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THE PRINCE AND THE WIDOW.
When the Cross in Spain was broken, Weak and friendless was the widow,
And the Moors her sceptre swayed, Her oppressor proud and strong; In his royal town a Caliph
But she went before the Cadi, A fair stately palace made;
And bore witness to the wrong. Pleasant was the wide-arched mansion, On a day the Prince was walking With its quaintly-figured walls,
In the garden planted there, And the silver-sprinkling fountains
With a joyous heart beholding In its marble-paven halls.
His pavilion shining fair; Arabesques filled every chamber
The old Cadi then came kneeling, With a wild fantastic grace,
And implored, in lowly mood, And the Koran's golden ciphers
Leave to fill a sack beside him Made a mystery of the place;
From the soil on which they stood. Rich the tracery of each lattice,
It was granted, and he filled it; Carven sharp with master-craft,
Then the old man, turning round, And the mouldings wrought like lace- Asked the Caliph to assist him work
While he raised it from the ground. On each tall and slender shaft.
Smiled the Prince at the entreaty, Sudden glimpses of trees waving,
Thinking all was done in mirth, With a freshness to the eye,
Raised the sack, but dropped full quickly Came through pillared courts all open His strange burden to the earth. To the soft blue summer sky;
"It is heavy," said the Cadi, And around it were sweet gardens,
And thou canst not bear the weight; Sunny clumps of scented bloom,
Yet 'tis but a little portion Dusky umbrage-shadowing alleys,
Of the widow's whole estate. With a cool, delicious gloom.
Side by side with that poor widow Near the palace a poor Widow
Must thou stand, at Allah's bar; Had a small paternal field,
And in that majestic presence Where the Prince a fair pavilion
Prince and beggar equal are. For his pleasure wished to build; And if thou, O Prince ! art burdened Only this one charm was wanting
With a load of earth so small, To complete it to his heart,
What wilt thou then answer Allah,
When he charges thee with all ?”
The sharp arrow reached his conscience, He at last put forth his hand,
And atoning for his guilt, And raised up his dome of pleasure Like a king, he gave the widow On the violated land.
The pavilion he had built.
J. D. BURNS.
THE LAST DAY.
The Lord will come, the earth shall quake, On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human-kind!
A pilgrim on the world's highway,
O God! is this the Crucified?
And seek the mountain's cleft in vain; The Lord will come! a dreadful form, The saints, victorious o'er the tomb, With wreath of flame and robe of storm, Shall sing for joy, “The Lord is come!"
CREATION A CONTINUOUS WORK.
We are accustomed to conceive of the creation of man as a dim, • miraculous event, of the most ancient time, forgetting that
God's scheme of managing the living world is one of perpetual creation. Had our earth been formed of an eternal adamant, subject to no vicissitudes of change through all the cycles of duration, we might, perhaps, well refer to the act of bringing it into existence as especially illustrative of creative power; but where all is changing, transitory, and incessantly dissolving away, so that nothing remains immutable but God's conception of being, which the whole universe is for ever hastening to realize, we cannot escape the conviction of his immediate, living, omnipresent, constructive agency. The truth is, we are hourly and momentarily created, and it is impossible to imagine in what respect the first act of formative power was more wonderful or glorious, or afforded any more conspicuous display of omnipotent wisdom, than that august procession of phenomena by which man, and the entire living world, are now and continually called into being
Those material atoms which are to-day interposed between us and destruction, are recent from chaos,—they were but yesterday formless dust of the earth, corroded and pulverized rocks, or fleeting and viewless gases of the air. These, through the vast enginery of astronomic systems, whose impulses of movement spring directly from the Almighty's will, have entered a world of organic order, are wrought into new states, and made capable of nourishing the animal body. The mingled gases and mineral dust have become vital aliment. The test-miracle which the Tempter of old demanded, as evidence of Godlike power, is disclosed to the eye of science as a result of natural laws; for in the most literal sense, “stones are made bread.”
THE LIVING SYSTEM A THEATRE OF CHANGE,
The body of the grown man presents to us the same unaltered aspect of form and size for long periods of time. With the exception of furrows deepening in the countenance, an adult man may seem hardly to alter for half a hundred years. But this appearance is altogether illusory; for with apparent bodily identity there has really been an active and rapid change, daily and nightly, hourly and mom
mently—an incessant waste and renewal of all the corporeal parts. A waterfall is permanent, and may present the same aspect of identity and unchangeableness from generation to generation, but who does not know that it is certainly made up of particles in a state of swift transition; the cataract is only a form resulting from the definite course which the changing particles pursue. The flame of a lamp presents to us for a long time the same appearance, but its constancy of aspect is caused by a ceaseless change in the place and condition of the chemical atoms which carry on combustion.
Just so with man: he appears an unchanged being, endowed with permanent attributes of power and activity, but he is really only an unvarying form, whose constituent particles are for ever changing. As each part of his body is brought into action, its particles perish, and are replaced by others; and thus destruction and renovation in the vital economy are indissolubly connected, and proceed together. It is said, with reference to the casualties to which man is everywhere exposed, that “in the midst of life we are in death ;" but physiologically this is a still profounder truth-we begin to die as soon as we begin to live.
Very few persons have any correct conception of the rate at which change goes on in their bodies. The average amount of matter taken into the system daily, under given circumstances, has been determined with a considerable degree of precision. From the army and navy diet-scales of France and England, which, of course, are based upon the recognized necessities of large numbers of men in active life, it is found that about 2 lb avoirdupois of dry food per day are required for each individual: of this,
about three-quarters are vegetable, and the rest animal. Assuming a standard of 140lb as the weight of the body, the amount of oxygen consumed daily is nearly 2}ib, which results from breathing about 25 or 30 hogsheads of air: the quantity of water is nearly 41 lb for the same time.
The weight of the entire blood of a full-grown man varies from 20 to 30lb; of this the lungs, in a state of health, contain about lib. The heart beats, on an average, 60 or 70 times in a minute. Every beat sends forward two ounces of the fluid. It rushes on at the rate of 150 feet in a minute, the whole blood passing through the lungs every two minutes and a half, or twenty times in an hour. In periods of great exertion the rapidity with which the blood flows is much increased, so that the whole of it sometimes circulates in less than a single minute. According to these data, all the blood in the body travels through the circulatory route 600 or 700 times in a day,-a total movement through the heart of 10,000 or 12,000lb of blood in 24 hours. At the same time there escapes from the lungs nearly 2lb of carbonic acid and 1 lb of watery vapour. The skin loses by perspiration 2lib of water, and there escape in other directions about 24lb of matter. In the course of a year, the amount of solid food consumed is upwards of 800lb; the quantity of oxygen is about the same; and that of water, taken in various forms, is estimated at 1500lb: or altogether a ton and a half of matter, solid, liquid, and gaseous, is ingested annually. We thus see that the adult of a half a century has shifted the substance of his corporeal being more than a thousand times !
THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
I HEARD the angels singing,
As they went up through the sky, A sweet infant's spirit bringing
To its Father's house on high :
“Happy thou, so soon ascended,
With thy shining raiment on! Happy thou, whose race is ended
With a crown so quickly won !
Hushed is now thy lamentation,
And the first words to thee given Will be words of adoration
In the blessed speech of heaven; For the blood thou mightst have slighted
Has now made thee pure within, And the evil seed is blighted
That had ripened unto sin.
We will lead thee by a river,
Where the flowers are blooming fair; We will sing to thee for ever,
For no night will darken there. Thou shalt walk in robes of glory;
Thou shalt wear a golden crown; Thou shalt sing redemption's story,
With the saints around the throne.
THE LAST MAN.
ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,
Adown the gulf of Time !
As Adam saw her prime.
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan, The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man! Some had expired in fight--the brands Still rusted in their bony hands;
In plague and famine some: Earth's cities had no sound nor tread; And ships were drifting with the dead,
To shores where all was dumb !
Thou wilt see that better country,
Where a tear-drop never fell, Where a foe made never entry,
And a friend ne'er said farewell; Where, upon the radiant faces
That will shine on thee alway, Thou wilt never see the traces
Of estrangement or decay.
Thee we bear, a lily-blossom,
To a sunnier clime above; There to lay thee in a bosom
Warm with more than mother's love.
From a region cold and bare,
Through an endless summer there!”
Through the night that dragged so
slowly Rachel watched beside a bed; Weeping wildly, kneeling lowly,
She would not be comforted.
Raining tears upon a shroud;
J. D. BURNS.
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high, That shook the sere leaves from the wood,
As if a storm passed by; Saying,
We are twins in death, proud Sun! Thy face is cold, thy race is run-
'Tis mercy bids thee go; For thou, ten thousand, thousand years, Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.
What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill;
The vassals of his will;
For all those trophied arts
Entailed on human hearts,