptered and globed; of eagles on their rocks
    With straining feet, and that fierce mouth and drear,
    Answering the strain with downward drag austere;
    Of the rich-headed lion, whose huge frown,
    All his great nature, gathering, seems to crown;
    Then of cathedral with its priestly height,
    Seen from below at superstitions night;
    Of ghastly castle, that eternally
    Holds its blind visage out to the lone sea;
    And of all sunless subterranean deeps
    The creature makes, who listens while he sleeps;
    Avarice; and then of those old earthly cones,
    That stride, they say, over heroic bones;
    And those stone heaps Egyptian, whose small doors
    Look like low dens, under precipitous shores;
    And him, great Memnon, that long sitting by,
    In seeming idleness, with stony eye,
    Sang at the morning’s touch, like poetry;
    And then of all the fierce and bitter fruit
    Of the proud planting of a tyrannous foot,
    Of bruised right, and flourishing bad men,
    And virtue wasting heavenwards from a den;
    Brute force, and fury; and the devilish drouth
    Of the fool cannon’s ever-gaping mouth;
    And the bride-widowing sword; and the harsh bray
    The sneering trumpet sends across the fray;
    And all which lights the people-thinning star
    That selfishness invokes--the horsed war,
    Panting along with many a bloody mane.
                                             _Leigh Hunt._

    All-knowing, all-directing God!
      In whom we move and live,
    Our thoughts, and works, and empty days,
      And careless wrongs forgive;
    But most in need the cruel heart
      That breeds the conscious wrong,
    And cares not for the consequence
      To helpless old and young.
    Some wilful deeds are perfect crimes,
      And some less wicked are,
    Because ’twas meant that good should spring
      Beneath the baleful star.
    Yet of all sinful beings most
      In need of mercy those,
    Who having _power_ much good to do,
      All goodness would oppose,
    And turn heaven’s bounteous gifts to gall,
      And nature’s smiles to blows.

    ’Tis not in mockery of man that earth
    Is strewed with splendid fragments, temple, tower;
    That realms, where glory sprang full-arm’d to birth,
    Are desolate, the snake and tiger’s bower:
    They lie the monuments of misused _power_,
    Not freaks of fate, but warnings against crime:
    And ancient Babylon might, at this hour,
    Had she been guiltless, stand as in her prime,
    Nay, stand in growing pomp, till God had finished time.

    But, God be thanked! they are moments only when
    Man, subdued by nature’s mightiest _power_,
    Thinks even his purer self the sport of waves.
    In such like moments ’tis the Godhead shows us
    The distance ’twixt itself and us,--chastises
    Man’s vain audacity to equal it,
    And casts him back to nothingness and woe.
    In such like moments, even the wisest sinks
    Unto the dust: he, too, is formed of dust;
    But soon again he rises purified
    By Fate’s worst blast, and thus the Eternal’s will
    Declares and proves its own omnipotence.
                           _From the German of Herder._

    With God a thousand years are as one day;
    He in one day can sum a thousand years;
    All acts with him are equal; for no more
    It costs Omnipotence to build a world,
    And set a sun amidst the firmament,
    Than mould a dewdrop, and light up a gem.
                              _R. Montgomery._


_Praise_ ye the Lord. _Praise_ the Lord, O my soul.

While I live will I _praise_ the Lord: I will sing _praises_ unto my
God while I have any being.--Psalm cxlvi. 1, 2.

_Praise_ ye the Lord. _Praise_ God in his sanctuary: _praise_ him in
the firmament of his power.

_Praise_ him for his mighty acts: _praise_ him according to his
excellent greatness.

Let every thing that hath breath _praise_ the Lord.--Psalm cl. 1, 2, 6.

For they loved the _praise_ of men more than the _praise_ of
God.--John, xii. 43.

    My God! I will address Thee
      In loudest hymns of _praise_;
    Then, too, my soul shall bless Thee,
      When mute in deep amaze;
    For Thou, who kind receivest
      Each word to be addressed,
    The silent thought perceivest,
      The feeling unexpressed.
    And, while we ne’er can know
      Thy deep and wondrous ways,
    Words sink far, far below
      Thy due reward of _praise_.
            _From the Greek of Synesius._

    O! while thy sinful soul can cast
    Sin’s robes away--redeem the past,
    If not in deeds, in words to _praise_ thy Maker haste.
      In sacred hymns employ the day,
    In _praises_ pass the night away;
    And let the martyrs’ _praise_ attune the willing lay.
      O what a privilege, could I,
    The prison of mortality
    Thus burst, and breathing forth this language, die!
                          _From the Spanish of Prudentius._

    Not thankful when it pleaseth me;
    As if Thy blessings had spare days:
    But such a heart whose pulse may be
                            Thy _praise_.
                         _George Herbert._

    Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
    Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His _praise_.
    Join voices all ye living souls: ye birds,
    That singing up to heaven’s gate ascend,
    Bear on your wings and in your notes His _praise_;
    Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk the earth,
    And stately tread, or lowly creep;
    Witness if I be silent morn or even,
    To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
    Made vocal by my song, and taught His _praise_.

    To God, who sits in highest seat,
      Glory and power given be;
    To father, Son, and Paraclete,
      Who reign in equal dignity,
    Whose boundless power we still adore,
    And sing their _praise_ for evermore.

    While this immortal spark of heavenly flame
    Distends my breast, and animates my frame,
    To thee my ardent _praises_ shall be borne
    On the first breeze that wakes the blushing morn;
    The latest star shall hear the pleasing sound,
    And nature in full choir shall join around.
    When full of Thee, my soul excursive flies
    Through earth, air, ocean, or thy regal skies;
    From world to world new wonders still I find,
    And all the Godhead flashes on my mind,
    When, winged with whirlwinds, vice shall take its flight
    To the deep bosom of eternal night,
    To Thee my soul shall endless _praises_ pay:
    Join, men and angels! join the exalted lay.

        If no basis bear my rising name
    But the fallen ruins of another’s fame;
    Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays;
    Drive from my breast that wretched lust of _praise_:
    Unblemished let me live, or die unknown;
    O, grant me honest fame, or grant me none.

    Nor absolutely vain is human _praise_,
    Where human is supported by divine.

    My fears of danger, while I breathe,
    My dread of endless hell beneath,
    My sense of sorrow for my sin,
    To springing comfort change within;
    Change all my sad complaints for ease,
    To cheerful notes of endless _praise_.

    The praise I make will then be sweet indeed,
      If Thou the Spirit give by which I pray:
      My unassisted heart is barren clay,
    That of its native self can nothing feed;
    Of good and pious works Thou art the seed
      That quickens only where Thou sayest it may;
      Unless Thou show to us Thy own true way,
    No man can find it. Father! Thou must lead:
      Do Thou then breathe these thoughts into my mind
    By which such virtue may in me be bred,
    That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread:
      The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
    That I may have the power to sing to Thee;
    And sound Thy _praises_ everlastingly.

    Up to the throne of God is borne
    The voice of _praise_ at early morn,
    And He accepts the punctual hymn
    Sung as the light of day grows dim.

    Nor will He turn His ear aside
    From holy offerings at noontide;
    Then here, reposing, let us raise
    A song of gratitude and _praise_.

    Oh, for the harp that David swept,
      At whose divine entrancing sound,
    The evil spirit distance kept,
      While holier visions hover’d round:
    Oh for such harp, in these our days,
    To speak a God’s, a Saviour’s _praise_.

        From yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
    O’ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals
    The voice of psalms--the simple song of _praise_.

    And now, with fixed intent and mind sincere,
    Lift up your eyes from earth, to _praise_ with me
    The Sovereign Lord, who reigns in heaven above,
    And try to follow where I shew the way.
    But be it yours, while joining in the prayer,
    That not your tongue so much as heart may share.
    O love supreme, full-orbed and glorious sun,
    Compared with whom that other is but night,
    The world’s true life alone, the world’s true light!
    O Thou whose breath created it at first,
    And still upholdest with a father’s care!
    Whate’er Thou willest, who hast power to do!
    O fountain without rise, whose boundless stream
    Flows without ebb, and undiminished pours!
    Who from Thyself derivest, underived!
    And in Thyself hast ever lived!
    Who, when revealed the most, then most art hid!
    Thou, if the soul has breathed one true desire
    To see Thy light, wilt give it wings for heaven.
    To mount a phœnix at Thy beam revived!
    Since nought there is beside Thee, in Thyself
    And of Thyself sole blest! since only Thou
    Conferrest good, and to receive must give.
    Deign in my heart, to light the holy flame,
    And by my lips give glory to Thy name.
                       _From the Italian of Celio Magno._

    God of the fair and open sky!
      How gloriously above us springs
    The tented dome of heavenly blue,
      Suspended on the rainbow’s rings!
    Each brilliant star that sparkles through,
      Each gilded cloud that wanders free
    In evening’s purple radiance, gives
      The beauty of its _praise_ to Thee!
                            _W. B. O. Peabody._


O Lord God of hosts, hear my _prayer_: give ear, O God of Jacob.--Psalm
lxxxiv. 8.

But thou, when thou _prayest_, enter into thy closet, and when thou
hast shut thy door, _pray_ to thy Father, which is in secret; and thy
Father, which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly.--Matthew, vi.

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by _prayer_ and
supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto
God.--Philippians, iv. 6.

Is any among you afflicted? let him _pray_.--James, v. 13.

The effectual fervent _prayer_ of a righteous man availeth
much.--James, v. 16.

    Even as Elias, mounting to the sky,
      Did cast his mantle to the earth behind,
    So, when the heart presents the _prayer_ on high,
      Exclude the world from traffic with the mind:
    Lips near to God, and ranging heart within,
    Is but vain babbling, and converts to sin.
                                   _Robert Southwell._

    Temporal blessings Heaven oft doth share
    Unto the wicked, at the good man’s _prayer_.

    When we of helps or hopes are quite bereaven,
    Our humble _prayers_ have entrance into Heaven.

                        Petitions yet remain
    Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain.
    Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
    But leave to Heaven the measures and the choice.
    Safe in His power whose eyes discern afar,
    The secret ambush of a specious _prayer_;
    Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
    Secure whate’er He gives, He gives the best.
                                   _Dr. Johnson._

    O may my _prayers_ before Thy throne arise,
    An humble but accepted sacrifice!
    And when Thou shalt my weary eyelids close,
    And to my body grant a sweet repose,
    May my ethereal guardian kindly spread
    His wings, and from the tempter shield my bead!
    May of Thy heavenly light some piercing beams
    Illume my sleep, and sanctify my dreams.

    What various hindrances we meet
    In coming to a mercy-seat!
    Yet who that knows the worth of _prayer_
    But wishes to be often there?

    _Prayer_ makes the darkened cloud withdraw,
    _Prayer_ climbs the ladder Jacob saw,
    Gives exercise to faith and love,
    Brings every blessing from above.

    Restraining _prayer_, we cease to fight;
    _Prayer_ makes the Christian’s armour bright;
    And Satan trembles when he sees
    The weakest saint upon his knees.

    Enthroned amidst the worlds of light,
      Jehovah rules the realms of bliss;
    Yet bends to scenes of earthly night,
      To such a house of pain as this!
    The glories of the heavenly plains
      Hide not one mourner from his eye,
    Nor can the seraphs’ loudest strains
      Drown, by their sound, the faintest sigh.

    Oh _Prayer_! thou mine of things unknown,
      Who can be poor possessing thee?
    Thou wert a fount of joy alone,
      Better than worlds of gold could be.
    Were I bereft of all beside,
      That bears the form or name of bliss,
    I yet were rich, what will betide,
      If God, in mercy, leave me this.

    _Prayer_, surpassing human might;
      _Prayer_, heaven’s holy portress;
    _Prayer_, the saint’s supreme delight,
      _Prayer_, the sinner’s fortress.
    _Prayer_ and faith can joy impart,
      Joy beyond expressing,
    And call down upon the heart
      Israel’s choicest blessing.
                          _Bernard Barton._

    _Prayer_ is the soul’s sincere desire,
      Uttered or unexpressed;
    The motion of a hidden fire
      That trembles in the breast.

    _Prayer_ is the burden of a sigh,
      The falling of a tear,
    The upward glancing of an eye,
      When none but God is near.

    _Prayer_ is the simplest form of speech
      That infant lips can try;
    _Prayer_ the sublimest strains that reach
      The majesty on high.

    _Prayer_ is the Christian’s vital breath,
      The Christian’s native air;
    His watchword in the hour of death,
      He enters Heaven with _prayer_.

    _Prayer_ is the contrite sinner’s voice,
      Returning from his ways,
    While angels in their hymns rejoice,
      And cry, “Behold he _prays_!”

    O Thou by whom we come to God,
      The life, the truth, the way,
    The path of _prayer_ Thyself hath trod,--
      Lord, teach us how to _pray_.
                              _J. Montgomery._

    Arrested suns and tranquill’d seas declare
    To heav’n and earth th’ omnipotence of _prayer_,
    That gives the hopeless hope, the feeble might,
    Outruns the swift, and puts the strong to flight,
    The noontide arrow foils, and plague that stalks by night;

    Unmatch’d in power, unbounded in extent,
    As omnipresent as omnipotent,
    To no meridian nor clime confined,
    Man with his fellow-man, and mind to mind,
    ’Tis hers, in links of love and charity to bind.

    But farther still extends her awful reign:
    To her indeed belongs that golden chain
    From fabled God and their Olympus riven;
    But, since to truth and her adorers given,
    E’en with his Maker man to join, and earth with heaven.

    Then let those lips that never _pray’d_, begin:
    We must or cease to _pray_, or cease to sin;
    Each earth-born want and wish, a grov’ling brood,
    Are oft mistaken, or misunderstood;
    But who would dare to _pray_ for aught that is not good?

    Nor that our _prayers_ make Heav’n more prompt to give,
    But they make us more worthy to receive:
    There is in that celestial treasury
    Wealth inexhaustible, admission free;
    But he that never _prays_, rejects the golden key.

    _Prayer_ is a creature’s strength, his very breath and being;
    _Prayer_ is the golden key that can open the wicket of mercy;
    _Prayer_ is the magic sound that saith to fate, so be it;
    _Prayer_ is the slender nerve that moveth the muscles of
    Wherefore, _pray_, O creature, for many and great are thy
    Thy mind, thy conscience, and thy being, thy rights commend thee
        unto _prayer_,
    The cure of all cares, the grand panacea for all pains,
    Doubt’s destroyer, ruin’s remedy, the antidote to all anxieties.
                                                  _Martin F. Tupper._

      But holiest rite or longest _prayer_
    That soul can yield, or wisdom frame,
    What better import can it bear
      Than “Father, hallowed be Thy name!”
                              _Eliza Cook._

    Give me, O Lord, the spirit of _prayer_,
      Thy grace, thy mercy to implore;
    Let not my wilful spirit dare
      To count secure her present store.
    The richer falls Thy dew of grace,
      The humbler let my head descend,
    Till mercy’s sun in boundless space
      Shall shed its bliss, time without end.
                             _John Jay Adams._


How then shall they call on Him in whom they have not believed? and how
shall they believe in Him of whom they have not heard? and how shall
they hear without a _preacher_?

And how shall they _preach_, except they be sent.--Romans, x. 14, 15.

For, after that in the wisdom of God, the world by wisdom knew not God,
it pleased God by the foolishness of _preaching_ to save them that
believe.--I. Corinthians, i. 21.

_Preach_ the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove,
rebuke, exhort, with all long-suffering and doctrine.--II. Timothy, iv.

    He bore his great commission in his look,
    But sweetly tempered awe, and softened all he spoke.
    He _preached_ the joys of Heaven, and pains of hell,
    And warned the sinner with becoming zeal,
    But on eternal mercy loved to dwell.

    But above all, in her own light array’d,
    See mercy’s grand apocalypse display’d!
    The sacred book no longer suffers wrong,
    Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue;
    But speaks with plainness, art could never mend,
    What simplest minds can soonest comprehend.
    God gives the word, the _preachers_ throng around,
    Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound:
    That sound bespeaks salvation on her way,
    The trumpet of a life-restoring day;
    ’Tis heard where England’s eastern glory shines,
    And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines.
    And still it spreads. See Germany send forth
    Her sons to pour it on the farthest north:
    Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy
    The rage and rigour of a polar sky,
    And plant successfully sweet Sharon’s rose
    On icy plains, and in eternal snows.

    No studied eloquence was there displayed,
    Nor poetry of language lent its aid;
    But plain the words that from the _preacher_ came;
    A _preacher_ young, and all unknown to fame;
    While youth and age a listening ear inclined,
    To learn the way the pearl of price to find.
                                    _Elizabeth Bogart._


The _preparations_ of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue,
is from the Lord.--Proverbs, xvi. 1.

For since the beginning of the world men have not heard, nor perceived
by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, O God, beside thee, what he hath
_prepared_ for him that waiteth for him.--Isaiah, lxiv. 4.

_Prepare_ to meet thy God.--Amos, iv. 12.

    Blaspheme not Heaven with rash, impatient speech,
    Nor deem, at thine own hour, its rest to reach,
    Unhappy child! The full-appointed time
    Is His to choose; and when the sullen chime
    And deep-toned striking of the funeral bell,
    Thy fate to earthly ears shall sadly tell,
    O! may the death thou talk’st of as a boon,
    Find thee _prepared_, nor come, even then, too soon!
                                           _Mrs. Norton._

                      If no more
    From its calmed deeps shall rise the fettered sea,
    If Heaven’s fair bow proclaims the peril o’er;
    A wreck more fearful yet remains for thee;
    Time only bears thee to eternity.
    Tread then the path thy bright Exemplar trod;
    Think on the day when this vast earth shall be
    In bursting flames dissolved--yon skies so broad
    Shrink like a shrivelled scroll.--“_Prepare_ to meet thy God.”

    _Prepare_ me gracious God
      To stand before thy face!
    Thy spirit must the work perform
      For it is all of grace.

    In Christ’s obedience clothe
      And wash me in His blood!
    So shall I lift my hand with joy
      Among the sons of God.

    Do thou my sins subdue;
      Thy sov’reign love make known;
    The spirit of my mind renew,
      And save me in thy Son.


O God, when Thou wentest forth before Thy people, when Thou didst march
through the wilderness;

The earth shook, the heavens also dropped at the _presence_ of God:
even Sinai itself was moved at the _presence_ of God, the God of
Israel.--Psalm lxviii. 7, 8.

Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from Thy

If I ascend up into Heaven, Thou art there: if I make my bed in hell,
behold, Thou art there.

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of
the sea;

Even there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thy right hand shall hold
me.--Psalm cxxxix. 7, 8, 9, 10.

    What!--will a man play tricks, will he indulge
    A silly fond conceit of his fair form,
    And just proportion, fashionable mien,
    A pretty face, in _presence_ of his God?

    Come, holy, holy, holy Lord!
      Thou Father, Son, and Spirit come!
    I lean upon Thy changeless word;
      Make the faithful soul Thy home!
    Arm of the Lord, awake! awake!
      In me Thy glorious self reveal:
    Let me thy sevenfold gifts partake:
      All, all Thy mighty _presence_ feel.
                               _C. Wesley._

      Yes!--what was earth to him, whose spirit passed
      Time’s utmost bounds?--on whose unshrinking sight
      Ten thousand shapes of burning glory cast
      Their full resplendence?--Majesty and might
      Were in his dreams;--for him the veil of light
      Shrouding Heaven’s inmost sanctuary and throne,
      The curtain of the unutterably bright,
      Was raised!--to him, in fearful splendour shown,
    Ancient of days! e’en Thou mad’st Thy dread _presence_ known.
                                                    _Mrs. Hemans._

    In all the immense, the strange, and old,
    Thy _presence_ careless men behold;
    In all the little, weak, and mean,
    By Faith be thou as clearly seen.

    Thou teachest not a leaf can grow,
    Till life from Thee within it flow;
    That not a speck of dust can be,
    O Fount of Being, save by Thee!
                              _John Sterling._

    What joy, while here I view the day,
    That warns my thirsting soul away;
      What transports fill my breast!
    For lo! my great Redeemer’s power
    Unfolds the everlasting door,
      And leads me to His rest.

    The festal morn, my God, is come,
    That calls me to the hallowed dome,
      Thy _presence_ to adore;
    My feet the summons shall attend,
    With willing steps Thy courts ascend,
      And tread th’ ethereal floor.

    God hath a _presence_, and that ye may see
    In the fold of the flower, the leaf of the tree,
    In the sun of the noon-day, the star of the night,
    In the storm-cloud of darkness, the rainbow of night,
    In the waves of the ocean, the furrows of land,
    In the mountain of granite, the atom of sand,
    Turn where ye may, from the sky to the sod,
    Where can ye gaze that ye see not God.
                                             _Eliza Cook._

    Soul of the world, All-seeing Eye,
    Where, where shall man Thy _presence_ fly?
    Say, would he climb the starry height?
    All Heaven is instinct with Thy Light:--
    Dwell in the darkness of the grave?
    Yea, Thou art there to judge and save.

    In vain on wings of morn we soar,
    In vain the realms of space explore,
    In vain retreat to shades of night,--
    From what can veil us from Thy sight?
    Distance dissolves before Thy ray,
    And darkness kindles into day.
                               _William Peter._


Every one that is _proud_ in heart is an abomination to the
Lord.--Proverbs, xvi. 5.

_Pride_ goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a
fall.--Proverbs, xvi. 18.

Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof; and the
patient in spirit is better than the _proud_ in spirit.--Ecclesiastes,
vii. 8.

The day of the Lord of Hosts shall be upon every one that is _proud_
and lofty.--Isaiah, ii. 12.

    Small things make base men _proud_.

    When grief, that well might humble, swells our _pride_,
    And _pride_ increasing aggravates our grief,
    The tempest must prevail till we are lost.

    Though, various foes against the truth combine,
    _Pride_, above all, opposes her design;
    _Pride_, of a growth superior to the rest,
    The subtlest serpent, with the loftiest crest,
    Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage,
    Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage.

    _Pride_, self-adoring _pride_, was primal cause
    Of all sin past, all pain, all woe to come.

    Hate, unbelief, and blasphemy of God,
    Envy and slender, malice and revenge,
    And murder and deceit, and every birth
    Of damned sort, were progeny of _pride_.

                      What if his very virtues
    Had pampered his swol’n heart, and made him _proud_?
    And what if _pride_ had duped him into guilt?

    If thou be one whose heart the holy form
    Of young imagination hath kept pure,
    Stranger! henceforth be warn’d, and know that _pride_,
    Howe’er disguised in its own majesty,
    Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
    For any living thing, hath faculties
    Which he has never used, that thought with him
    Is in its infancy.


The Lord hath sworn, and will not repent, thou art a _priest_ for ever
after the order of Melchizedek.--Psalm cx. 4.

Such an high _priest_ became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled,
separate from sinners, and made higher than the heavens.

For the law maketh men high _priests_ which have infirmity; but the
word of the oath, which was since the law, maketh the Son, who is
consecrated for evermore.--Hebrews, vii. 26, 28.

                      Behold, Melchizedek!
    And he who for himself and for his seed
    Paid tithes to him, and he who thus bespake
    His pious Father: “But where is the Lamb
    For sacrifice?”--his dignity partake,
    Humbly with Isaac and with Abraham,
    The eternal _priest_ bowed down in silent prayer.
    Messiah thus--

                      “Ere Abraham was, I am!
    And thou, thou _priest_ of Salem, who while-ere
    Greeted the faithful from his victory
    With sacramental blessing;--thou wert him
    Of th’ everlasting Order and Decree,
    Whence bread from Heaven, angelic food for man,
    And life divine outpoured in blood. With thee
    That sacramental ordinance began,
    Accomplished now. Be thou a _priest_ for ever:
    I swear, nor shall repent. I will--I can--
    After thine Order rule, and it shall never
    In righteousness and peace, surcease to hold
    Sway and dominion when and wheresoever.”
                                       _J. A. Heraud._

    The _priestly_ brotherhood, devout, sincere,
    From mean self-interest and ambition clear,
    Their hope in Heaven, servility their scorn,
    Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn.
    There wisdom pure, and given them from above,
    Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love,
    As meek as the man Moses, and withal
    As bold as in Agrippa’s presence, Paul,
    Should fly the world’s contaminating touch,
    Holy and unpolluted.


Let the sighing of the _prisoner_ come before Thee; according to the
greatness of Thy power preserve Thou those that are appointed to
die.--Psalm lxxix. 11.

The Lord looseth the _prisoners_.--Psalm cxlvi. 7.

Turn you to the stronghold ye _prisoners_ of hope.--Zechariah, ix. 12.

    Prisoners of hope, arise,
      And see your Lord appear!
    Lo! on the wings of love He flies,
      And brings redemption near.

    Redemption in His blood
      He calls you to receive:
    “Look unto me, the pardoning God;
      Believe,” He cries, “believe!”
                           _C. Wesley._

    Though not a human voice he hears,
    And not a human form appears
        His solitude to share,
    He is not all alone--the eye
    Of Him who hears the _prisoner’s_ sigh
        Is even on him there.
                           _J. L. Chester._

      The captive welcomes even death’s relief:
    What then, to him, the frowning _prison_-walls,
      The clanking chain, the tyrant’s ’vengeful spite?
    From the freed spirit every shackle falls,--
      Earth’s gloom is lost, in Heaven’s glorious light.
                                            _H. H. Weld._

    Thy solemn vows are on me, Lord;
      Thou shalt receive my praise;
    I’ll sing “How faithful is Thy word!
      How righteous all thy ways!”

    Thou hast secured my soul from death,
      O set Thy _prisoner_ free!
    That heart and hand, and life and breath,
      May be employ’d for Thee.

    Then, like a bird that soars and sings,
      Escaping from the cage,
    My _prisoned_ soul shall stretch her wings,
      And in Thy cause engage.


He remembered His holy _promise_, and Abraham His servant.

And He brought forth His people with joy, and His chosen with
gladness.--Psalm cv. 42, 43.

Behold I send the _promise_ of my Father upon you.--Luke, xxiv. 49.

The Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you.

All the _promises_ of God in Him are yea, and in Him Amen, unto the
glory of God by us.--II. Corinthians, i. 19, 20.

    His very word of grace is strong
      As that which built the skies;
    The voice that rolls the stars along
      Speaks all the _promises_.
    He said, “Let the wide heaven be spread;”
      And heaven was stretched abroad.
    “Abra’m, I’ll be thy God,” He said;
      And He was Abra’m’s God.

    Happy the man whose hopes rely
    On Israel’s God: He built the sky,
      And earth, and seas, with all their train;
    His truth for ever stands secure,
    He saves the oppress’d, He feeds the poor,
      And none shall find His _promise_ vain.

    When the good man yields his breath,
      (For the good man never dies,)
    Bright, beyond the gulf of death,
      To the land of _promise_ hies!
                      _James Montgomery._

    Still let me love the sacred page
      Where truths from Heaven recorded lie;
    And while I tread this mortal stage,
      May I be taught to live and die.

    Still let me bind it to my heart,
      The richest jewel I can wear;
    That when all other charms depart,
      Its lustre still may sparkle there.

    Father! Thy truth shall be my guide;
      Thy _promises_ my soul shall cheer;
    And when by sin or sorrow tried,
      Oh! may Thy smile dispel my fear.


He spake by the mouth of His holy _prophets_, which have been since the
world began.--Luke, i. 70.

Knowing this first, that no _prophecy_ of the scripture is of any
private interpretation.

For the _prophecy_ came not in old time by the will of man: but holy
men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.--II. Peter, i.
20, 21.

    The world’s a _prophecy_ of worlds to come.

    The words of _prophecy_, those truths divine,
    Which make that Heaven, if thou desire it, thine--
    (Awful alternative! believed, beloved,
    Thy glory--and thy shame if unimproved,)
    Are never long vouchsafed, if pushed aside
    With cold disgust, or philosophic pride.

    But chief the _Prophets_ glowed with full delight,
    Strong as a god, mature as soon as born
    To scotch the serpent’s coil. Oh, happy lands,
    Where hope ne’er hopes in vain, and love is ne’er lovelorn!
    And lo, Isaiah now amidst them stands,
    Majestically eminent o’er all,
    And blesses them with his thanksgiving hands.
    Though they so great, he towers heroical,
    Though humblest of that holiest company,
    Sweet as sublime. So once looked royal Saul;
    So looked, but was not what he seemed to be,
    Amidst the children of his father’s land,
    The goodliest, loftier then the rest was he.
    But fairer Jesse’s son whom Samuel’s hand
    King ’midst his brethren hallowed and proclaimed.
    So Samuel stood above the _prophet_ band,
    When the insane tyrant at the youth’s life aimed,
    But, smit at Naioth by the Spirit there,
    Quelled at his feet lay naked and ashamed.
    Now, as a pupil in his own school here,
    Vaileth his reverential forehead low
    Unto the _prophet_, the time-hallowed Seer--
    A larger college is endowed now;
    A true _prophetic_ university;
    The jewels are made up, or nearly so;
    One only they await, to whose broad eye
    Shall be disclosed the vision, that will fill
    The casket up, and seal it sacredly.

           *       *       *       *       *

    So Jeremiah on a sea of grief
    Floated his ark of pensive melody.

    With bolder mien, and shown in strong relief,
    Ezekiel, with a brother’s strict embrace,
    Greeted the grasp of that returned chief;
    Yet sighed bitterly before his face,
    Because the furbished sword contemned the rod,
    And, for a trial, glowed with its disgrace,
    Sanguine with slaughter. Let it rage! For God
    Will smite his hands together, and refrain
    From fury--but the vintage must be trod.
    To men on earth his was a lovely strain,
    Of one who sweetly sang, and deftly played,
    But in a foreign land discoursed in vain.

    Oh, Daniel well beloved! who plainly said
    In no strange tongue the things that were to be,
    Simple of manners, and of mind unswayed.
    Dear is the welcome of simplicity!
    How dear is thine, to whom for this was given
    The Hope of Nations over all to see!

    Come forth, ye sacred band, inspired of Heaven,
    Surround the _Prophet_ silently controlled,
    And hear how well his embassy has thriven--
    Hosea, the zealous; Amos, herdsman bold;
    Jonas, type of our theme, and Obadiah,
    And Nahum, who of Nineveh foretold--
    Micah and Habakkuk, and Zephaniah,
    Joel, Haggai, and Malachi who saves
    But with a curse, and lofty Zechariah--
    Noble your duty--noble he who braves
    The stormy world, and guides the ark of God
    In safety o’er the inimical waves!
                                                 _J. A. Heraud._


For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the _prosperity_ of the

Until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end.

Surely Thou didst set them in slippery places: Thou castedst them down
into destruction.--Psalm lxxiii. 3, 17, 18.

O Lord, I beseech thee, send now _prosperity_.--Psalm cxviii. 25.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall _prosper_ that love thee.

Peace be within thy walls, and _prosperity_ within thy palaces.--Psalm
cxxii. 6, 7.

                      Daily and hourly proof
    Tells us _prosperity_’s at the highest degree
    The fount and handle of calamity.

    O, how portentous is _prosperity_!
    How, comet-like, it threatens while it shines!
    Few years but yield us proof of Death’s ambition
    To cull his victims from the fairest fold,
    And sheathe his shafts in all the pride of life.
    When flooded with abundance, purpled o’er
    With recent honour, bloomed with every bliss,
    Set up in ostentation, made the gaze,
    The gaudy centre of the public eye;
    When fortune thus has tossed her child in air,
    Snatched from the covert of an humble state,
    How often have I seen him dropt at once,
    Our morning’s envy, and our evening’s sigh!
    As if her bounties were the signal given,
    The flowery wreath to mark the sacrifice,
    And call Death’s arrows on the destined prey.

                      The man, perhaps,
    Thou pitiest, draws his comfort from distress.
    That mind so poised, and centred in the good
    Supreme, so kindle with devotion’s flame,
    Might, with _prosperity’s_ enchanting cup
    Inebriate, have forgot the All-giving hand;
    Might on earth’s vain and transitory joys
    Have built its sole felicity, nor e’er
    Winged a desire beyond.
                                    _George Bally._


Take a _psalm_, and bring hither the timbrel, the pleasant harp with
the psaltery.--Psalm lxxxi. 2.

Speaking to yourselves in _psalms_ and hymns and spiritual songs,
singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord.--Ephesians, v. 19.

Is any merry? let him sing _psalms_.--James, v. 13.

    When Israel’s king first woke his strains sublime,
      And offered praises unto Thee, O Lord!
    With heart contrite for expiated crime,
      And soul that yearned Thy mercy-seat toward;
    He knew Thy power, he felt Thy saving grace,
      On earth with joy Thy wondrous works surveyed,
    Then turned to Heaven, his final resting-place,
      And thence drew inspiration as he prayed.

    With shawms and psalt’rys as in days of yore,
      And dulcimers and harps we greet Thee not,
    But richer, sweeter strains around us pour,
      And fill with melody this sacred spot;
    To Thee, to Thee, great God of Hosts! this day
      An instrument of praise we consecrate:
    May we, like David, own Thy sovereign sway,
      And unto Thee our service dedicate.

    As through Thy temple now the deep strains peal
      And choral minstrelsy is heard to swell,
    Devotion wakes within us, and we feel
      All that the _psalmist_ hath expressed so well;
    Be it no transient feeling that within
      The bosom stirs, and turns the soul to Thee;
    Guard us, and save us from besetting sin;
      Make us Thine own to all eternity!

    Nor think the muse, whose sober voice ye hear,
      Contracts, with bigot frown, her sullen brow;
    Casts round Religion’s orb the mists of fear,
      Or shades with horrors what with smiles should glow.

    No; she would warm you with seraphic fire,
      Heirs as ye are, of Heaven’s eternal day;
    Would bid you boldly to that Heaven aspire,
      Nor sink and slumber in your cells of clay.
                                           _William Mason._


Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the _punishment_ of his

Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the
Lord.--Lamentations, iii. 39, 40.

Then shall He say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye
cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.

And these shall go away into everlasting _punishment_: but the
righteous into life eternal.--Matthew, xxv. 41, 46.

Governors are sent by him for the _punishment_ of evil doers, and for
the praise of them that do well.--I. Peter, ii. 14.

    The house of endless pain is built thereby,
    In which ten thousand sorts of _punishment_
    The cursed creatures do eternally torment.

    If you confess humanity, believe
    There is a God, to _punish_ or reward
    Our doings here.
                        _Thomas Southern._

    Ye princes all, and rulers every one,
      In _punishment_ beware of hatred’s ire.
    Before you scourge, take heed; look well thereon:
      In wrath’s ill will, if malice kindle fire,
      Your hearts will burn in such a hot desire,
    That, in those flames, the smoke shall dim your sight,
    Ye shall forget to join your justice right.

    You should not judge till things be well discerned;
      Your charge is still to maintain upright laws:
    In conscience’ rules ye should be thoroughly learned--
      Where clemency bids wrath and rashness pause;
      And further saith, strike not without a cause:
    And when ye smite, do it for justice’ sake;
    Then in good part each man your scourge will take.
                                       _Thomas Churchyard._

    Had I a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues,
    I could not half those horrid crimes repeat,
    Nor half the _punishment_ those crimes have met.

                    A greater power
    Now ruled him, _punished_ in the shape he sinned.


Blessed are the _pure_ in heart; for they shall see God.--Matthew, v. 8.

For if the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer
sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the _purifying_ of the flesh:

How much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit
offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead
works to serve the living God.--Hebrews, ix. 13, 14.

                  Henceforth in my name
    Take courage, O thou woman,--man take hope,
    Your graves shall be as smooth as Eden’s sward,
    Beneath the steps of your prospective thoughts;
    And, one step past them, a new Eden gate
    Shall open on a hinge of harmony,
    And let you through to mercy. Ye shall fall
    No more within that Eden, nor pass out
    Any more from it. In which hope, move on
    First sinners and first mourners. Live and love,
    Doing both nobly because lowlily,
    Love and work strongly,--because patiently!
    And for the deed of death, trust it to God,
    That it be well done, unrepented of,
    And not to loss. And thence with constant prayers
    Fasten your souls on high, that constantly
    The smile of your heroic cheer may float
    Above all floods of earthly agonies,
    _Purification_ being the joy of pain.
                                     _E. B. Browning._

    Blest are the _pure_, whose hearts are clean
    From the defiling power of sin,
    With endless pleasure they shall see
    A God of spotless _purity_.

    Me through the blood of sprinkling make
      _Pure_ from defilement white as snow,
    Heal me for my Redeemer’s sake,
      Then joy and gladness I shall know.
                            _J. Montgomery._

    Thou holy God! preserve our souls
      From all pollution free;
    The _pure_ in heart are thy delight,
      And they thy face shall see.


When he giveth _quietness_, who can then make trouble?--Job, xxxiv. 29.

But whoso hearkeneth unto me shall dwell safely, and shall be _quiet_
from fear of evil.--Proverbs, i. 33.

For thus saith the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel; In returning and
rest shall ye be saved; in _quietness_ and in confidence shall be your
strength: and ye would not.--Isaiah, xxx. 15.

    Quiet, Lord, my froward heart,
      Make me teachable and mild,
    Upright, simple, free from art,
      Make me as a weaned child,
    From distrust and envy free,
    Pleased with all that pleases Thee.

    If there be a heaven so fair
      O’er us ever shining,
    We shall never enter there
      By looking up and pining.
    In one holy, _quiet_ thought,
    Heaven to us is nearer brought,
    Than in all the radiance bright,
    Of a thousand worlds of light.
                        _J. Gostick._

    Come to thy lonely bower, thou who dost love
    The hour of musing. Come, before the brow
    Of twilight darkens, or the solemn stars
    Look from their casement, ’mid that hush of soul,
    Music from viewless harps shall visit thee,
    Such as thou never heard’st amid the din
    Of earth’s coarse enginery, by toil and care
    Urged on without reprieve: Ah! kneel and catch
    That tuneful cadence.
                      How closely wrapt
    In _quiet_ slumber are all things around,
    The vine-leaf and the willow-fringe stir not,
    Nor doth the chirping of the feeblest bird,
    Nor even the cold glance of the vestal moon,
    Disturb thy reverie.
                                     _Mrs. Sigourney._


They that trust in their wealth, and boast themselves in the multitude
of their riches;

None of them can by any means redeem his brother, nor give to God a
_ransom_ for him.--Psalm xlix. 6, 7.

And the _ransomed_ of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with
songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and
gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.--Isaiah, xxxv. 10.

For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man
Christ Jesus;

Who gave himself a _ransom_ for all, to be testified in due time.--I.
Timothy, ii. 5, 6.

                  Ere the third dawning light
    Return, the stars of morn shall see Him rise,
    The _ransom_ paid which man from death redeems
    His death for man.

    Lord of every land and nation,
      Ancient of eternal days,
    Sounded through the wide creation
      Be Thy just and lawful praise.

    Brightness of Thy Father’s glory,
      Shall Thy praise unuttered be?
    Fly my tongue, such guilty silence,
      Sing the Lord who came to die!

    From the highest throne of glory,
      To the cross of deepest woe;
    All to _ransom_ guilty sinners:
      Flow, thy praise, for ever, flow!

    The _ransomed_ shout to their glorious King,
    Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
    But a sinless and joyless song they raise,
    And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.
                                 _Henry Ware, Jr._

    Blessed are the sons of God;
    They are bought with Jesu’s blood,
    They are _ransom’d_ from the grave,
    Life eternal they shall have:
      With them number’d may we be,
      Now and through eternity!


Come now, and let us _reason_ together, saith the Lord: though your
sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red
like crimson, they shall be as wool.--Isaiah, i. 18.

Produce your cause, saith the Lord; bring forth your strong _reasons_
saith the King of Jacob.--Isaiah, xli. 21.

And at the end of the days I Nebuchadnezzar lifted up mine eyes unto
heaven, and mine understanding returned unto me, and I blessed the Most

At the same time my _reason_ returned.--Daniel, iv. 34, 36.

      Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars
    To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
    Is _Reason_ to the soul; and as on high
    Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
    Not light us here; so _Reason’s_ glimmering ray
    Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
    But guide us upward to a better day.
    And as those nightly tapers disappear,
    When day’s bright lord ascends our hemisphere;
    So pale grows _Reason_, at Religion’s sight;
    So dies, and so dissolves, in supernatural light.

    Yet, since the effects of Providence, we find,
    Are variously dispensed to human kind;
    That Vice triumphs and Virtue suffers here,
    A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear;
    Our _reason_ prompts us to a future state,
    The last appeal from fortune and from fate:
    Where God’s all-righteous ways will be declared;
    The bad meet punishment, the good reward.

    Though _Reason_ cannot through Faith’s mysteries see,
    It sees that there, and such they be;
    Though it, like Moses, by a sad command
    Must not come into th’ Holy Land,
    Yet thither it infallibly does guide,
    And from afar ’tis all descried.

    Through _Reason’s_ wounds alone, thy faith can die.

    _Reason_ the root; fair faith is but the flower;
    The fading flower shall die, but _reason_ lives
    Immortal, as her Father in the skies.

    ’Tis _Reason_ our great Master holds so dear;
    ’Tis _Reason’s_ injured rights His wrath resents;
    ’Tis _Reason’s_ voice obeyed, His glories crown;
    To give lost _Reason_ life, He poured His own.

    With scanty line shall _Reason_ dare to mete
    Th’ immeasurable depths of Providence?
    On the swol’n bladders of opinion borne,
    She floats awhile, then, floundering, sinks absorbed
    Within that boundless sea she strove to grasp.
    Shall man, here stationed to revere that God
    Who called him into being from the dust,
    His moral scheme implead, and, impious, cite
    Th’ Almighty Legislator to the bar
    Of erring intellect?
                                          _George Bally._

    Far other flame the vain enthusiast feels
    When, _reason_ by delusive fancy led
    In sad captivity, the thoughts confused
    Rush on his mind in dark and doubtful sense,
    His mind a chaos of blind zeal, that spurns
    Th’ unerring clue which mild discretion lends.
    Perchance the clashing images strike out
    Some ray of casual light; how soon
    The weak and momentary glance is lost
    Beneath a load of wild obscurity!
    Much does he labour with some weighty thought
    Of faith, of grace, of Heaven, perchance of hell,
    But all in vain be draws the thread confused
    To tedious length; the end eludes his search,
    And leaves him wrapt in wild perplexity,
    Recoiling still on the same beaten track.
                                     _Charles Jenner._

            The godhead which is ours
    Can never utterly be charmed or stilled;
    That nothing hath a natural right to last
    But equity and _reason_.


I know that my _Redeemer_ liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter
day upon the earth.--Job, xix. 25.

Thy _Redeemer_ the Holy One of Israel; the God of the whole earth shall
He be called.--Isaiah, liv. 5.

The _Redeemer_ shall come to Zion, and unto them that turn from
transgression in Jacob, saith the Lord.--Isaiah, lix. 20.

    O, blest _Redeemer_, from Thy sacred throne,
    Where saints and angels sing Thy triumphs won,
    From that exalted height of bliss supreme
    Look down on those who bear Thy Sacred Name;
    Restore their ways, inspire them by Thy grace,
    Thy laws to follow, and Thy steps to trace;
    Thy bright example to Thy doctrine join,
    And by their morals prove their faith divine!

    Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,
    The King of Glory comes! He comes to clothe
    This mortal in the unperishable garb
    Of immortality! Hear it, ye dead,
    Hear the glad tidings! and with trembling hope
    Expect that day, when at th’ Archangel’s trump,
    From the long sleep of many thousand years
    Ye shall awake--awake to sleep no more:
    Hear it, O living man, ere greedy Death
    Consigns thee to the prison of the tomb;
    Hear and be wise, seek thy _Redeemer’s_ throne;
    On bending knees implore His healing grace,
    Chaunt forth His praise and venerate His name.
                                  _William Bolland._

    Then shall the day-spring rise, before whose beams
    The darkness of the world is past: for hark!
    Seraphs and angel-choirs with symphonies
    Acclaiming of ten thousand golden harps,
    Amid the bursting clouds of heaven reveal’d.
    At once in glory jubilant,--they sing:
    “God the _Redeemer_ liveth! He who took
    Man’s nature on Him, and in human shroud
    Veil’d His immortal glory! He is risen--
    God the Redeemer liveth! and behold
    The gates of life and immortality
    Opened to all that breathe.”

    Out of my penitence there has grown hope;
    I trust and raise my suppliant eyes to Heaven,
    And when my soul desponds, I meekly say,
    “I know that my _Redeemer_ liveth.”
                                     _Miss Landon._

    He dies; in whose high victory,
    The slayer, death himself, shall die,
    He dies; by whose all-conquering tread
    Shall yet be crushed the serpent’s head;
    From his proud throne to darkness hurled,
    The god and tempter of this world.
    He dies; creation’s awful Lord,
    Jehovah, Christ, Eternal Word!
    To come in thunder from the skies;
    To bid the buried world arise;
    The earth His footstool, heaven His throne;--
    _Redeemer!_ may Thy will be done!

    My blest _Redeemer_ lives.--In that last day
      When, like the baseless fabric of a dream,
    Earth’s unsubstantial glories pass away,
      He then shall stand, acknowledged Lord supreme.
    My blest _Redeemer_ lives.--Though death the head
      Consign, a victim to the silent tomb;
    Though worms around my lifeless body spread,
      Though noisome worms these mouldering limbs consume,
    Triumphant still o’er Satan’s power I rise,
    My God, my God appears, and wakes these languid eyes.
                                            _Samuel Hayes._

                          Rejected, scorned,
    Despised, a man of sorrow and distress,
    To all the ills which poverty’s chill cold,
    Or power of tyrant malice could inflict,
    Exposed a victim, through life’s wretched vale
    Our blest _Redeemer_ passed.
                                    _Samuel Hayes._

    From all that dwell below the skies
    Let the Creator’s praise arise;
    Let the _Redeemer’s_ name be sung
    Through every land by every tongue.


With the Lord there is mercy, and with Him is plenteous
_redemption_.--Psalm cxxx. 7.

But of Him are ye in Christ Jesus, who, of God, is made unto us
wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and _redemption_.--I.
Corinthians, i. 30.

Neither by the blood of goats and calves, but by His own blood,
He entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal
_redemption_ for us.--Hebrews, ix. 12.

    _Redemption!_ ’twas creation more sublime;
    _Redemption!_ ’twas the labour of the skies;
    Far more than labour, it was death in Heaven:
    A truth so strange! ’twere bold to think it true,
    If not far bolder still, to disbelieve.

    Harp! lift thy voice on high! shout, angels, shout!
    And loudest ye _redeemed_! Glory to God,
    And to the Lamb, who bought us with His blood,
    From every kindred, nation, people, tongue;
    And washed, and sanctified, and saved our souls;
    And gave us robes of linen pure, and crowns
    Of life, and made us kings and priests to God!
    Shout back to ancient time! sing loud, and wave
    Your palms of triumph! sing, where is thy sting,
    O death? where is thy victory, O grave?
    Thanks be to God, eternal thanks, who gave
    Us victory through Jesus Christ, our Lord!
    Harp! lift thy voice on high! shout, angels, shout!
    And loudest ye _redeemed_! Glory to God,
    And to the Lamb, all glory and all praise!
    All glory and all praise, at morn and even,
    That come and go eternally, and find
    Us happy still, and Thee for ever blest!
    Glory to God and to the Lamb! Amen.
    For ever and for evermore! Amen.
                                        _Robert Pollok._

    _Redemption_ was no after-thought, by Sin
    Awakened from thy depths, celestial Love!
    When first Humanity the fiend obeyed,
    For in the councils of Almighty Grace
    Thy priesthood, Oh Incarnate! was designed
    Before Creation out of nothing sprang.
    But when at length the hour predestined came,
    Eternity a form of Time assum’d;
    Then from His throne of perfect glory stoop’d
    The second in the Godhead, and Himself
    In mortal limbs and lineaments array’d;
    Then did Emmanuel on this blighted earth
    Of sin and suffering, body forth such grace
    As made our orb a miracle of worlds,
    By there achieving what the God Triune
    Determined when their master-work was plann’d,
    The vast atonement blood divine unveils.
                                   _R. Montgomery._

    Nor hymn, nor harp, nor song divine,
    Nor myriad orbs created Thine,
    Thy measureless display of love
    To earth below, and heaven above,
    By their unmingled power could tell,--
    That ends the curse, and conquers hell!
    Lo! the manger where He lies,
    A world-_redeeming_ sacrifice:
    “Peace on earth! to man good-will!”
    Let the skies our anthem fill!
                            _R. Montgomery._

    Hark! ’tis the prophet of the skies
      Proclaims _redemption_ near;
    The night of death and bondage flies,
      The dawning tints appear.

    Zion, from deepest shades of gloom,
      Awakes to glorious day;
    Her desert wastes with verdure bloom,
      Her shadows flee away.

    To heal her wounds, her night dispel,
      The heralds cross the main;
    On calvary’s awful brow they tell,
      That Jesus lives again.

    From Salem’s towers, the Islam sign,
      With holy zeal is hurled:
    ’Tis there Immanuel’s symbols shine,
      His banner is unfurled.

    The gladdening news, conveyed afar,
      Remotest nations hear;
    To welcome Judah’s rising star,
      The ransomed tribes appear.

    Again in Bethlehem swells the song,
      The choral breaks again;
    While Jordan’s shores the strains prolong,
      “Good-will and peace to men!”
                                _W. P. Tappan._

    _Redemption!_ O, thou beauteous mystic plan!
    Thou salutary source of light to man!
    What tongue can speak thy comprehensive grace?
    What thought thy depths unfathomable trace?
    When lost in sin our ruined nature lay,
    When awful justice claimed her righteous pay,
    See the mild Saviour bend His pitying eye,
    And stop the lightning just prepared to fly!

                        Be every knee
    To Christ in homage bent! Be every heart
    In adoration, and in fervent prayer,
    To Him poured forth! From His all-gracious birth,
    The day-spring from on high descends: grim death,
    Stripped of his boasted empire, prostrate falls:
    The cerements of the dank, victorious grave
    Are burst asunder: th’ adamantine gates
    Of Paradise unbarred: man’s forfeit race
    From the deep gulf of Erebus _redeemed_,
    To life, to immortality arise.
                                       _Samuel Hayes._

    The grand _Redemption_ of degenerate man
    Is not a single, independent act,
    But one great system; that, perchance, involved
    In the one only greater, God’s high law
    Pervading and supporting every part
    Of the stupendous universe: to thee,
    Dark are the system’s limits; nay, the whole
    To thee unknown, save some minuter spots,
    Displayed to show the parts thou hast to act
    In the alarming scene.
                                         _John Hey._


The eternal God is thy _refuge_.--Deuteronomy, xxxiii. 27.

The Lord also will be a _refuge_ for the oppressed, a _refuge_ in times
of trouble.--Psalm ix. 9.

I will say of the Lord, He is my _refuge_ and my fortress.--Psalm xci.

    At length life’s stormy voyage well nigh done,
      These waves shall toss my fragile bark no more,
    But ah! there waits the judge, the unerring one,
      Who shall each word, and work, and thought explore.
      And is it so? the fantasy is o’er
    That made enshrined art my idol still;
      And many a flying shade I chased before,
    As my chief good was but a specious ill!
    What, if when death has wrack’d his power to kill,
      The living death beyond the grave be mine.
    The pencil and the chisel have no skill
      To chain such thoughts to rest. O Love Divine
    Who didst spread wide thy arms on Calvary,
    Be thou my _refuge_, Lord! for I have none save thine!
                                          _Michael Angelo._

    When rising winds and rain descending,
      A near approaching storm declare;
    With trembling speed their wings extending,
      The birds to sheltering trees repair.

    So I, by faith, with sin oppressed,
      Would _refuge_ taste, O Christ, in thee;
    Thou art my hiding-place and rest,
      From every evil shelter me.
                              _From the German._

    Except the Lord the city keep
      All vainly may the watchman wake,
    The careless souls within who sleep
      In fear and terror well may quake.

    Except the soul for safety flee
      For _refuge_ to the city built
    By God for trembling sinners, he
      Will be o’ertaken in his guilt.


If any man among you seem to be _religious_, and bridleth not his
tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s _religion_ is vain.

Pure _religion_ and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To
visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep
himself unspotted from the world.--James, i. 26, 27.

    Seeming devotion doth but gild the knave,
    That’s neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave;
    But where _Religion_ doth with Virtue join,
    It makes a hero like an angel shine.

    _Religion’s_ all. Descending from the skies
    To wretched man, the goddess, in her left,
    Holds out this world, and in her right, the next.

    _Religion!_ Providence! an after state!
    Here is firm footing; here is solid rock!
    This can support us; all is sea besides;
    Sinks under us, bestows, and then devours.
    His band the good man fastens on the skies,
    And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.

    _Religion_ does not censure, or exclude
    Unnumbered pleasures, harmlessly pursued.

    Pity _Religion_ has so seldom found
    A skilful guide into poetic ground!
    The flowers would spring where’er she deigned to stray,
    And every muse attend her in the way.
    Virtue, indeed, meets many a rhyming friend,
    And many a compliment politely penned;
    But unattired in that becoming vest
    _Religion_ weaves for her, and half undressed,
    Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn
    A wintry figure, like a withered thorn.
    The shelves are full, all other themes are sped;
    Hackneyed and worn to the last flimsy thread,
    Satire has long since done his best, and curs’d;
    And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst;
    Fancy has sported all her powers away
    In tales and trifles, and in children’s play;
    And ’tis the sad complaint, and almost true,
    Whate’er we write, we bring forth nothing new.
    ’Twere new, indeed, to see a bard all fire,
    Touched with a coal from Heaven, assume the lyre
    And tell the world, still kindling as he sung,
    With more than mortal music on his tongue,
    That he who died below, and reigns above,
    Inspires the song, and that His name is Love.

    _Religion!_ what treasures untold
      Reside in that heavenly word,
    More precious than silver and gold,
      Or all that this earth can afford.

    And when _religious_ sects ran mad,
      He held, in spite of all his learning,
    That if a man’s belief is bad,
      It will not be improved by burning.

    This _Religion_, which dilates our thoughts
    Of God Supreme to an infinity
    Of awful greatness, yet connects us with Him
    As children, loved and cherished;--
    Adoring awe with tenderness united.
                                _Joanna Baillie._

                      _Religion_ pure,
    Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes
                          Wear myriad modes,
    Contains all creeds within its mighty span--
    The love of God, displayed in love of man.
                                     _Horace Smith._

    And when _Religion_ moves upon the face
    Of the remote and multitudinous seas,
    Be hers again the peaceful mien that charmed
    Judea’s midnight winds in secret prayer,
    And walked, a spirit of prevailing love,
    Upon the star-lit waves of Galilee.
                                  _A. Alexander._

    That man alone is truly brave, whose soul
    By virtue tutored, by _religion_ swayed,
    At their tribunal every impulse scans.
                               _Samuel Hayes._

    _Religion_ is the chief concern
      Of mortals here below;
    May I its great importance learn,
      Its sovereign virtue know!

    More needful this than glittering wealth,
      Or aught the world bestows;
    Not reputation, food, nor health,
      Can give us such repose.

    _Religion_ should our thoughts engage
      Amidst our youthful bloom;
    ’Twill fit us for declining age,
      And for the awful tomb.

    O deem not that _Religion’s_ hallowed name
    Is justly given to deeds of guilt and shame.
    Deem not she loves the faggot and the steel,
    The blood-stained hand, the heart untaught to feel.
    Trace not her footsteps in the princely hall,
    Where Borgia’s father held high festival.
    She flees from haunts of guilt, nor heeds her voice
    To bid the unrepentant heart rejoice;
    To the seared spirit opes no ready heaven;
    Forgives not him whom God hath not forgiven;
    Nor loves she pomp’s vain homage; not the tide
    Of low oblations at the shrine of pride.
                                      _Wm. Spicer Wood._

    I see the ocean tossing in its strength,
    And with a moan that speaks of coming storms
    Rousing the dark waves from their lair, to greet
    The howling wind, that in its force comes down
    As with a war-cry of defiance, to
    The might of the proud waters; in the midst
    A giant rock uprears its crest, upon
    Whose summit stands a form, beneath whose crowned
    And awful brow the tempest seems to quail:
    The pale magnificent beauty of her face
    Is shaded by dark raven locks, that seem
    Like night descending on the setting sun--
    The calm rebuking chastity of eye
    That lays the soul so bare before its glance
    Is hers, and her august and stately form
    Towers o’er the storm and tempest like a god
    Serene in power. ’Tis _Religion_--yes,
    Woman thy homage is well paid to her,
    Who shall be as a mother to thy race;
    When in his dungeon the lone prisoner weeps
    Deserted by his kindred; hunted down
    Like a wild beast of prey by man, and left
    Year after year to count the lingering time
    By the slow pulse of his own failing heart;
    When in the bitterness of his despair
    He weeps, and deems himself forsaken by
    All living things; her soothing voice shall thrill
    In comfort to his heart; her form shall bend
    Like a pitying mother’s o’er him, and
    Uphold his drooping head; her hallow’d brow
    Shall shed its light upon his soul, and cast
    Around him peace ineffable.
                                       _L. C. Reddell._

    With ineffectual toil, the Pow’r Supreme
    I sought along the mead which flow’rets bore;
    Thro’ a dense woodland;--by a mazy stream;--
    On heights;--in valleys;--by the wavy shore;
      Nor God I found within the solar beam;
    Nor in night’s radiance. What I could explore,
    I saw, with proofs of His existence teem;
    His certain stamp it had, but nothing more!
      But thou, _Religion!_ can’st unveil His face!
    Shall, then, man’s bosom feel no love for thee,
    And seek thee not within thy hallow’d place?
      How clearly there the eye of Faith can see
    The ever-living God of Truth--Love--Grace!
    There man can learn to meet Eternity!
                                  _Rev. W. Pulling._

    ’Tis _Religion_ that can give,
    Sweetest pleasures while we live;
    ’Tis _Religion_ must supply
    Solid comfort when we die.

    After death its joys will be
    Lasting as eternity!
    Be the living God my friend,
    Then my bliss shall never end.


_Remember_, O Lord, thy tender mercies and thy loving-kindnesses; for
they have been ever of old.

_Remember_ not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions; according
to thy mercy _remember_ thou me for thy goodness’ sake, O Lord.--Psalm
xxv. 6, 7.

They that feared the Lord spake often one to another, and the Lord
hearkened, and heard it, and a book of _remembrance_ was written
before him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his
name.--Malachi, iii. 16.

    Gethsemane, can I forget? or there Thy conflict see,
    Thine agony and bloody sweat, and not _remember_ Thee?
    When to the cross I turn mine eyes, and rest on Calvary,
    O Lamb of God, my sacrifice! I must _remember_ Thee!
    _Remember_ Thee and all Thy pains, and all Thy love to me;
    Yea, while a breath or pulse remains, I will _remember_ Thee!
    And when these failing lips grow dumb, and mind and memory flee,
    When Thou shalt in Thy kingdom come, Jesus _remember_ me.
                                                     _J. Montgomery._

              Say, who can mourn
    Over the smitten idol, by long years
    Cemented with his being, yet perceive
    No dark _remembrance_ that he fain would blot,
    Troubling the tear? If there were no kind deed
    Omitted, no sweet, healing word of love
    Expected, yet unspoken; no light tone
    That struck discordant on the shivering nerve,
    For which the weeper fain would rend the tomb
    To cry, “Forgive.” O, let him kneel and praise
    God amid all his grief.
                                  _Mrs. Sigourney._

    _Remember_ me--not, I entreat,
      In scenes of festal week-day joy;
    For then it were not kind or meet
      Thy thoughts thy pleasures should alloy;
    But on the sacred Sabbath day,
      And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
    When thou for those thou lov’st dost pray,
      Sweet sister, then _remember_ me.
                              _Edward Everett._

    _Remember_ thee! _remember_ Christ!
      While mem’ry holds her place,
    Can we forget the Lord of Life,
      Who saves us by his grace?

    The Lord of Life, with glory crown’d,
      On heaven’s exalted throne,
    Forgets not those for whom on earth
      He heav’d his dying groan.

    The promis’d joy he then obtain’d
      When he ascended hence,
    Up from the grave to God’s right hand
      A Saviour and a prince!

    His glory now no tongue of man
      Or seraph bright can tell:
    Yet still the chief of all his joys,
      That souls are saved from hell.

    For this he came and dwelt on earth;
      For this his life was given;
    For this he fought and vanquished death,
      For this he pleads in heav’n!

    Join, all ye saints beneath the sky,
      Your grateful praise to give:
    Sing loud hosannas to the Lord,
      Who died that you might live.
                               _Dr. Wardlaw._

    _Remember_ thy Creator,
      Now in thy youthful days,
    And let thy heart, an opening flower,
      Breathe incense forth of praise.

    _Remember_ thy Creator;
      O’er thee His love abides,
    His wisdom plans, His power sustains,
      His bounteous hand provides.

    _Remember_ thy Creator,
      In all life’s mirth and glee,
    And he shall in thy fading age
      Still, still, _remember_ thee.
                              _W. Martin._


_Repent_ ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.

Bring forth therefore fruits meet for _repentance_.--Matthew, iii. 2, 8.

_Repent_ ye, and believe the gospel.--Mark, i. 15.

_Repent_ ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted
out.--Acts, iii. 19.

And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all
men everywhere to _repent_.--Acts, xvii. 30.

For godly sorrow worketh _repentance_ to salvation not to be _repented_
of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death.--II. Corinthians, vii.

                Confess yourself to Heaven;
    _Repent_ what’s past; avoid what is to come;
    And do not spread the compost on the weeds
    To make them ranker.

    Try what _repentance_ can: what can it not?
    Yet what can it, when one cannot _repent_?
    O, wretched state! O, bosom black as death!
    O, limed soul, that struggling to be free,
    Art more engaged!

    Chide sinners as the father doth his child,
      And keep them in the awe of loving fear;
    Make sin most hateful, but in words be mild,
      That humble patience may the better hear;
    And wounded conscience may receive relief,
    When true _repentance_ pleads the sinner’s grief.

    Yet flatter not the foul delight of sin,
      But make it loathsome in the eye of love,
    And seek the heart with holy thoughts to win
      Unto the best way to the soul’s behove:
    So teach, so live, that both in word and deed
    The world may joy thy heavenly rules to read.

    Heal the infect of sin with oil of grace,
      And wash the soul with true contrition’s tears;
    And when confession shows her heavy case,
      Deliver faith from all infernal fears,
    That when high justice threatens sin with death,
    Mercy again may give _Repentance_ breath.
                                     _Nicolas Breton._

    At the round world’s imagined corners blow
    Your trumpets, angels; and arise, arise,
    From death you numberless infinities
    Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,
    All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,
    All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies,
    Despair, law, chance hath slain; and you whose eyes
    Shall behold God and never taste death’s woe.
    But let them sleep, Lord, and men mourn a space;
    For if above all these my sins abound,
    ’Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
    When we are there; here, on this lowly ground
    Teach me how to _repent_; for that’s as good
    As if Thou hadst sealed my pardon with Thy blood.
                                           _John Donne._

    Heaven may forgive a crime to penitence,
    For Heaven can judge if penitence is true.

                    While music flows around,
    Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours;
    Amid the roses, fierce _repentance_ rears
    Her snaky crest: a quick returning pang
    Shoots through the conscious heart.

    I will to-morrow, that I will,
      I will be sure to do it;
    To-morrow comes, to-morrow goes,
      And still thou art to do it.
    Thus still _repentance_ is deferred,
      From one day to another:
    Until the day of death is come
      And judgment is the other.

    Go, let me weep! there’s bliss in tears,
      When he who sheds them inly feels
    Some lingering strain of early years
      Effaced by every drop that steals.
    The fruitless showers of worldly woe
      Fall dark to earth and never rise;
    While tears that from _repentance_ flow,
      In bright exhalement reach the skies.

    Leave me to sigh o’er hours that flew
      More idly then the summer’s wind;
    And while they pass’d a fragrance threw,
      But left no trace of sweets behind.
    The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves
      Is faint, is cold to those that swell
    The heart, where pure _repentance_ grieves
      O’er hours of pleasure loved too well.

          He who seeks _Repentance_ for the past,
    Should woo the angel virtue for the future.
                               _Sir E. B. Lytton._

    Divine _Repentance_, in thy sacred tear
    Alone is wisdom for the erring heart,
    That infancy of soul, that stainless hour
    When all the chaos of our spirit sleeps
    In passionless repose,--how oft it woos
    Our feelings back to purity and Heaven!
    Alas! that in our solitude we soar
    To perfect goodness, but in life descend
    To dust again!--our aspirations quenched;
    And all that purer moments wisely taught,
    Denied, degraded, or forgot!--Thus glide
    Our years along, in melancholy dreams
    Of what they dare, and what they cannot be!
                                _R. Montgomery._

    _Repentance_ clothes in grass and flowers
    The grave in which the past is laid.
                              _John Sterling._

    O blest _Repentance_, in thy weeping eye
    Swim the pure beams of embryo-ecstacy.
    And Faith, and Hope, and Love, and Joy, prepare
    To still thy heart, and wipe thy bitter tear!
    To thee alone the privilege is given,
    By earthly woe, to kindle joy in Heaven,
    For God Himself descends to soothe the heart
    That weeps o’er sin, and struggles to depart;
    And deeper transport swells the bliss above,
    As seraphs sing the triumphs of His love.
                                   _J. K. Mitchell._


I would seek unto God, and unto God would I commit my cause:

Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvellous things without
number.--Job, v. 8, 9.

I know, O Lord, that Thy judgments are right, and that thou in
faithfulness hast afflicted me.--Psalm cxix. 75.

    If, friendless, in a vale of tears I stray,
    Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way--
    Still let my steady soul Thy goodness see,
    And with strong confidence lay hold on Thee;
    With equal eye my various lot receive,
    _Resigned_ to die, or resolute to live;
    Prepared to kiss the sceptre or the rod,
    While God is seen in all, and all in God.
                                    _Mrs. Barbauld._

    Thou Power supreme! whose mighty scheme,
      These woes of mine fulfil,
    Here firm I rest; they must be best,
      Because they are Thy will!
    Then all I want, (O do Thou grant
      This one request of mine!)
    Since to enjoy Thou didst deny,
      Assist me to _resign_.

                    Luxury and pomp
    Are but the splendid cover of distress
    Rankling within; while conscience, ever gay,
    And placid _resignation_ to his lot,
    Cheer the poor tattered pilgrim, and derive
    A flavour to his casual homely meal,
    The rich man’s laboured dainties cannot yield.
                                    _George Bally._

    Yet is He there: beneath our eaves
    Each sound His wakeful ear receives;
    Hush idle words, and thoughts of ill,
    Your Lord is listening; peace, be still.
    Christ watches by a Christian’s hearth,
    Be silent, vain, deluding mirth,
    Till in thine altered voice be known,
    Somewhat of _resignation’s_ tone.


Return unto thy _rest_, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully
with thee.--Psalm cxvi. 7.

Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your _rest_: because it is
polluted.--Micah, ii. 10.

Let us therefore fear, lest a promise being left us of entering into
His _rest_, any of you should seem to come short of it.

There remaineth therefore a _rest_ to the people of God.--Hebrews, iv.
1, 9.

    I pass, with melancholy state,
    By all these solemn heaps of fate,
    And think, as soft and sad I tread
    Above the venerable dead,
    “Time was, like me, they life possessed;
    And time will be, when I shall _rest_.”

    Think not of _rest_; though dreams be sweet,
    Start up, and ply your heavenward feet.
    Is not God’s oath upon your head,
    Ne’er to sink back on slothful bed,
    Never again your loins untie,
    Nor let your torches waste and die,
    Till, when the shadows thickest fall,
    Ye hear your Master’s midnight call?

    Hail, heavenly voice, once heard in Patmos; “Write,
      Henceforth the dead who die in Christ are blest:
      Yea, saith the Spirit, for they now shall _rest_
    From all their labours!” But no dull, dark night
    That _rest_ o’ershadows: ’tis the day-spring bright
      Of bliss; the foretaste of a richer feast;
      A sleep, if sleep it be, of lively zest,
    Peopled with visions of intense delight.
    And though the secrets of that _resting_-place
      The soul embodied knows not; yet she knows
    No sin is there God’s likeness to deface,
      To stint His love, no purgatorial woes;
    Her dross is left behind, nor mixture base
      Mars the pure stream of her serene repose.
                                          _Bishop Mant._

    Hail to the day, which He, who made the Heaven,
      Earth, and their armies, sanctified and blest,
      Perpetual memory of the Maker’s _rest_!
    Hail to the day, when He, by whom was given
    New life to man, the tomb asunder riven,
      Arose! That day His church hath still confest,
      At once creation’s and redemption’s feast,
    Sign of a world call’d forth, a world forgiven.
    Welcome that day, the day of holy peace,
      The Lord’s own day! to man’s Creator owed,
    And man’s Redeemer; for the soul’s increase
      In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed;
    Type of the _rest_, when sin and care shall cease,
      The _rest_ remaining for the lov’d of God.
                                         _Bishop Mant._

    Lord of the Sabbath, hear our vows,
    On this Thy day, in this Thy house,
    And own, as grateful sacrifice,
    The songs which from the desert rise.

    Thine earthly sabbaths, Lord, we love,
    But there’s a nobler _rest_ above;
    To that our labouring souls aspire,
    With ardent pangs of strong desire.

    No more fatigue, no more distress,
    Nor sin nor hell shall reach the place;
    No groans to mingle with the songs
    Which warble from immortal tongues.

    No rude alarms of raging foes;
    No cares to break the long repose;
    No midnight shade, no clouded sun,
    But sacred, high, eternal noon.

    O long-expected day, begin,
    Dawn on these realms of woe and sin!
    Fain would we leave this weary road,
    And sleep in death to _rest_ with God.
                            _Dr. Doddridge._

    O, _rest_ not now, but scatter wide the seeds
    Of faithful words, and yet more faithful deeds;
    So thou shalt _rest_ above eternally,
    When God the harvest fruit shall give to thee.

    Not in this weary world of ours
      Can perfect _rest_ be found;
    Thorns mingle with its fairest flowers,
      Even on cultured ground;
    Earth’s pilgrim still his loins must gird
      To seek a lot more blest;
    And this must be his onward word--
      “In Heaven alone is _rest_!”
                             _Bernard Barton._

    He passeth calmly from that sunny morn,
    Where all the buds of youth are newly born,
    Through varying intervals of onward years,
    Until the eve of his decline appears;
    And while the shadows round his path descend,
    And down the vale of age his footsteps tend,
    Peace o’er his bosom sheds her soft control,
    And throngs of gentlest memories charm the soul;
    Then, weaned from earth, he turns his steadfast eye
    Beyond the grave, whose verge he falters nigh,
    Surveys the brightening regions of the blest,
    And, like a wearied pilgrim, sinks to _rest_.
                                      _Willis G. Clark._

    Oh, when life’s sunset draws around me,
      Closing my eventful day,
    Let Thy love, O Christ, upon me
      Shed its pure and spirit ray.
    Up the starry steeps of even,
      Let Thy spirit be my guide,
    Till in the deathless light of heaven,
      Lost to earth, my spirit glide.

    There, where daylight ever lingers,
      O’er the vernal flower-clad plains,--
    There, where morning’s rosy fingers
      Wreathe with light the azure main--
    There, where all we dream of brightness,
      Joy or peace, to make us blest,
    May the wrapt soul on wings of lightness
      Find _rest_, ah, yes: eternal _rest_.
                              _Rev. E. Case._


Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is _risen_: he is not
here:--Mark, xvi. 6.

The hour is coming, in the which all that are in the grave shall
hear His voice, and shall come forth; they that have done good, unto
the _resurrection_ of life; and they that have done evil, unto the
_resurrection_ of damnation.--John, v. 28, 29.

I am the _resurrection_ and the life: he that believeth in me, though
he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in
me shall never die.--John, xi. 25, 26.

Now is Christ _risen_ from the dead, and become the first-fruits of
them that slept.

For since by man came death, by man came also the _resurrection_ of the

For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.--I.
Corinthians, xv. 20, 21, 22.

    The waking cock, that early crows
      To wear the night away,
    Puts in my mind the trump that blows
      Before the latter day;
    And as I _rise_ up lustily,
      When sluggish sleep is past,
    So hope I to _rise_ joyfully
      To judgment, at the last.
                      _George Gascoigne._

    Up, and away,
        Thy Saviour’s gone before,
    Why dost thou stay,
        Dull soul? Behold the door
    Is open, and His precepts bid thee _rise_,
    Whose power hath vanquished all thine enemies.

    In vain thou say’st
        Thou art buried with thy Saviour,
    If thou delay’st
        To show by thy behaviour,
    That thou art _risen_ with Him. Till thou shine
    Like Him, how canst thou say His light is thine.

    Open thine eyes
        Sin-seized soul, and see
    What cobweb ties
        They are that trammel thee;
    Not profit, pleasure, honours, as thou thinkest,
    But loss, pain, shame, at which thou vainly winkest.

    All that is good
        Thy Saviour dearly bought
    With His heart’s blood,
        And it must then be sought,
    Where he keeps residence, who _rose_ this day;
    Linger no longer then, up and away.
                                        _George Herbert._

    What though my body run to dust?
      Faith cleaves unto it, counting every grain,
    With an exact and most particular trust,
      Reserving all for flesh again.
                                  _George Herbert._

                Man but dives in death;
    Dives from the sun, in fairer day to _rise_;
    The grave his subterranean road to bliss.

                  Angels of Heaven,
    Ye who beheld Him fainting on the cross,
    And did Him homage, say, may mortal join
    The hallelujahs of the _risen_ God?
    Will the faint voice and grovelling song be heard
    Amid the seraphim in light divine?
    Yes, He will deign, the Prince of Peace will deign
    For mercy to accept the hymn of faith,
    Low tho’ it be and humble. Lord of life,
    The Christ, the Comforter! thine advent now
    Fills my _uprising_ soul. I mount, I fly
    Far o’er the skies, beyond the rolling orbs;
    The bonds of flesh dissolve, and earth recedes,
    And care, and pain, and sorrow, are no more.
                                   _Henry Kirke White._

    These ashes too, the little dust
      Our Father’s care shall keep,
    Till the last angel _rise_ and break
      The long and dreary sleep.
    Then Love’s soft dew on every eye
      Shall shed its mildest rays;
    And the long-silent dust shall burst
      With shouts of endless praise.
                     _Henry Kirke White._

    Majestical He _rose_: trembled the earth;
    The ponderous gate of stone was rolled away;
    The keepers fell, the angels, awe-struck, sunk
    Into invisibility, while forth
    The Saviour of the world walked, and stood
    Before the sepulchre, and viewed the clouds
    Empurpled glorious by the _rising_ sun.

    Jesus is _risen_! triumphal anthems sing;
    Thus from dead winter mounts the sprightly spring;
    Thus does the sun from night’s black shades return,
    And thus the single bird wings from the Arabian urn.
    Jesus is _risen_! He shall the world restore!
    Awake, ye dead! dull sinners, sleep no more!

    Christ hath _arisen_! Oh! not one cherished head
      Hath ’midst the flowery sods been pillowed here
    Without a hope, (howe’er the heart hath bled
      In its vain yearnings o’er the unconscious bier,)
        A hope upspringing clear
    From those majestic tidings of the morn,
    Which lit the living way to all of woman born.
                                          _Mrs. Hemans._

    When by a good man’s grave I muse alone,
    Methinks an angel sits upon the stone;
    Like those of old, on that thrice-hallowed night,
    Who sat and watched in raiment heavenly bright;
    And with a voice inspiring joy, not fear,
    Says, pointing upwards--that he is not here,
    That he is _risen_.
                                      _Samuel Rogers._

    Deign from Thy glory, Saviour, now to shed
    On us Thy quickening Spirit’s influence,
    That, _risen_ with Thee, our hearts with strong desire
    May seek the things above, and join the strain
    Of seraphs that surround Thy sapphire throne,
    Mingle our songs with theirs, till, in one tide
    Of harmony, the pealing anthem roll
    O’er the eternal hills, and waft Thy deathless fame.
                                              _S. Stennet._


The wrath of God is _revealed_ from heaven against all ungodliness and
unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness;

Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God
hath shewed it unto them.--Romans, i. 18, 19.

Now to him that is of power to stablish you according to my gospel, and
the preaching of Jesus Christ, according to the _revelation_ of the
mystery, which was kept secret since the world began, but now is made
manifest.--Romans, xvi. 25, 26.

Gird up the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope to the end for the
grace that is to be brought unto you at the _revelation_ of Jesus
Christ.--I. Peter, i. 13.

    _Revealed_ religion first informed thy sight,
    And Reason saw not till Faith sprung to light.
    Hence all thy natural worship takes the source:
    ’Tis _Revelation_, what thou think’st discourse,
    Else how com’st thou to see those truths so clear,
    Which so obscure to heathens did appear.

    Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light,
    A blaze of glory that forbids the sight;
    O, teach me to believe Thee thus concealed,
    And search no farther than Thyself _revealed_.

    Bright as the morning of primeval day
    Burst on the waters of chaotic gloom,
    Came _Revelation_ on the darksome world!--
    Then error vanish’d in celestial truth,
    Hush’d were the oracles, and quench’d the fires
    That savage bigotry for ages fed:
    New light, new order, new existence rose!
    The pangs of woe, the wrongs of patient worth,
    Were now no more, as once their truth had been:
    Eternity would pay the debt of time,
    The soul redeem, and justify her God.
                                    _R. Montgomery._

                      Sad error this, to take
    The light of Nature, rather than the light
    Of _Revelation_ for a guide. As well
    Prefer the borrowed light of earth’s pale moon
    To the effulgence of the noon-day sun.
                                     _David Bates._


All my familiars watched for my halting, saying, Peradventure he will
be enticed, and we shall prevail against him, and we shall take our
_revenge_ on him.--Jeremiah, xx. 10.

Dearly beloved, _avenge_ not yourselves, but rather give place unto
wrath.--Romans, xii. 19.

    Talk not of fame! What fame enjoyed that wretch
    That slew his brother? he who could not brook
    Rejection from his God, with anger fired,
    With envy stung, the ties of nature burst,
    And sacrificed the guiltless to _revenge_.
                                     _C. P. Layard._

    The fairest action of our human life
      Is, scorning to _revenge_ an injury;
    For who forgives without a further strife,
      His adversary’s heart doth to him tie:
    And ’tis a firmer conquest, truly said,
      To win the heart, than overthrow the head.
                                    _Lady Carew._

    How rash, how inconsiderate is rage!
    How wretched, O, how fatal is our error,
    When to _revenge_ precipitate we run!
    _Revenge_, that still with double force recoils
    Back on itself, and is its own _revenge_.
    While to the short-lived, momentary joy,
    Succeeds a train of woes--an age of torment.

    A wrong _avenged_ is doubly perpetrated;
    Two sinners stand, where lately stood but one.
                                 _Thomas McKeller._

                Why should man
    For a hasty syllable or two,
    And vented only in forgetful fury,
    Chain all the hopes and riches of his soul
    To the _revenge_ of that? Die lost for ever!
    For he that makes his last peace with his Maker
    In anger, anger is his peace eternally:
    He must expect the same return again
    Whose venture is deceitful.


God is greatly to be feared in the assembly of the saints, and to be
had in _reverence_ of all them that are about Him.--Psalm lxxxix. 7.

He sent redemption unto His people: He hath commanded His covenant for
ever: holy and _reverend_ is His name.--Psalm cxi. 9.

We have had fathers of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them
_reverence_.--Hebrews, xii. 9.

    While they pervert pure nature’s healthful rules
    To loathsome sickness, worthily, since they
    God’s image did not _reverence_ in themselves.

                    Eternal Spirit! grant
    The wisdom meek, that lives on truth divine
    However veiled. A waiting mind impart,
    And in our weakness show our strength to dwell,
    Like as of old the pensive Mary sat
    Low at His feet, and listened to her Lord;
    Absorb’d and self-renouncing, be our soul
    Before the cross in docile _reverence_ bent.
                                    _R. Montgomery._

    Leaning on Him, make with _reverent_ meekness
            His own, thy will;
    And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness
            Life’s task fulfil;
    And that cloud itself, which now before thee
            Lies dark in view,
    Shall with beams of light, from the inner glory,
            Be stricken through.

    He that to his earthly parent
      Pays not _reverence_ due,
    To His great Almighty Father
      Will be careless too:

    He whose filial love is mingled
      With no filial fear,
    Scarcely will from sad reproaches
      Keep his conscience clear.

    Grant me, Lord, to duly mingle
      Love and fear, that so
    I _revere_ my parents earthly,
      And for Thee true _reverence_ know.


Verily there is a _reward_ for the righteous.--Psalm lviii. 11.

Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the _reward_ of the
wicked.--Psalm xci. 8.

Behold the Lord God will come with strong hand, and his arm shall
rule for him; behold, his _reward_ is with him, and his work before
him.--Isaiah, xl. 10.

    To judge the unfaithful dead, but to _reward_
    His faithful, and receive them into bliss.

    Blest are the humble souls that see
    Their emptiness and poverty,
    Treasures of grace to them are given,
    And crowns of joy laid up in heaven.

    Blest are the men of broken heart,
    Who mourn for sin with inward smart,
    The blood of Christ divinely flows,
    A healing balm for all their woes.

    Blest are the souls who thirst for grace,
    Hunger and long for righteousness;
    They shall be well supplied, and fed
    With living streams and living bread.

    Blest are the sufferers, who partake
    Of pain and shame for Jesus’ sake,
    Their souls shall triumph in the Lord,
    Glory and joy are their _reward_.

    And I am glad that he has lived thus long,
      And glad that he has gone to his _reward_:
    Nor deem that kindly Nature did him wrong,
      Softly to disengage the vital cord.
    When his weak hand grew palsied, with his eye
    Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die.
                                        _Wm. C. Bryant._

    _Reward_ me not according to my deeds,
    But give me grace to stand before Thy throne,
    Clad in the robe of righteousness, which He,
    The Saviour, graciously hath lent to hide
    The foul and leprous taint of guilt. O grant
    That His _reward_ may rescue me from death!


Labour not to be _rich_: cease from thine own wisdom.

Wilt thou set thine eyes upon that which is not? for _riches_
certainly make themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle toward
heaven.--Proverbs, xxiii. 4, 5.

How hardly shall they that have _riches_ enter into the kingdom of
God.--Mark, x. 23.

For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was
_rich_, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty
might be _rich_.--II. Corinthians, viii. 9.

    High-built abundance, heap on heap! for what?
    To breed new wants, and beggar us the more;
    Then make a _richer_ scramble for the throng,
    Soon as this feeble pulse, which leaps so long,
    Almost by miracle, is tired of play.

    All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades
    Like the fair flower, dishevelled in the wind;
    _Riches_ have wings, and grandeur is a dream.

    Nor _riches_ boast intrinsic worth,
    Their charms at best superior earth:
    These oft the heaven-born mind enslave,
    And make an honest man a knave.
    “Wealth cures my wants,” the miser cries.
    Be not deceived--the miser lies:
    One want he has, with all his store,
    That worst of wants--the want of more.

    My soul, with all thy weakened powers
      Survey the heavenly prize!
    Nor let these glittering toys of earth
      Allure thy wandering eyes.

    The joys and treasures of a day
      I cheerfully resign;
    _Rich_ in that large, immortal store,
      Secured by grace divine.

                      _Riches_ are akin
    To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death.


But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our _righteousnesses_ are
as filthy rags.--Isaiah, lxiv. 6.

We do not present our supplications before Thee for our
_righteousnesses_, but for thy great mercies.--Daniel, ix. 18.

For they being ignorant of God’s _righteousness_, and going about to
establish their own _righteousness_, have not submitted themselves unto
the _righteousness_ of God.--Romans, x. 3.

    Ay me! how many perils do enfold
    The _righteous_ man, to make him daily fall!
    Were not that heavenly grace doth him uphold,
    And steadfast truth acquit him out of all.

    Lord, grant my just request; O hear my cry,
      And prayers that lips untouched by guile unfold,
    My cause before Thy high tribunal try,
      And let Thine eyes my _Righteousness_ behold.

    For impious men, and such as deadly hate
      My guiltless soul, have compassed me about;
    Who swell with pride, enclosed in their own fate,
      And words of contumely thunder out.

    Filled with Thy secret treasure, to Thy race,
      They their accumulated riches leave!
    But I with _righteousness_ shall see Thy face;
      And rising in Thy image, joy receive.

    What is all _righteousness_ that men devise?
    What, but a sordid bargain for the skies?
    But Christ as soon would abdicate His own,
    As stoop from Heaven to sell the proud a throne.

    All hail!--the age of crime and suffering ends;
    The reign of _righteousness_ from Heaven descends;
    Vengeance for ever sheathes the afflicting sword!
    Death is destroyed, and Paradise restored;
    Man, rising from the ruins of his fall,
    Is one with God, and God is All in all.
                                    _James Montgomery._


There is a _river_, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of
God, the holy places of the tabernacles of the Most High.--Psalm xlvi.

All the _rivers_ run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto
the place from whence the _rivers_ come, thither they return
again.--Ecclesiastes, i. 7.

    River! _river!_ headlong _river_!
      Down you dash unto the sea;
    Sea, that line hath never sounded,
    Sea, that voyage hath never rounded,
      Like unto Eternity!
                          _Mrs. Southey._

    I think of that great _River_
      That from the throne flows free;
    Of weary pilgrims on its brink,
    Who, thirsting, have come down to drink;
    Of that unfailing Stream I think,
      When earthly streams I see!
                               _Mary Howitt._

        _River_, beyond the rest
        Thou wert supremely blest,
    When Zion’s King stood in thy pearly bed;
        There did the Saviour stand,
        Pour by the prophet’s hand
    Thy simple waves o’er His anointed head.
        O Saviour! in that tide
        Which from Thy pierced side
    On Calvary’s mount was poured out like wine,
        Cleanse my polluted soul,
        The wounds of sin make whole,
    And breathe Thy spirit o’er this heart of mine.
                                   _W. H. Brownlee._

    Bountiful _rivers_! not upon the earth
    Is record traced of God’s exuberant grace,
    So deeply graven, as the channels worn
    By ever-flowing streams.
                                 _Thomas Ward._

      Oh, beautiful _river_,
    Flowing so fresh and so free,
      I thank the Great Giver
    Of every good gift for thee.


The Lord is my _rock_.--Psalm xviii. 2.

He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly;

He shall dwell on high: his place of defence shall be the munitions of
_rocks_.--Isaiah, xxxiii. 15, 16.

Behold, I lay in Sion a stumbling-stone and _rock_ of offence: and
whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed.--Romans, ix. 33.

    God, known in Hebron, and by Kedar’s hill,
      His glory to those _rocks_ was once laid bare;
    Upon the mountain top we seek Thee still,
      Lord, tell us whether Thou art there?

    Ye peaceful dwellers in these blest retreats;
      As at the foot of mountains Israel prayed,
    For tranquil nights, and on your _rocky_ seats
      Are sounds to you from heav’n conveyed?

    Never behold ye the celestial bands
      Upon your sacred domes alight and bend?
    Never the harpings hear of angel-hands,
      Back from the _rocks_ their echoes send?
                   _Rev. W. Pulling, from Lamartine._

    _Rock_ of ages! cleft for me!
    Let me hide myself in thee!
    Let the water and the blood
    From thy wounded side which flowed,
    Be of sin the double cure;
    Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

    While I draw this fleeting breath
    When my eyelids close in death,
    When I soar to worlds unknown,
    See Thee on thy judgment throne,
    _Rock_ of ages shelter me!
    Let me bide myself in thee!

    As the shade of a _rock_ in a weary land
    Whence gush the fresh waters at thy command;
    As a _rocky_ foundation whereon to build,
    As a fortress of _rock_ when the foe is afield,
    Such Maker and Saviour of man art thou,
    Our fortress, our _rock_, and our shield below.


Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy _rod_ and Thy staff they
comfort me.--Psalm xxiii. 4.

I will cause you to pass under the _rod_.--Ezekiel, xx. 37.

The Lord’s voice crieth unto the city, and the man of wisdom shall see
thy name: hear ye the _rod_, and who hath appointed it.--Micah, vi. 9.

    Give me the voice of mirth, the sound of laughter,
      The sparkling glance of pleasure’s roving eye,
    The past is past,--Avaunt thou dark hereafter!
      “Come, eat and drink--to-morrow we must die!”

    So, in his desperate mood, the fool hath spoken--
      The fool whose heart hath said, “There is no God.”
    But for the stricken heart, the spirit broken,
      There’s balm in Gilead yet.--The very _rod_,

    If we but kiss it, as the stroke descendeth,
      Distilleth balm to allay the inflicted smart,
    And “Peace that passeth understanding,” blendeth
      With the deep sighing of the contrite heart.
                                       _Caroline Bowles._

    He who each bitter cup rejects,
      No living spring shall quaff;
    He whom Thy _rod_ in love corrects,
      Shall lean upon Thy staff:
    Happy, thrice happy, then, is he,
    Who knows the chastening is from Thee!
                          _Bernard Barton._

                        Faith and hope
      Will teach me how to bear my lot;
    To think Almighty Wisdom best,
      To bow my head and murmur not.
    The chastening hand of One above
      Falls heavy, but I kiss the _rod_:
    He gives the wound, and I must trust
      Its healing to the self-same God.
                            _Eliza Cook._


Remember the _Sabbath_ day to keep it holy.--Exodus, xx. 8.

Thus saith the Lord, Keep ye judgment, and do justice: for my salvation
is near to come, and my righteousness to be revealed.

Blessed is the man that doeth this, and the son of man that layeth hold
on it: that keepeth the _Sabbath_ from polluting it, and keepeth his
hand from doing any evil.--Isaiah, lvi. 1, 2.

The _Sabbath_ was made for man, and not man for the _Sabbath_.

Therefore the Son of man is Lord also of the _Sabbath_.--Mark, ii. 27,

    Great Lord of time! Great King of Heav’n,
    Since weekly Thou renew’st my days,
    To Thee shall daily thanks be giv’n,
    And weekly sacrifice of praise.

    This day the light, time’s eldest born,
    Her glorious beams did first display,
    And then the evening and the morn
    Did first obtain the name of day.

    Discretion grant me so to know
    What _Sabbath_-rites Thou dost require,
    And grace my duty so to do,
    That I may keep Thy law entire.
                              _George Wither._

    Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss;
              Heaven once a week;
    The next world’s gladness pre-possessed in this.
                                       _Henry Vaughan._

    How many blessed groups this hour are bending
    Through England’s primrose meadow paths, their way
    Towards spire and tower, ’midst shadowy elms descending,
    Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day.
    The halls from old heroic ages grey,
    Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low,
    With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play,
    Send out their inmates in a happy flow,
    Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread
    With them those pathways--to the feverish bed
    Of sickness bound--yet oh my God! I bless
    Thy mercy, that with _Sabbath_ peace hath filled
    My chastening heart, and all its throbbings stilled
    To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.
                                               _Mrs. Hemans._

    The cheerful _Sabbath_ bells, wherever heard,
    Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
    Of one who from the far off hills proclaims
    Tidings of good to Zion.
                                       _Charles Lamb._

                      The _Sabbath_ bell,
    That over wood, and wild, and mountain-dell
    Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy
    With sounds most musical, most melancholy.
                                _Samuel Rogers._

    Ah! why should a thought of a world that is flying,
      Encumber the pleasure of seasons like these?
    Or, why should the _Sabbath_ be sullied with sighing,
      While Faith the bright side of eternity sees!

    Now let us repose from our care and our sorrow,
      Let all that is anxious and sad pass away;
    The rough cares of life lay aside till to-morrow,
      But let us be tranquil and happy to-day.

    Let us say to the world, should it tempt us to wander,
      As Abraham said to his men on the plain,
    There’s the mountain of prayer, I am going up yonder,
      And tarry you here till I seek you again.

    To-day on that mount we would seek for Thy blessing,
      O Spirit of Holiness meet with us there!
    Our hearts then will feel, Thine high influence possessing,
      The sweetness of praise, and the favour of prayer.
                                               _James Edmeston._

    ’Tis past! no more the Summer blooms!
      Ascending in the rear,
    Behold, congenial Autumn comes,
      The _Sabbath_ of the year!
    What time thy holy whispers breathe,
    The pensive evening shade beneath,
      And twilight consecrates the floods;
    While nature strips her garment gay,
    And wears the verdure of decay,
      O, let me wander through the sounding woods!

    When through the peaceful parish swells
    The music of the _Sabbath_ bells,
    Duly tread the sacred road
    Which leads you to the house of God;
    The blessing of the Lamb is there,
    For “God is in the midst of her.”
                              _Bishop Mant._

    Whether men sow or reap the fields,
    Her admonitions nature yields;
    That not by bread alone we live,
    Or what a hand of flesh can give;
    That every day should leave some part
    Free for a _Sabbath_ of the heart;
    So shall the seventh be truly blest,
    From morn to eve with hallowed rest.

    On the seventh day reposing, lo! the great Creator stood,
    Saw the glorious work accomplished,--saw and felt that it was good;
    Heaven, earth, man, and beast have being, day and night their
        courses run,--
    First creation,--infant manhood,--earliest _Sabbath_,--it is done.

    On the seventh day reposing, Jesus filled His sainted tomb,
    From His spirit’s toil retreating, while He broke man’s fatal doom;
    ’Twas a new creation bursting, brighter than the primal one,--
    ’Tis fulfilment,--reconcilement; ’tis redemption,--it is done.
                                                             _Da Costa._

                    The All-beneficent
    Cares for man’s better nature, and has given
    This _Sabbath_-rest to lead his thoughts to Heaven.
    Myriads of thanks for this divinest gift,
      For this perpetually recurring day--
    Wherein both rich and poor--bond--free--can lift
      Their hopes above this fading world, and pray.
                                          _E. J. Eames._

    The solemn tolling of the _Sabbath_ bell
      Hath something in it holier than of earth;
    And when loud anthems to Jehovah swell,
      The spirit longeth for a heavenly birth;
    And, catching impulse from the good man’s prayer,
    The heart is softened to contrition there.
                                   _Isaac F. Shepard._

    With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,
      Which slowly wakes while all the fields are still;
    A soothing calm on every breeze is borne,
      A graver murmur gurgles from the rill,
      An echo answers softer from the hill,
    And softer sings the linnet from the thorn,
      The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill:
    Hail, light serene! Hail, sacred _Sabbath_ morn!
    The rooks float by in silent, airy drove;
      The sun a placid yellow lustre shows;
    The gales that lately sighed along the grove,
      Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose;
    The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move:
      So smiled the day, when the first morn arose!
                                            _Dr. Leyden._

    Yes! blessed _Sabbath_ morn, thy light
    Is affluent in pure delight
      To those who love thy rest;
    Beyond thy sun, a heavenly ray
    Adds moral lustre to the day,
      And shines into the breast.
                          _J. K. Mitchell._

    Too soon our earthly _Sabbaths_ end!
    Cares of a work-day will return,
    And faint our hearts, and fitful, burn:
    O, think, my soul, beyond compare,
    Think what a _Sabbath_ must be there;
    Where all is holy bliss, that knows
    Nor imperfection, nor a close.
                         _Thomas Grinfield._

    It is the _Sabbath_, O my soul
      Own its divine and potent sway;
    Let it each sinful thought control,
      For thee, for that, was blest this day.


For thou desirest not _sacrifice_: else would I give it: thou
delightest not in burnt offering.

The _sacrifices_ of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite
heart. O God, thou wilt not despise--Psalm li. 16, 17.

I will offer to thee the _sacrifice_ of thanksgiving, and will call
upon the name of the Lord.--Psalm cxvi. 17.

For it is not possible that the blood of bulls and of goats should take
away sins.

Wherefore when he cometh into the world, he saith, _Sacrifice_, and
offering thou wouldst not, but a body hast thou prepared me.--Hebrews,
x. 4, 5.

    See where man’s voluntary _sacrifice_
    Bows His meek head, the God eternal dies!
    Fixed to the Cross His bleeding arms are bound,
    While copious Mercy streams from every wound.
                                     _Bishop Louth._

    Thou, Lord, hast said, “the blood of goats,
      The flesh of rams I will not prize;--
    A contrite heart, a lowly thought,
      Are mine accepted _sacrifice_.”
                                 _Sir W. Scott._

    When all the breast is pure, each warm desire
    Sublimed by holy Love’s ethereal fire,
    On winged words our breathing thoughts may rise,
    And soar to Heaven, a grateful _sacrifice_.
                                       _James Scott._

    Well may the cavern depths of earth
      Be shaken and her mountains nod;
    Well may the sheeted dead come forth
      To gaze upon a suffering God!
    Well may the temple-shrine grow dim,
    And shadows veil the Cherubim,
    When He, the chosen One of Heaven,
    A _sacrifice_ for guilt is given!
                        _J. G. Whittier._

    When bees sing chorus in the light,
      Of infant day in joy begun,
    And sparkling dewdrops clear and bright
      Mirror the full uprising sun,
    Then let us, Lord of light, arise,
    To pay our early _sacrifice_.
                                _W. Martin._


I am the Lord your God.

Wherefore ye shall do my statutes, and keep my judgments, and do them;
and ye shall dwell in the land in _safety_.--Leviticus, xxv. 17, 18.

The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but _safety_ is of the
Lord.--Proverbs, xxi. 31.

Look unto me, and be ye _saved_, all the ends of the earth: for I am
God, and there is none else.--Isaiah, xiv. 22.

The Son of man is come to _save_ that which was lost.--Matthew, xviii.

But we are not of them who draw back unto perdition; but of them that
believe to the _saving_ of the soul.--Hebrews, x. 39.

    Should any to himself for _safety_ fly?
      The way to _save_ himself (if any were)
    Is to fly from himself. Should he rely
      Upon the promise of his wife? What there,
      What can he see, but that he most may fear,
        A syren sweet to death? Upon his friends?
        Who what he needs, or what he hath not, lends?
    Or wanting aid himself, and to another sends?

    His strength? ’Tis dust:--His pleasure? cause of pain:
      His hope? False courtier:--Youth or beauty? Brittle:
    Intreaty? Fond:--Repentance? Late and vain:
      Just recompense? The world were all too little:
      Thy love? He hath no title to a tittle:
        Hell’s force? In vain her furies hell shall gather:
        His servants, kinsmen, or his children rather?
    His child (if good) shall judge; (if bad) shall curse his father.

    His life? That brings him to his end, and leaves him:
      His end? That leaves him to begin his woe:
    His goods? What good is this which so deceives him?
      His gods of wood? Their feet, alas! are slow
      To go to help, which must be helped to go:
        Honours, great worth? Ah! little worth they be
        Unto their owners:--Wit? That makes him see
    He wanted wit, who thought he had it, wanting Thee.
                                                     _Giles Fletcher._

                    O _save_ me, Power
    Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour!
    Thou, who beneath the frowns of fate hath stood,
    And in Thy dreadful agony sweat blood;
    Thou who for me, through ev’ry throbbing vein,
    Hast felt the keenest edge of mortal pain;
    Whom death led captive through the realms below,
    And taught those horrid mysteries of woe:
    Defend me, O my God! O _save_ me, Power
    Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour!

    Encompass’d with ten thousand ills,
      Press’d by pursuing foes,
    I lift mine eyes unto the hills,
      From whence salvation flows.

    My help is from the Lord, who made
      And governs earth and sky;
    I look to his almighty aid,
      And ever-watching eye.

    He who thy soul in _safety_ keeps,
      Shall drive destruction hence;
    The Lord thy keeper never sleeps;
      The Lord is thy defence.
                        _J. Montgomery._

    Place me on some desert shore
    Foot of man ne’er wandered o’er;
    Lock me in a lonely cell
    Beneath some prison citadel;
    Still, here or there, within I find
    My quiet kingdom of the mind;
    Nay, ’mid the tempest fierce and dark,
    Float me in peril’s frailest barque,
    My quenchless soul could sit and think,
    And smile at danger’s dizziest brink;
    And wherefore? God, my God is still
    King of kings in good and ill;
    And where He dwelleth--every where--
    _Safety_ supreme and peace are there;
    And where He reigneth--all around--
    Wisdom, and love, and power are found,
    And, reconciled to Him and bliss,
    “My mind to me a kingdom is.”


O love the Lord, all ye his _saints_: for the Lord preserveth the
faithful.--Psalm xxxi. 23.

O fear the Lord, ye his _saints_; for there is no want to them that
fear him.--Psalm xxxiv. 9.

Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be partakers
of the inheritance of the _saints_ in light.--Colossians, i. 12.

    If but one sun with his diffusive fires,
      Can fill the stars and the whole world with light,
    And joy and light into each heart inspires:
      And every _saint_ shall shine in heaven as bright;
      As doth the sun in his transcendant might;
        (As faith may well believe what truth once says)
        What shall so many sun’s united rays
    But dazzle all the eyes that now in heaven we praise?

    Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance,
      And bloody armour with late slaughter warm;
    And looking down on his weak militants,
      Behold his _saints_ amidst their hot alarm,
      Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm;
        And on this lower field when straying wide
        Through Satan’s wiles, who would their sails misguide,
    Anchor their fleshly ships fast in his wounded side.
                                              _Giles Fletcher._

    What are these arrayed in white,
      Brighter than the noonday sun?
    Foremost of the sons of light,
      Nearest the eternal throne?
    These are they that bore the cross,
      Nobly for their master stood;
    Sufferers in his righteous cause,
      Followers of the dying God.
    Out of great distress they came,
      Wash’d their robes by faith below
    In the blood of yonder Lamb,
      Blood that washes white as snow,
    Therefore are they next the throne,
      Serve their Maker day and night:
    God resides among his own,
      God doth in his _saints_ delight.
                            _De Courcy._

    A _Saint_! Oh, would that I could claim
    The privileged, the honour’d name,
    And confidently take my stand,
    Though lowest in the _saintly_ band.

    Would, though it were in scorn applied
    That term the test of truth could bide!
    Like kingly salutation given,
    In mockery to the king of Heaven.

    A _saint_? and what imports the name
    Thus banded in derision’s game?
    “Holy and separate from sin;
    To good, nay even to God akin.”

    How shall the name of _saint_ be prized,
    Though now neglected and despised,
    And sinners to their doom be hurled,
    When scorned _saints_ shall “judge the world.”

    From _saint_ to _saint_ the world around
      Celestial odours are diffused;
    Sweet thoughts are born on hallow’d ground,
      Where holy men have mused.

    And none can tell how many springs
      Flow to sustain one soul serene;
    But every hour some tribute brings
      From sources quiet and unseen.

    The loneliest pilgrim in the ways
      Is never in his prayers alone;
    But every one for thousands prays,
      And thousands pray for every one.

    We dwell with shadows round us here,
      And nought is bright but heaven above:
    When all our secret friends appear,
      How many shall we know and love!

    Yet, as we learn the mystery,
      Around One holy fount we fall,
    And, in the light eternal, see
      That God is all in all.
                                _J. Gostick._


He that is our God, is the God of _salvation_.--Psalm lxviii. 20.

And all the ends of the earth shall see the _salvation_ of our
God.--Isaiah, lii. 10.

For God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain _salvation_ by
our Lord Jesus Christ.--I. Thessalonians, v. 9.

    A cheerful confidence I feel,
      My well-placed hopes with joy I see;
    My bosom glows with heavenly zeal
      To worship Him who died for me.
    As man He pities my complaint;
      His power and truth are all divine;
    He will not fail, He cannot faint,
      _Salvation’s_ sure, and must be mine.

    Almighty framer of the skies!
    O let our pure devotion rise,
      Like incense in thy sight!
    Wrapt in impenetrable shade
    The texture of our souls was made
      Till Thy command gave light.

    The Son of Glory gleamed the ray,
    Refined the darkness into day,
      And bid the vapours fly:
    Impelled by his eternal love,
    He left his palaces above
      To cheer our gloomy sky.

    How shall we celebrate the day,
    When God appeared in mortal clay,
      The mark of worldly scorn:
    When the Archangel’s heavenly lays
    Attempted the Redeemer’s praise,
      And hail’d _salvation’s_ morn.

    “Thy Spirit knows I love Thee.” Worthless wretch,
    To dare to love a God! But, grace requires--
    And grace accepts--Love divine
    Constrains me; I am thine. Incarnate Love
    Has seized and holds me in Almighty arms:
    Here’s my _salvation_, my eternal hope,
    Amidst the wreck of worlds and dying nature,
    “I am the Lord’s; and He for ever mine.”

    _Salvation!_ O the joyful sound!
      ’Tis pleasure to our ears;
    A sov’reign balm for every wound,
      A cordial for our fears.

    Buried in sorrow and in sin,
      At hell’s dark door we lay;
    But we arise by grace divine
      To see a heavenly day.

    _Salvation!_ let the echo fly
      The spacious earth around,
    While all the armies of the sky
      Conspire to raise the sound.

    Jesus, transporting sound!
      The joy of earth and heaven;
    No other help is found,
      No other name is given,
    By which we can _salvation_ have,
    But Jesus came the world to save.

    If the best Thy great _salvation_
      Must attain with trembling fear,
    Lord and Judge of all creation,
      Where should sinful man appear?

    God of love and mercies tender,
      Stern to vice, to weakness mild,
    Teacher, Saviour, Sire, Defender,
      Save, O save Thy suppliant child!

    By the claims which saints inherit
      From Thy blood for converts pour’d,
    By thy all-prevailing Spirit,--
      By Thy covenanted Word,--

    By Thy tears, in sorrow weeping,
      Over harden’d sinners’ doom;
    Take me to Thy gracious keeping,
      Lead me to Thy glorious home!
                         _Bishop Spencer._


Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, _Satan_: for it is
written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou
serve.--Matthew, iv. 10.

And the God of peace shall bruise _Satan_ under your feet
shortly.--Romans, xvi. 20.

                        The other shape,
    If shape it might be called that shape had none
    Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;
    Or substance might be called that shadow seemed,
    For each seemed either; black it stood as night,
    Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,
    And shook a dreadful dart; what seemed his head,
    The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
    _Satan_ was now at hand; and from his seat
    The monster, moving onward, came as fast
    With horrid strides, hell trembled as he strode.

    He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
    If he opposed; and with ambitious aim
    Against the throne and monarchy of God,
    Raised impious war in Heav’n and battle proud
    With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
    Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
    With hideous ruin and combustion, down
    To bottomless perdition; there to dwell
    In adamantine chains and penal fire,
    Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.

    _Satan_, thy power’s decline is nigh;
    Like lightning flashing through the sky,
    Thy demons hear the Heavenly Word,
    And owning Him Creation’s Lord,
    Confess, with fierce appalling yell--
    Emmanuel deigns on earth to dwell.

    How sad our state by nature is!
      Our sin how deep it stains!
    And _Satan_ binds our captive minds
      Fast in his slavish chains.


I, even I, am the Lord; and beside me there is no _Saviour_.--Isaiah,
xliii. 11.

Thou shalt know that I the Lord am thy _Saviour_ and thy Redeemer, the
mighty One of Jacob.--Isaiah, lx. 16.

And the angel said unto them, fear not: for, behold, I bring you good
tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a _Saviour_, which
is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in
swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.--Luke, ii. 10, 11, 12.

For our conversation is in heaven; from whence also we look for the
_Saviour_, the Lord Jesus Christ.--Philippians, iii. 20.

We trust in the living God, who is the _Saviour_ of all men, specially
of those that believe.--I. Timothy, iv. 10.

    And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
      View and review with most regardful eye
    That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
      On which thy _Saviour_ and thy sin did die!
    For in that sacred object is much pleasure,
    And in that _Saviour_ is my life, my treasure.
                              _Sir Walter Raleigh._

                    O unexampled Love!
    Love nowhere to be found less than Divine!
    Hail son of God, _Saviour_ of men, Thy name
    Shall be the copious matter of my song
    Henceforth, and never shall my harp Thy praise
    Forget, nor from Thy Father’s praise disjoin.

    O may I pant for Thee in each desire!
    And with strong Faith foment the holy fire!
    Stretch out my soul in Hope, and grasp the prize,
    Which in Eternity’s deep bosom lies!
    At the great day of recompense behold,
    Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold!
    Then wafted upward to the blissful seat,
    From age to age my graceful song repeat;
    My Light--my Life--my God--my _Saviour_,--see,
    And rival angels in the praise of Thee.

          O _Saviour_ God! O Lamb once slain!
    At thought of Thee, Thy love, Thy flowing blood,
    All thoughts decay; all things remembered fade;
    All hopes return; all actions done by men
    Or angels disappear, absorbed and lost.

    Exalted high at God’s right hand
      And Lord of all below,
    Through Him is pardoning love dispensed,
      And boundless blessings flow.

    And still for erring guilty man
      A brother’s pity flows;
    And still His bleeding heart is touched
      With memory of our woes.

    So then, my _Saviour_, and my King,
      Glad homage let me give;
    And stand prepared like Thee to die,
      With Thee that I may live.
                             _Mrs. Barbauld._

    My soul shall cry to Thee, O Lord!
    To Thee supreme incarnate word!
    My rock and fortress, shield and friend,
    Creator, _Saviour_, source, and end!
    Yea, Thou wilt hear Thy servant’s prayer,
    Though death and darkness speak despair.

    Dear _Saviour_! draw reluctant hearts,
      To Thee let sinners fly,
    And take the bliss Thy love imparts,
      And drink, and never die!

        _Saviour!_ and dost Thou speak
          Such gracious words to me?
        Dost Thou the wanderer seek
          Who basely fled from Thee?
        Wilt Thou my footsteps guide
        To where Thy sheep beside
        The living streams abide?
    I come, I come, with shame and grief opprest,
    Thy feet embrace, and shelter in thy breast.

                    A _Saviour’s_ light shall break,
    A ray from Jacob’s star the darkness streak:
    To Him the fairest scenes their lustre owe;
    His covenant brightens the celestial bow;
    His vast benevolence profusely spreads
    The yellow harvests, and the verdant meads.
                                        _John Duick._

    Great God, Thy judgments all are just and right;
      Thou art all pity, and to anger slow;
    But I have done such evil in Thy sight,
      That mercy now with justice cannot flow.

    Yes, gracious God, my sins have reached such height,
      As leaves no choice but how to deal the blow;
    Such guilt to pardon would Thy honour blight,
      And even Thy goodness seals my final woe.

    Consult Thy glory, then withhold no more,
      Let fall Thy thunder, and my tears forget,
        Wage war for war, pour Thy avenging flood;
    The justice which consumes me I adore.
      But where to strike, O Lord? where find even yet
        A spot not covered by the _Saviour’s_ blood?
                                       _James Glassford._

    ’Tis midnight; and on Olive’s brow
      The star is dimmed that lately shone;
    ’Tis midnight, in the garden, now,
      The suffering _Saviour_ prays alone.

    ’Tis midnight; and from all removed,
      The _Saviour_ wrestles lone, with fears;
    E’en that disciple whom He loved
      Heeds not his Master’s grief and tears.

    ’Tis midnight; and for others’ guilt
      The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood;
    Yet He that hath in anguish knelt,
      Is not forsaken by His God.

    ’Tis midnight; and from ether plains
      Is borne the song that angels know;
    Unheard by mortals are the strains
      That sweetly soothe the _Saviour’s_ woe.
                                _W. B. Tappan._


Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly,
nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the
_scornful_.--Psalm i. 1.

The _scorner_ is an abomination to men.--Proverbs, xxiv. 9.

The _scorner_ is consumed, and all that watch for iniquity are cut
off.--Isaiah, xxix. 20.

    Blessed is the man who hath not walked astray
    In counsel of the wicked; and i’ the way
    Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat
    Of _scorners_ hath not sat.

    Thrice happy he, who shuns the way
    That leads ungodly men astray;
    Who fears to stand where sinners meet,
    Nor with the _scorner_ takes his seat.

    The law of God is his delight;
    That cloud by day, that fire by night,
    Shall be his comfort in distress,
    And guide him through the wilderness.
                           _J. Montgomery._

    I may not _scorn_ the meanest thing
      That on the earth doth crawl;
    The slave who dares not burst his chain,
      The tyrant in his hall.

    The vile oppressor, who hath made
      The widowed mother mourn,
    Though worthless, he before me stand--
      I cannot, dare not _scorn_.

    The darkest night that shrouds the sky,
      Of beauty hath a share;
    The blackest heart hath signs to tell
      That God still lingers there.

    I pity all that evil are--
      I pity, and I mourn;
    But the Supreme hath fashioned all,
      And, oh! I dare not _scorn_.
                              _Robert Nicol._


The Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods.

The _sea_ is His, and He made it: and His hands formed the dry
land.--Psalm xcv. 3, 5.

They that go down to the _sea_ in ships, that do business in great

These see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.--Psalm
cvii. 23, 24.

And the _sea_ gave up the dead which were in it.--Revelation, xx. 13.

And I saw a new heaven and new earth: for the first heaven and the
first earth were passed away; and there was no more _sea_.--Revelation,
xxi. 1.

    _Sea!_--of Almightiness itself the immense
      And glorious mirror!--how thy azure face
    Renews the heavens in their magnificence!
      What awful grandeur rounds thy heavy space:
    Thy surge two worlds eternal-warring sweeps,
    And God’s throne rests on thy majestic deeps.

                  Mysterious deep, farewell!
    I turn from thy companionship, but lo,
    Thy voice doth follow me. ’Mid lonely bower,
    Or twilight dream, or wakeful couch, I hear
    That solemn and reverberated hymn
    From thy deep organ, which doth speak God’s praise
    In thunder, night and day. Still by my side,
    Even as a dim-seen spirit, deign to walk,
    Prompter of holy thought, and type of Him,
    Sleepless, immutable, omnipotent.
                                      _Mrs. Sigourney._

    To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
      Dark flow thy tides o’er manhood’s noble head,
    O’er youth’s bright looks, and beauty’s flowery crown!
      Yet must thou hear a voice--Restore the dead!
    Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee:--
        Restore the dead, thou _sea_!
                                             _Mrs. Hemans._

    How humbling to one, with a heart and a soul,
    To look on thy greatness, and list to its roll;
    To think how that heart in cold ashes shall be,
    While the voice of Eternity rises from thee!

    But when thy deep surges no longer shall roll,
    And the firmament’s length is drawn back like a scroll,
    Then--then shall the spirit that sighs by thee now,
    Be more mighty, more lasting, more chainles