The lowly lot of peasant folk, Their humblest hopes and fears; The pale cheek of a woman, And even children's tears : All circumstance of mortal life, The lowly though it be; And pure thought garnered in the soul, The wealth of poesy Have made me, high-born Madeline, Not quite unworthy thee! Anything which excites the tenderness of the human heart, and directs it toward heartless customs and cruel prejudices, is doing the work of a missionary in the world's redemption, though it be in the form of a little child-like poem. Who can estimate the blessed influence of Mary Howitt, on future generations? The small seed she plants with such loving diligence, will grow into spreading trees, and nations rest in their shade. Hear her plead for the persecuted Hedge-Hog. Thou poor little English porcupine, What a harassed and weary life is thine! Thou scarce can stir from thy tree-root Thou scarce canst put out that nose of thine; The poor Hedge hog! one would think he knew How unkind the world must seem to him, How hard it must be to be kicked about He's an innocent thing, living under the blame He robs not man of rest nor food, THE CYPRESS TREE OF CEYLON. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. Ibn Batuta, the celebrated Mussulman traveller of the fourteenth century, speaks of a Cypress tree in Ceylon, universally held sacred by the natives, the leaves of which were said to fall only at certain intervals, and he who had the happiness to find and eat one of them, was restored, at once, to youth and vigor. The traveller saw several venerable Jogees, or saints, sitting silent and motionless under the tree, patiently awaiting the falling of a leaf. They sat in silent watchfulness The sacred cypress tree about, Grey Age and Sickness waiting there Through weary night and lingering day- And motionless as they. Unheeded in the boughs above The song of Ceylon's birds was sweet; Unseen of them the island flowers Bloomed brightly at their feet. O'er them the tropic night-storm swept, The thunder crashed on rock and hill; The cloud-fire on their eye-balls blazed, Yet there they waited still! What was the world without to them? The Moslem's sunset-call-the dance Of Ceylon's maids-the passing gleam Of battle-flag, and lance? They waited for that falling leaf, Of which the wandering Jogees sing: Shall we, who sit beneath that Tree, Not to restore our failing forms, And build the spirit's broken shrine, But, on the fainting soUL to shed A light and life divine: Shall we grow weary in our watch Or, shall the stir of outward things We gird us bravely to rebuke Our erring brother in the wrong: And in the ear of Pride and Power Our warning voice is stroug. Easier to smite with Peter's sword, Than watch one hour" in humbling prayer: Life's great things," like the Syrian lord Our hearts can do and dare. But Oh! we shrink from Jordan's side, From waters which alone can save: And murmur for Abana's banks And Pharpar's brighter wave. Oh Thou, who in the garden's shade Didst wake Thy weary ones again, Who slumbered at that fearful hour, Forgetful of Thy pain; Bend o'er us now, as over them, And set our sleep-bound spirits free, Nor leave us slumbering in the watch Our souls should keep with Thee! It is little : But in these sharp extremities of fortune, T. N. TALFOurd. A Jew entered a Parsee temple, and beheld the sacred fire; what, said he to the priest, do ye worship the fire? Not the fire, answered the priest; it is to us an emblem of the sun, and of his genial heat. Do you then worship the sun as your God? asked the Jew. Know ye not this luminary also, is but a work of that Almighty Creator? We know it, replied the priest, but the uncultivated man requires a sensible sign, in order to form a conception of the Most High. And is not the sun, the incomprehensible source of light, an image of that invisible Being who blesses and preserves all things? The Israelite thereupon rejoined. Do your people then distinguish the type from the original? They call the sun their God, and descending, even from this, to a baser object, they kneel before an earthly flame. Ye amuse the outward but blind the inward eye, and while ye hold to them the earthly, ye withdraw from them the heavenly light.-Thou shalt not make unto thee any image or any likeness. How then do you designate the Supreme Being? asked the Parsee. We call him Jehovah, Adonia, that is, the Lord who is, who was, and who will be; answered the Jew. Your appellation is grand and sublime, said the Parsee, but it is awful too! A Christian then drew nigh and said-We call him FATHER. The Pagan and the Jew looked at each other, and said-Here is at once an image and reality; it is a word of the heart, said they. Therefore they raised their eyes to heaven, and said with reverence and love-OUR FATHER! And they took each other by the hand, and all three called one another brothers.-F. A. Krummecher. TO MY BOOKS. BY CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. Silent companions of the lonely hour, Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought; And, o'er your old familiar pages bending, Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought, My native language spoke in friendly tone, |