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To the wild winds that fan his early grave,
And dashedst from thy lips the cup of joy!

Mourners who linger in a world of woe,
Each, bowing 'neath his separate load of grief!
Turn from the silent tomb, and, kneeling low
Before that throne at which the angels bow,
Invoke a God of mercy for relief.

Pray that ye too may journey, when ye die,
To that far world where blessed souls are gone,
And, through the gathering sob of agony,
Raise, with a voice resigned, the humble cry,
"Father! Creator! Lord! thy will be done!"

MRS. NORTON.

LESSON XCIX.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

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 further 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'er head.
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 labor and to wait.

H. W. LONGFELLOW

LESSON C.

MATERNAL INFLUENCE.

THE minds of children are easily interested, as every thing is new to them, and a new and most beautiful world is opening before them, with all the attractions of nature and art. Their capacities expand astonishingly, with even moderate instruction, if it be systematic and regular, as it leads them to investigation and inquiry, far beyond the sphere of the instructions they receive. At this time, how necessary it is, to endeavor to stamp upon their minds some salutary truths, not to be effaced. The works of nature present an extensive field for instruction, wherein a child may be soon taught to acknowledge the existence of a Supreme Being, from the convictions of reason.

In connection with the book of nature, the Bible should be the first book used, from whence to draw our precepts, as containing instruction suitable to the earliest age. It is not necessary to wait until the child is able to read for itself. The best mode of presenting instruction is by familiar verbal communication. Its truths are thus better remembered, and in this manner, too, a large portion of the Bible can be condensed

into a small compass. Give the young minds subjects for thought; they are ever active, ever busy; and, if not provided with proper aliment by those who have the care of them, they will resort to something themselves, which may be adverse in its influence.

The precepts of the gospel are ennobling and refining in a high degree; and they will ere long show their effects upon the mind, trained in their discipline. I have often been led to observe the striking difference between children who have been brought up according to the wisdom of this world, and of those, taught according to the gospel; how much more expanded is the young mind of one, instructed in the gospel precepts; how much more elevated in its character; how much more ready to sympathize with suffering, and to respond to benevolent and noble sentiments. It has partaken of the true and proper food of the soul, and by it has flourished and become vigorous. It is the fostering atmosphere of the nursery, where the form is given to the young and tender plant. A celebrated artist once said, my mother's kiss made me a painter. How many thousands might say, my mother's kiss made me a christian or an infidel, a useful or a useless member of society.

If mothers wish to know the extensive influence which their precepts and examples exert, either for good or evil, upon the career and destiny of their children, they need only refer to some striking examples for proof sufficient to establish this fact. In observing, and reading the history of great and good men, the thought rarely occurs, that they have once been children, have passed through the helpless years of infancy, and have been acted upon by influences which have formed their characters; and yet, if we should trace their goodness or their crimes to the right source, we should find, that, for the most part, the seeds of early influence have produced the corresponding fruit. And I have no doubt, that, could we know the history of very many philanthropists, we should find, that the seeds of their usefulness had been sown in the nursery, and the germs fostered by the kind and gentle instruction of some CHRISTIAN MOTHER, whose voice sounded like music on the ear, and whose sympathy fell like balm upon the heart, grieved by the little trials and pains of childhood. MRS. A. WHELPLEX.

LESSON CI.

A MOTHER'S GIFT.

(The Bible.)

REMEMBER, love, who gave thee this,
When other days shall come,
When she who had thine earliest kiss
Sleeps in her narrow home.
Remember! 't was a mother gave
The gift to one she'd die to save!

That mother sought a pledge of love,

The holiest for her son;

And, from the gifts of God above,
She chose a goodly one:
She chose for her beloved boy,

The source of light, and life, and joy ;

And bade him keep the gift, that when
The parting hour should come,

They might have hope to meet again,
In an eternal home.

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Lo! the unlettered hind, who never knew
To raise his mind excursive to the hights
Of abstract contemplation, as he sits

On the green hillock by the hedge-row side,
What time the insect swarms are murmuring,
And marks, in silent thought, the broken clouds,
That fringe, with loveliest hue, the evening sky,
Feels in his soul the hand of nature rouse
The thrill of gratitude, to him who formed
The goodly prospect; he beholds the God
Throned in the west; and his reposing ear
Hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze

That floats through neighboring copse or fairy brake,
Or lingers, playful, on the haunted stream.

Go with the cotter to his winter fire,
When o'er the moors the loud blast whistles shrill,
And the hoarse ban-dog bays the icy moon;
Mark with what awe he lists the wild uproar,
Silent, and big with thought; and hear him bless
The God that rides on the tempestuous cloud,
For his snug hearth, and all his little joys.
Hear him compare his happier lot, with his
Who bends his way across the wintery wolds,
A poor night-traveler, while the dismal snow
Beats in his face, and, dubious of his paths,
He stops, and thinks, in every lengthening blast,
He hears some village mastiff's distant howl,
And sees, far streaming, some lone cottage light;
Then, undeceived, upturns his streaming eyes,
And clasps his shivering hands, or overpowered,
Sinks on the frozen ground, weighed down with sleep,
From which the hapless wretch shall never wake.

Thus the poor rustic warms his heart with praise
And glowing gratitude: he turns to bless
With honest warmth, his Maker and his God.
And shall it e'er be said, that a poor hind,
Nursed in the lap of ignorance, and bred
In want and labor, glows with noble zeal
To laud his Maker's attributes, while he
Whom starry science in her cradle rocked,

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