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oe raised to crush the feeblest nation on earth, and there will be heard everywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at least the deep-toned murmur of implacable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, insulted, much-abused man. It is human nature waking in her might from the slumber of ages, shaking herself from the dust of antiquated institu tions, girding herself for the combat, and going forth conquering and to conquer; and woe unto the man, woe unto the dynasty, woe unto the party, and woe unto the policy, on whom shall fall the scathe of her blighting indignation!
74. THE WORTH OF FAME. -Joanna Baillie. Born, 1765; died, 1850.
O! WHO shall lightly say that Fame
The young from slothful couch will start,
O! who shall lightly say that Fame
A desert bare, a shipless sea?
O! who shall lightly say that Fame
To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye
A twinkling speck, but fixed and bright,
Nc, saith the generous heart, and proudly swells, -
75. THE PURSUIT OF FRIVOLOUS PLEASURES. — Young
O, THE dark days of vanity! while here
TIME USED! The man who consecrates his hours
At once he draws the sting of life and death;
O ye Lorenzos of our age! who deem
Not made for feeble man; who call aloud
Bishop Heber. Born, 1783; died, 1826.
O GOD! my sins are manifold; against my life they cry,
My foemen, Lord, are fierce and fell; they spurn me in their pride, They render evil for my good; my patience they deride;
Arise! my King! and be the proud in righteous ruin driven!
Forgive!" the awful answer came, "as thou wouldst be forgiven!"
Seven times, O Lord, I 've pardoned them; seven times they 've sinned again;
They practise still to work me woe, and triumph in my pain; But let them dread my vengeance now, to just resentment driven ! "Forgive!" the voice in thunder spake, “or never be forgiven!
77. TRUE SCIENCE OUGHT TO BE RELIGIOUS.-President Hitchcock.
I AM far from maintaining that science is a sufficient guide in religion. On the other hand, if left to itself, as I fully admit,
"It leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind."
Nor do I maintain that scientific truth, even when properly appreciated, will compare at all, in its influence upon the human mind, with those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by Revelation. All I contend for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as it does the divine character, plans and government, ought to fan and feed the flame of true piety in the hearts of its cultivators. He, therefore, who knows the most of science, ought most powerfully to feel this religious influence. He is not confined, like the great mass of men, to the outer court of Nature's magnificent temple; but he is admitted to the interior, and allowed to trace its long halls, aisles and galleries, and gaze upon its lofty domes and arches; nay, as a priest he enters the penetralia, the holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burning upon the altars; where hovers the glorious Schekinah; and where, from a full orches tra, the anthem of praise is ever ascending. Petrified, indeed, must be his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration of such a spot. He ought to go forth from it, among his fellow-men, with radiant glory on his face, like Moses from the holy mount. He who sees most of God in His works ought to show the stamp of Divinity upon his character, and lead an eminently holy life.
Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous minds that are able, from some advanced mountain-top, to catch a glimpse of the entire stream of truth, formed by the harmonious union of all principles, and flowing on majestically into the boundless ocean of all knowledge, the Infinite mind. But when the Christian philosopher shall be permitted to resume the study of science in a future world, with powers of investigation enlarged and clarified, and all obstacles removed, he will be able to trace onward the various ramifications of truth, till they unite into higher and higher principles, and become one in that centre of centres, the Divine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all truth originally sprang, and to which it ultimately returns. To trace out the shores of that shoreless Sea, to measure its measureless extent, and to fathom its unfathomable depths, will be the noble and the joyous work of eternal ages. And yet eternal ages may pass by, and see the work only begun!
78. TRIUMPHS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. -Rev. J. G. Lyons. Now gather all our Saxon bards, let harps and hearts be strung, To celebrate the triumphs of our own good Saxon tongue! For stronger far than hosts that march, with battle-flags unfurled It goes with FREEDOM, THOUGHT and TRUTH, to rouse and rule the
Stout Albion hears its household lays on every surf-worn shore,
It spreads where Winter piles deep snows on bleak Canadian plains;
It kindles realms so far apart, that while its praise you sing,
It quickens lands whose meteor lights flame in an Arctic sky,
It goes with all that Prophets told, and righteous Kings desired; With all that great Apostles taught, and glorious Greeks admired; With Shakspeare's deep and wondrous verse, and Milton's lofty mind; With Alfred's laws, and Newton's lore, to cheer and bless mankind.
Mark, as it spreads, how deserts bloom, and Error flees away,
Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame, -take heed, nor once disgrace,
Go forth, and jointly speed the time, by good men prayed for long, When Christian States, grown just and wise, will scorn revenge and
When earth's oppressed and savage tribes shall cease to pine or roam, All taught to prize these English words: -FAITH, FREEDOM, HEAVEN, and HOME.
79. THE WATER-DRINKER -E. Johnson
O, WATER for me' bright water for me,
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea,
All freshness, like infant purity;
O, water, bright water, for me, for me!
Give wine, give wine, to the debauchee !
Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim;
O, water, bright water 's a mine of wealth,
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
Fill again to the brim,-again to the brim!
To the days of the agéd it addeth length,
When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
80. THE DAYS THAT ARE GONE. Charles Mackay. WHO is it that mourns for the days that are gone, When a Noble could do as he liked with his own? When his serfs, with their burdens well filled on their backs Never dared to complain of the weight of a tax? When his word was a statute, his nod was a law, And for aught but his "order" he cared not a straw? When each had his dungeon and racks for the poor, And a gibbet to hang a refractory boor?
They were days when the sword settled questions of right And Falsehood was first to monopolize might;