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who shall daily pass over that road, shall go. It is thus that the acts of our Saviour, which seem at first view to be insignificant, are found to contain in them vast results. The oak is wrapped in the acorn; the mighty tree in the little seed. The few instructions contained in this one commision are worth more to the human race than the mightiest volume that uninspired, plodding minds have ever penned. Genius may throw his beautiful creations upon the world, and they will be admired: Learning may pour out his rich stores, and mankind will rise up and do him homage ; Eloquence may throw his electrical wires over men, and make them
thrill at his will; Music may touch her lyre, and the heart will tremble in ecstasy: and Poetry may lift up the soul in regions where the sunshine, the light, the very breathings are unearthly: yet, after all, there was never a being who, in words so few, so simple, so childlike, bowed, subdued, and controlled so many hearts, as Jesus Christ. And if we were asked to point to a single page that beams with light like that which flashed from the Shekinah between the cherubim, we would turn to the great commission,—Jesus Christ sending out men to preach the gospel to all the earth.
Already the untutored crowd
Prepare to glorify their God,—
Is there a heart untuned to praise 1
Ah, yes ; those scoffing Kabbls raise
The cry of blasphemy; "For none
Can pardon sins but God alone."
How meekly did the Sariour then
nil Godhead and his power maintain :—
"Whether is easier to say,
'Rise, take thy couch, and go thy way;'
Or to prepare a soul for heaven,
By showing all its sins forgiven .'
But that your hardened hearts may know,
The Son of Man hath power below,
I to this palsied sufferer say,
* Rise, take thy couch, and go thy way I*"
The crowds their shouts of honour raise,
As with glad ha*to the man obeys,
And mingles gratitude with praise.
CHRIST HEALING THI DEMONIAC.
Scene—Sunset in the cottage of the widow Shcloniith, the Jewess.
0 My children, would that you had been with me to-day, that you might have seen the strange things I have seen. As I went out to the harvest-field to glean the widow's portion, the scattering ears, with little Helei, who so earnestly desired to see the reaping, I found the reapers leaving their work, and hastening, with multitudes of strangers, towards Capernaum. On my inquiring what this meant,
his struggles, and the agonized face became as peaceful as your sleeping baby-sister;—the evil spirit had departed. But as the great multitude exclaimed, "Is not this the Son of David?" some of the Pharisees said, "This fellow doth not cast out devils, but by Beelzebub, the prince of the devils." Though Carmi, Mezron, and Helah, learned, respected Pharisees, scribes of the law, said this, I cannot believe it, for Satan never relieved one sufferer, and desires our everlasting misery. I
hastened away to tell you, my little ones, of this great miracle. My heart tells me that he may be our long-desired Messiah; I will take you to his feet, and entreat him to bless you. They say he never refused an earnest request, that he has sent none away uncared for;—we will beg his blessing, that you may be kept from the power of Satan, now and for ever. Would that your father was alive to see this day, when our nation is to be rescued from the Roman power, and Messiah to commence his reign!
LITERATURE AND AET.
BY WILLIAM PEMBBOKE MtTLCHINOCK.
(See Engraved Title-Page.)
Ob! thou bright and blest Ideal,
With your rainbow-Unted gleams;
Wouldst tbou know the thoughts of sages?
Wouldst thou read the poet's song?
See, she waits not overlong.
Lifelike, to the gazer's heart -
Beauteous Literature and Art.
Like a vision
Bow down, mortal.
At tbeir portal, That opes but to melody; At the portal of the sisters, Ah I how beautiful to see.
They are smiling on each other,
They are speaking words of love, Cheering on each other's efforts,
That her task may lighter prove; For the genius, fired by Heaven,
Hath of selfishness no part, And your sympathy is godlike, Beauteous Literature and Art. The Ideal's fair twin children, Ob .' how beautiful tbey be! Sunlight dances In their glances, With a sky-born brilliancy; May they never Part or sever, But in beauty still be seen, In the pages Of the sages Of the "Union Magazine."
THE BROWN MANTLE.
BY EDITH MAY.
Write thee her history? Why, dear friend, I weave Always a new one. That of yesterday, To-day seems trite. Some varying of my mood, Some chance-thrown light upon the picture caught, Still makes me question if I read aright The limner's meaning. I can only guess That not fn grief, or guilt, her soul is drawn Through her raised eyes towards Heaven. Too ripe a hue Crimsons the passionate fulness of her lip; The black profusion of her rippled bair, Caught backward from a cheek too rosy clear. She hath been leaning o'er the saintiy book Tier clasped bands rest upon, for one rich lock Hath parted from the mass, across her brow Pencilling its shadow. You would never guess Her state from her arraying; at her throat The sad-hued mantle, with its falling hood, Close gathered. Best of all, I love her eyes— I'd have no change in them. I would not see Even the angel presence of a smile,
Troubling their darkness.
Was she good as fair?
; Beads and a crucifix.
| Peasant, or queen,
I'll think of her as one, whose lightest word
! Angels heard unrebuking; whose pure heart
• Turned from impurity, as a flower shut?
: At the approach of night.
j Ah, be content!
I would not know her history if I could.