Many thoughts of many minds. Compiled by H. Southgate

course.

health, and the languor of the succeeing day, these and other evils connected with this amusement are strong reasons for banishing it from the community. But dancing ought not therefore to be proscribed. On the contrary, balls should be discouraged for this among other reasons,-that dancing, instead of being a rare pleasure, requiring elaborate preparation, may become an every-day amusemeut, and may mix with our common interThis exercise is among the most healthful. The body as well as the mind feels its gladdening influence. No amusement seems more to have a foundation in our nature. The animation of youth overflows spontaneously in harmonious movements. The true idea of dancing entitles it to favour. Its end is to realize perfect grace in motion; and who does not know that a sense of the graceful is one of the higher faculties of our nature? W. Ellery Channing. DANCING-Sprightliness of.

Come, and trip it as you go,
On the light fantastic toe.

Enjoy the blessings of this day if God sends them; and the evils bear patiently and sweetly. For this day only is ours; we are dead to yesterday, and we are not born to to-morrow. Jeremy Taylor. Milton. DAY-The Glance of God.

DANGER-Different Influences of a.

A timid person is frightened before a danger, a coward during the time, and a Richter. courageous person afterwards.

The crickets were still in the meadow and hill:

Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun,
Night's dreams and terrors, every one,
Fled from the brains which are their prey,
From the lamp's death to the morning ray.
Shelley.
DAYBREAK-Hallowing Effects of.
What soul was his when from the naked top
Of some bold headland he beheld the sun

Rise up and bathe the world in light! He DEAD-Bliss of the.

look'd

Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth
And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay
In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were
touched,

And in their silent faces did he read
Unutterable love. Sound needed none,
Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank
The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form
All melted into him; they swallowed up
His animal being; in them did he live,
And by them did he live; they were his life
In such access of mind, in such high hour
Of visitation from the Living God
Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired;
No thanks he breathed, he proffer'd no request:
Rapt into still communion that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power
That made him; it was blessedness and love!
Wordsworth.

DAYBREAK-Signs of.

It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious

streaks

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ;
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain's top.
Shakspeare.
The first low fluttering breath of waking day
Stirs the wide air. Thin clouds of pearly haze
Float slowly o'er the sky to meet the rays
Of the unrisen sun-whose faint beams play
Among the drooping stars, kissing away
Their waning eyes to slumber. From the gaze
Like snow-ball at approach of vernal days,
The moon's pale circlet melts into the grey.
Glad ocean quivers to the gentle gleams
Of rosy light that touch his glorious brow,
And murmurs joy with all his thousand streams,
And earth's fair face is mantling with a glow,
Like youthful beauty's in its changeful bue,
When slumbers, rich with dreams, are bidding
Chambers.

her adieu.

DAY AND NIGHT.

There came the Day and Night, Riding together both with equal pace; The one on palfrey black, the other white; But, Night had cover'd her uncomely face With a black veil, and held in hand a mace, On top whereof the moon and stars were pight, And sleep and darkness round about did trace: But Day did bear upon his sceptre's height The goodly sun encompass'd all with beames bright. Spenser.

I know thou hast gone to the home of thy rest, Then why should my soul be so sad?

I know thou hast gone where the weary are blest,

And the mourner looks up and is glad! Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth, The stains it had gather'd in this,

And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth,

Lies asleep on the bosom of Bliss.

I know thou hast gone where thy forehead is starr'd

With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul, Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marr'd,

Nor the heart be flung back from its goal. I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows Through a land where they do not forget, That sheds over memory only repose.

And takes from it only regret.! T. K. Hervey.

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb In life's happy morning hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,

Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies,

Death chill'd the fair fountain ere sorrow had stain'd it,

"Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of heaven has unchain'd it

To water that Eden where first was its source. Moore.

DEAD-Grief for the.

The day goes by,

On which our soul's beloved dies! The day
On which the body of the dead is stretch'd
By hands that deck'd it when alive; the day
On which the dead is shrouded; and the day
Of burial-one and all pass by! The grave
Grows green ere long; the churchyard seems
a place

Of pleasant rest; and all the cottages,
That keep for ever sending funerals
Within its gates, look cheerful every one,
As if the dwellers therein never died,
And this earth slumber'd in perpetual peace.
We must endure

The simple woe of knowing they are dead,
A soul-sick woe in which no comfort is,
And wish we were beside them in the dust!
That anguish dire cannot sustain itself,
But settles down into a grief that loves,
And finds relief in unreprovèd tears.
Then cometh sorrow like a Sabbath. Heaven
Sends resignation down, and faith; and last
Of all, there falls a kind oblivion

Over the going out of that sweet light
In which we had our being.

DEAD-Immortality of the.
The dead are like the stars, by day
Withdrawn from mortal eye,
But not extinct, they hold their way
In glory through the sky:
Spirits from bondage thus set free,
Vanish amidst immensity.

J. Wilson.

Where human thought, like human sight,
Fails to pursue their trackless flight.

James Montgomery.

Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguish'd, not decay'd!

As stars that shoot along the sky

He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanse
With azure bright, and clothed the sun in gold.
Thomson.

DEATH-Acquiescence in.

Oh! just when Thou shalt please would I depart,
My Father and my God! I would not choose,
E'en if I might, the moment to unloose
The bonds which bind my weak and worthless

heart

From its bright home; so I but have a part,
However humble, there; it matters not
Or long or short my pilgrimage; my lot
Joyful or joyless; if the flowers may start
Where'er I tread, or thorns obstruct my path.
I look not at the present-many years
Are but so many moments, though of tears:
My soul's bright home a lovelier aspect hath-
And if it surely shall be mine-and then,

Shine brightest as they fall from high. Byron. For ever mine! it matters little when.

DEAD-Numbers of the.

All that tread

The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
| Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save his own dashings,—yet, the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep: the dead reign there alone.
Bryant.

DEAD-Remembrance of the.

The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination;

And every lovely organ of her life

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit,
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she lived indeed.

DEAD-Resurrection of the.

Shakspeare.

The dead! the sainted dead! why should we
weep

At the last change their settled features take?
At the calm impress of that holy sleep
Which care and sorrow never more shall break?
Believe we not His word who rends the tomb,
And bids the slumberers from that transient
gloom

In their Redeemer's glorious image wake?
Approach we not the same sepulchral bourne
Swift as the shadow fleets?-What time have
we to mourn?
Mrs. Sigourney.
DEAD-Sacredness of the.

The dead, how sacred! sacred is the dust
Of this heaven-labour'd form, erect, divine!
This heav'n-assumed majestic robe of earth,

DEATH-Affliction of.

T. R. Taylor.

Angels of life and death alike are his;

Without His leave they pass no threshold o'er;
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,
Against His messengers to shut the door?
Longfellow.

DEATH-Anticipations of.
Now death draws near, a strange perplexity
Creeps coldly on me, like a fear to die.
Courage uncertain dangers may abate,
But who can bear th' approach of certain fate?
The wisest and the best some fear may show,
And wish to stay, though they resolve to go.
As some faint pilgrim standing on the shore,
First views the torrent he would venture o'er,
And then his inn upon the farther ground,
Loth to wade through, and lother to go round:
Then dipping in his staff, does trial make
How deep it is, and sighing, pulls it back;
Sometimes resolved to fetch his leap, and then
Runs to the bank, but there stops short again :

Let Death approach; I seek not; let him come In genuine form, not with Thy vengeance arm'd,

Too much for man to bear. Oh! rather lend
Thy kindly aid to mitigate his stroke.
Then shed Thy comforts o'er me; then put on
The gentlest of Thy looks; then deign to cheer
My fainting heart with the consoling hope
Of mercy-mercy at Thy hands. And Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from heaven
To bleed for man,-to teach him how to live,
And oh still harder lesson,-how to die !—
Disdain not Thou to smoothe the restless bed
Of sickness and of pain; forgive the tear
That feeble Nature drops; calm all her fears,
Fix her firm trust on Thy triumphant cross,
Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith,
Till my rapt soul, anticipating heaven,
Bursts from the thraldom of encum'bring clay,
And, on the wing of ecstasy upborne,
Springs into liberty, and light, and life.
Bishop Porteus.

DEATH-Awfulness of.

Sure 'tis a serious thing to die, my soul !
What a strange moment must it be, when near
Thy journey's end!-thou hast the gulf in
view-

That awful gulf, no mortal e'er repass'd
To tell what's doing on the other side.
Nature runs back, and shudders at the sight.
And every lifestring bleeds at thought of
parting;

For part they must,-body and soul must part;
Fond couple; link'd more close than wedded

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DEATH.

innocent face looks so sublimely simple and confiding among the terrors of death. Crimeless and fearless, that little mortal passed under the shadow and explored the mystery of dissolution. There is death, in its sublimest and purest image; no hatred, no hypocrisy, no suspicion, no care for the morrow, ever darkened that little one's face; death has come lovingly upon it; there is nothing cruel or harsh in its victory. The yearnings of love, indeed, cannot be stifled; for the prattle and smiles, and all the little world of thoughts that were so delightful, are gone for ever. Awe, too, will overcast us in its presence; for we are looking on death; but we do not fear for the little lovely voyager; for the child has gone, simple and trusting, into the presence of its all-wise Father; and of such, we know, is the kingdom of heaven.

DEATH-of the Christian.

Leigh Hunt.

The Saviour has pass'd through its portals before thee,

And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side;

But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave-and its mansion forsaking,

Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger'd long;

But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking,

And the song which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

Thou art gone to the grave-but 'twere wrong to deplore thee,

When God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, and Guide;

He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee;

And death bath no sting, since the Saviour bath died. Heber.

Oh! beautiful beyond depicting words

To paint the hour that wafts a soul to heaven!
The world grows dim, the scenes of time
depart,

The hour of peace, the walk of social joy,
The mild companion, and the deep-souled
friend,

The loved and lovely-see his face no more.
The mingling spell of sun, of sea and air,

Is broken: voice and gaze, and smiles that
speak

Must perish; parents take their hushed adieu;
A wife, a child, a daughter half divine,
Or son that never drew a father's tear-
Approach him, and his dying tones receive
Like God's own language! 'tis an hour of

woe,

Yet terrorless, when revelations flow
From faith immortal; view that pale-worn
brow,

It gleams with glory-in his eyes there

dawns

A dazzling earnest of unuttered joy.

May hover round its surface, glides in light,
And takes no shadow from them. Taljourd.

It matters not at what hour of the day
The righteous fall asleep; death cannot come
To him untimely who is fit to die;

The less of this cold world, the more of
heaven-

The briefer life, the earlier immortality.

Milman.

Death is a commingling of eternity with time; in the death of a good man, eternity is seen looking through time. Goethe.

DEATH-Complacency in.

From what I have observed, and what I have heard those persons say whose professions lead them to the dying, I am induced to infer that the fear of death is not common, and that, where it exists, it proceeds rather from a diseased and enfeebled mind than from any principle in our nature. Certain it is, that among the poor, the approach of dissolution is usually regarded with a quiet and natural composure, which it is consolatory to contemplate, and which is as far removed from the dead palsy of unbelief as it is from the delirious raptures of fanaticism. Theirs is a true, unhesitating faith, and they are willing to lay down the burden of a weary life, in the sure

Each pang subdued, his longing soul respires and certain hope of a blessed immortality.

The gales of glorified eternity;

And round him, hues ethereal, harps of light,
And lineaments of earthless beauty, throng,
As, winged on melody, the saint departs,
While heaven in miniature before him shines.
Robert Montgomery.

The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, Done considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come. Isaiah.

For the death of the righteous is like the descending of ripe and wholesome fruits from a pleasant and florid tree. Our senses entire, our limbs unbroken, without horrid tortures; 1 after provision made for our children, with a blessing entailed upon posterity, in the presence of our friends, our dearest relative closing our eyes and binding our feet, leaving a good name behind us. Jeremy Taylor.

So his life has flow'd

From its mysterious urn a sacred stream,
In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure
Alone are mirror'd; which, though shapes of
ill

DEATH-Composure in.

Southey.

Nothing in his life

Became him like the leaving it; he died
As one who had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed,
As 'twere a careless trifle.
Shakspeare.

DEATH-Consolations in.

And something I would teach thee from the grief

That thus hath fill'd those gentle eyes with
tears,

The which may be thy sober, sure relief
When sorrow visits thee in after years.

I ask not whither is the spirit flown

That lit the eye which there in death is Our Father hath not made that mystery known, seal'd; Needless the knowledge, therefore, not reveal'd.

But didst thou know, in sure and sacred truth,
It had a place assign'd in yonder skies;
There, through an endless life of joyous youth,
To warble in the bowers of Paradise.

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