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The high ones of stature shall be hewn down, and the haughty shall ba humbled. Isa. x. 33.

DANGER OF GREATNESS.

The clouds assemble in the blackening west,
Anon with gloom the sky becomes o'ercast,
United winds with wide-mouth'd fury roar,
Old ocean, rolling, heaves from shore to shore;
With boiling rage the waves begin to rise,
And ruffian billows now assail the skies;
The hardy forests, too, affrighted quake,
The hills they tremble, and the mountains shake;
The oak majestic, towering to the skies,
Laughs at the whirlwind, and the storm defies:
Spreads wides its arms, rejoicing in its pride,
And meets unbending the tornado's tide;
The winds prevail, one loud tremendous blow
The monarch prostrates, and his pride lays low;
While the low reed, in far more humble form,
Unknown to greatness, safe, outlives the storm.

THE storm rages. The sturdy oak, the growth of centuries, lifts its proud head towering to the heavens; it spreads abroad its ample branches, giving

shelter to birds and beasts. For a long time it resists the fury of the hurricane, but 'tis all in vain : with a mighty crash it is overturned; its very roots are laid bare, its branching honors are brought low; birds, beasts, and creeping reptiles now trample up on its fallen greatness.

But see the humble reed, bending to the storm, escapes unhurt. Its lowly position has preserved it from destruction; while its mighty neighbor is no more. It still lives, and grows, and flourishes.

This is an apt emblem of the danger attending upon high stations, and of the security afforded in the less elevated walks of life. It is calculated to damp the ardor of ambition, of at least that ambition that seeks to be great only that self may be enriched, or vanity gratified.

This kind of greatness is indeed the most dangerous, and the most uncertain. It is sure to be a mark for others, equally aspiring and unprincipled, to shoot at; while the possessor of this greatness, not being protected by the shield of conscious integrity, falls to rise no more, and the flatterers and dependents being no longer able to enrich themselves, unite in trampling under foot the man they formerly delighted to honor.

Love is not an evil of itself, neither is ambition; they may both be expended on worthless or sinful objects. Let the youth seek out a proper object for the lofty aspirings of the soul; let him learn to direct them by the providence and word of God. True greatness consists in goodness-in being useful to mankind. Those individuals usually called great have been the destroyers, not the benefactors of our race. A private station is as much a post of honor as the most elevated. Indeed, properly speaking, there are no private stations; every man is a public

man, and equally interested with others in the welfare and progress of his fellows. The lowly reed is as perfect in its kind as the lofty oak, and answers equally the end of its creation.

It is true, however, that the more elevated the station a man holds in society, the more responsibility he is under both to God and man. He is also exposed to more dangers and temptations. Envy, that hates the excellence she cannot reach, will carp at him, and slander shoot her poisoned arrows at him. Happiness seldom dwells with greatness, nor is safety the child of wealth and honors. "But he that humbleth himself—in due time-shall be exalted."

A striking instance of the danger of greatness may be found in the fall of Cardinal Wolsey. This ambitious man lived in the reign of Henry VIII., king of England. He was that monarch's favorite minister. He is said to have been "insatiable in his acquisitions, but still more magnificent in his expenses; of great capacity, but still more unbounded in enterprise; ambitious of power, but still more ambitious of glory." He succeeded he was raised to the highest pinnacle; but he fell under the displeasure of the king. The inventory of his goods being taken, they were found to exceed the most extravagant surmises. Of fine holland, there were found eleven hundred pieces; thewalls of his palace were covered with cloth of gold and silver; he had a cupboard of plate, all of massy gold; and all the rest of his riches and furniture were in the same proportion, all of which were converted to the use of the king. A bill of indictment was preferred against him; he was ordered to resign the great seal, and to depart from his palace. Soon after, he was arrested for high treason, and commanded to be conducted to London to take his trial.

When he arrived at Leicester Abbey he was taken sickmen said he poisoned himself. His disordor increased. A short time before he expired, he said to the officer who guarded him : "O had I but served my God as faithfully as I have served my king, he would not have forsaken me in my gray hairs." He died shortly after, in all the pangs of remorse, and left a life rendered miserable by his unbounded ambition for great

ness.

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For every one that doeth evil hateth the light. John iii. 20.

GUILT.

In splendor rising, view "the king of day,"
And darkness chasing from the earth away;
The beast of prey escapes before the sun,
To thickest covert, ere his work is done;
The birds of night now flee away apace,
And hide securely in some gloomy place;
While the blithe lark, elate, pours forth its lays,
And warbles to the sun its notes of praise.
So guilty men pursue, in devilish mood,
The trade of plunder, and the deed of blood;
They work in darkness without shame or fear,
And skulk in darkness when the day draws near;
While conscious innocence walks forth upright,
And, like the lark, rejoices in the light.

SEE where the glorious sun is rising in majesty and strength. Darkness has fled from his presence, and now there is nothing hid from his rosy light. See the beast of prey, slinking off to his den. Sturg

with hunger, and athirst for blood, he roamed round in the darkness of night. Lighting upon a sheep cote, he breaks into the enclosure; the bleating, helpless lambs become his prey; some he devours, others he leaves mangled and torn upon the ground. Detected by the light, he sneaks away; he plunges into the forest, and hides him in its thickest shade.

The birds of night-the bat, and others-fly away before the rising light. The music of the awakening choir, blooming fields, and spicy gardens, possess no charms for them. Mouldering ruins, among thickest shades, where the toad finds a shelter, and the serpent hisses-this is their favorite dwellingplace; while the gay lark, high mounting, pours forth his praises to the solar king. He is gladdened by his beams, and welcomes his approach with all the melody of song.

"Thou, O Lord, makest darkness, and it is night, wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. The sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens."

The engraving is emblematical of guilt; for happy would it be for mankind, were the beasts of prey and birds of night the only disturbers of the world's repose-the only destroyers that walk abroad in darkness. Alas!

66

-When night

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons
Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine."

Then, too, the robber goes forth to perpetrate his deeds of violence and rapine; then, too, the adulterer, and kindles a fire that will burn to the lowest hell; and shrouded in the mantle of night, the man of blood stalks forth, and works his deeds of death.

In this way, man, made in the image of God, becomes allied to the most malignant part of the brute

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