A Sacred Melody.-ANONYMOUS,
BE thou, O God! by night, by day, My Guide, my Guard from sin, My Life, my Trust, my Light Divine, To keep me pure within ;—
Pure as the air, when day's first light A cloudless sky illumes,
And active as the lark, that soars
Till heaven shine round its plumes.
So may my soul, upon the wings Of faith, unwearied rise,
Till at the gate of heaven it sings, Midst light from paradise.
Active Christian Benevolence the Source of sublime and lasting Happiness.-CARLOS WILCOX.
WOULDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold? Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief? Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.- 'Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled, Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair,
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night When death is waiting for thy numbered hours To take their swift and everlasting flight;
Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite, And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed; Do something-do it soon-with all thy might; An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest.
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.
No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit To light on man as from the passing air; The lamp of genius, though by nature lit, If not protected, pruned, and fed with care, Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare; And learning is a plant that spreads and towers Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare,
That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.
Has immortality of name been given
To them that idly worship hills and groves, And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven? Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves,
To measure worlds, and follow where each moves? Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease, By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves? Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace, By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece?
Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear, But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim
Thy want of worth; a charge thou couldt not hear From other lips, without a blush of shame,
Or pride indignant; then be thine the blame.
And make thyself of worth; and thus enlist The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame; 'Tis infamy to die and not be missed, Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist.
Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know,- Shalt 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.
Inscription for the Entrance into a Wood.-BRYANT
STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth, which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares To tire thee of it,-enter this wild wood,
And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze, That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men,
And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
But not in vengeance. Misery is wed
To guilt. And hence these shades are still the abodes Of undissembled gladness: the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while, below,
The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the glade Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment: as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in, and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
Existence, than the winged plunderer
That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves, The old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees, That lead from knoll to knoll, a causey rude, Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, With all their earth upon them, twisting high, Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and, tripping o'er its bed Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee, Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.
The Death of Sin and the Life of Holiness.-Dana.
Be warned! Thou canst not break or 'scape the power In kindness given in thy first breathing hour: Thou canst not slay its life: it must create; And, good or ill, there ne'er will come a date To its tremendous energies. The trust, Thus given, guard, and to thyself be just. Nor dream with life to shuffle off this coil; It takes fresh life, starts fresh for further toil, And on it goes, for ever, ever on,
Changing, all down its course, each thing to one With its immortal nature. All must be,
Like thy dread self, one dread eternity.
Blinded by passion, man gives up his breath, Uncalled by God. We look, and name it death. Mad wretch! the soul hath no last sleep; the strife To end itself, but wakes intenser life
In the self-torturing spirit. Fool, give o'er!
Hast thou once been, yet think'st to be no more? What! life destroy itself? O, idlest dream,
Shaped in that emptiest thing-a doubter's scheme. Think'st in a universal soul will merge
Thy soul. as rain-drops mingle with the surge ?
Or, no less skeptic, sin will have an end, And thy purged spirit with the holy blend In joys as holy? Why a sinner now?
As falls the tree, so lies it. So shalt thou.
God's Book, thou doubter, holds the plain record. Dar'st talk of hopes and doubts against that Word? Dar'st palter with it in a quibbling sense?
That Book shall judge thee when thou passest hence. Then, with thy spirit from the body freed,
Thou'lt know, thou'lt see, thou'lt feel what's life, indeed.
Bursting to life, thy dominant desire
Will upward flame, like a fierce forest fire; Then, like a sea of fire, heave, roar, and dash- Roll up its lowest depths in waves, and flash A wild disaster round, like its own wo- Each wave cry, "Wo for ever!" in its flow, And then pass on-from far adown its path Send back commingling, sounds of wo and wrath- Th' indomitable Will then know no sway:- God calls-Man, hear Him; quit that fearful way!
Come, listen to His voice who died to save Lost man, and raise him from his moral grave; From darkness showed a path of light to heaven; Cried," Rise and walk; thy sins are all forgiven."
Blest are the pore in heart. Would'st thou be blest? He'll cleanse thy spotted soul. Would'st thou find rest? Around thy toil and cares he'll breathe a calm, And to thy wounded spirit lay a balm,
From fear draw love, and teach thee where to seek
Lost strength and grandeur, with the bowed and meek.
Come lowly; He will help thee. Lay aside That subtle, first of evils-human pride. Know God, and, so, thyself; and be afraid To call aught poor or low that he has made. Fear naught but sin; love all but sin; and learn How that, in all things else, thou may'st discern His formning, his creating power-how bind Earth, self and brother to th' Eternal Mind.
Linked with th' Immortal, immortality Begins e'en here. For what is time to thee,
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