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Earth's thousand tribes of living things,
At Art's command, to him are given;
The village grows, the city springs,
And point their spires of faith to Heaven.

He rends the oak, and bids it ride,

To guard the shores its beauty graced ;
He smites the rock,- upheaved in pride,

See towers of strength and domes of taste;
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal,

Fire bears his banner on the wave,
He bids the mortal poison heal,

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.

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54. THE PILOT. - Thomas Haynes Bayly. Born, 1797; died, 1839.

O, PILOT' 't is a fearful night, there's danger on the deep; I'll come and pace the deck with thee,-I do not dare to sleep. Go down! the sailor cried, go down; this is no place for thee: Fear not; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be.

Ah! pilot, dangers often met we all are apt to slight,
And thou hast known these raging waves but to subdue their might
It is not apathy, he cried, that gives this strength to me:
Fear not; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be.

On such a night the sea engulfed my father's lifeless form;
My only brother's boat went down in just so wild a storm:
And such, perhaps, may be my fate; but still I say to thee,
Fear not; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be.

55. DEATH TYPIFIED BY WINTER.- James Thomson. Born, 1700; died, 1748

'Tis done!- dread WINTER spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!

How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictured life: - pass some few years,
Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober Autumn fading into age,

And pale concluding Winter comes, at last,
And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts
Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life?
All now are vanished! VIRTUE sole survives,
Immortal, never-failing friend of man,

His guide to happiness on high. And see!
'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth
Of Heaven and Earth! Awakening Nature hears
The new-creating word, and starts to life,
In every heightened form, from pain and death.
Forever free. The great eternal scheme
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To Reason's eye refined clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that POWER
And WISDOM oft arraigned: see now the cause,
Why unassuming Worth in secret lived,
And died neglected: why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pined,
In starving solitude; while Luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants: why Heaven-born Truth.
And Moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of Superstition's scourge: why licensed Pain
That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe,
Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed,
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deemed Evil, is no more!
The storms of WINTRY TIME will quickly pass,
And one unbounded SPRING encircle all!

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INDUCEMENTS! Can it be necessary to offer these? What! Is not the bare mention of religion enough to rouse every soul, who understands the meaning of that momentous word, to the greatest intensity of action? Who needs to have spread out before him the demonstrations of logic, or the persuasions of rhetoric, to move him to seek after wealth, rank, or honor? Who, when an opportunity presents itself to obtain such possessions, requires anything more than an appeal to his consciousness of their value to engage him in the pursuit? The very mention of riches suggests at once to man's cupidity a thousand arguments to use the means of obtaining them. What intense longings rise in the heart! What pictures crowd the imagination! What a spell comes over the whole soul! And why is there less, yea, why is there not intensely more, than all this, at the mention of the word religion, - that term which comprehends Heaven and earth, time and eternity, God and man, within its sublime and boundless meaning? If we were as we ought to be, it would be enough only to whisper in the ear that word, of more than magic power, to engage all our faculties, and all their energies, in the most resolute purpose, the most determined pursuit, and the most entire self-devotement. Inducements to earnestness in religion! Alas! how low we have sunk, how far have we been paralyzed, to need to be thus stimulated!


Is religion a contradiction to the usual maxim, that a man's activity in endeavoring to obtain an object is, if he understand it, in exact proportion to the value and importance which he attaches to it? Are Heaven, and salvation, and eternity, the only matters that shall reverse this maxim, and make lukewarmness the rule of action? By what thunder shall I break in upon your deep and dangerous sleep? O, revolve often and deeply the infinite realities of religion! Most subjects may be made to appear with greater or less dignity, according to the greater or less degree of importance in which the preacher places them. Pompous expressions, bold figures, lively ornaments of eloquence, may often supply a want of this dignity in the subject discussed. But every attempt to give importance to a motive taken from eternity is more likely to enfeeble the doctrine than to invigorate it. Motives of this kind are self-sufficient. Descriptions the most simple and the most natural are always the most pathetic or the most terrifying; nor can I find an expression more powerful and emphatic than that of Paul, “The things which are not seen are eternal." What more could the tongues of men and the eloquence of angels say? "Eternal things"! Weigh the import of that phrase, "eternal things." The history of Nations, the eras of time, the creation of worlds, all fade into insignificance, dwindle to a point, attenuate to a shadow, compared with these "eternal things." Do you believe them? If not, abjure your creed, abandon your belief. Be consistent, and let the stupendous vision which, like Jacob's ladder, rests its foot

on earth and places its top in Heaven, vanish in thin air! But if you do believe, say what ought to be the conduct of him who, to his own conviction, stands with hell beneath him, Heaven above him, and eternity before him By all the worth of the immortal soul, by all the blessings of eternal salvation, by all the glories of the upper world, by all the horrors of the bottomless pit, by all the ages of eternity, and by all the personal interest you have in these infinite realities, I conjure you to be in earnest in personal religion!

57. NEVER DESPAIR. - Samuel Lover.

O, NEVER despair! for our hopes, oftentime,
Spring swiftly, as flowers in some tropical clime,
Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night
Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light!
The mariner marks, when the tempest rings loud,
That the rainbow is brighter, the darker the cloud;
Then, up! up!-never despair!

The leaves which the sibyl presented of old,

Though lessened in number, were not worth less gold;
And though Fate steal our joys, do not think they're the best,
The few she has spared may be worth all the rest.
Good fortune oft comes in adversity's form,

And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the storm;
Then, up! up!— never despair!

And when all creation was sunk in the flood,
Sublime o'er the deluge the patriarch stood!
Though destruction around him in thunder was hurled,
Undaunted he looked on the wreck of the world!
For, high o'er the ruin, hung Hope's blessed form, -
The rainbow beamed bright through the gloom of the storm;
Then, up! up! never despair!

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58. CHARITY.-Thomas Noon Talfourd.

THE blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. "T is a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which, by daily use,
Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourned, 't will fall

Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again;
And shed on the departing soul a sense
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honored death-bed of the rich,
To him who else were lonely, that another
Of the great family is near, and feels.

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59. THE BATTLE-FIELD. — William Cullen Bryant

ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands,

Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And fiery hearts and arméd hands

Encountered in the battle-cloud.

Ah! never shall the land forget

How gushed the life-blood of her brave,— Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet, Upon the soil they fought to save.

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still;

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill,

And bell of wandering kine, are heard.

No solemn host goes trailing by

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain, Men start not at the battle-cry; O, be it never heard again!

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Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,

And blench not at thy chosen lot! The timid good may stand aloof,

The sage may frown, - yet faint thou not!

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn,

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