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124. REFLECTIONS ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.-Caroline Matilda.

1. Of blasted expectations, with'ring joys,
Of bliss departed and a friend deceased,
"Sing, heavenly muse." My guide, preceptor, friend,
Whose glowing heart with fine sensation fraught,
Knew how to estimate the worth of mind,
My friend is dead! He knew himself to sing,
And wake the "living lyre" in strains so sweet
That Music's self might listen and approve.

2. Enwrapt in ecstasy, his hand could swell
The full ton'd organ, or the grave bassoon,
In strains of moral music. He could touch
The lively viol, or symphonious lute,

3.

And while his fingers swept the trembling strings,
Sadness was soothed, and melancholy smiled;
Nor less harmonious was his dulcet voice,
Nor less his heart with fine emotion glowed,
When, at his bidding, every vocal power
Was called to action, in ascribing praise
To Him, to whom all voices should ascend
In loud unceasing anthems.

But no more

This voice is heard. His rapture-beaming eye
Is closed for ever in the sleep of death!
His lyre is broken, and his harp, unstrung,
Forgotten lies-save when the mournful breeze,
In dying cadence, sighs among the strings,
And wakes the tones of wo.

But is his voice

For ever silent? Will he wake no more?
Is that etherial fire for ever quenched?
For ever dead? Hence, coward deist, hence!
And hence ye vain and skeptic theories.
Still let me live, and let me die a Christian;
For he whose memory inspires my lay,
In all the triumph of a Christian died.

:

5. See through the gloom that hovers round his grave,
An angel form appears. Upon her brow
Sits smiling peace, and in her hand she bears
The charter of immortal blessedness,
The sacred volume, whose unerring page
Declares that "life and immortality

6.

Are brought to light." "Tis blest religion;
The shades of death disperse at her approach,
And hope enchanted smiles.

I sorrow then,
Not without hope, for we shall meet again,
Again shall mingle voices, while our hearts
Shall join the perfect songs of seraphim.
Thou too, Eliza, let thy widow'd heart
Exult in glorious hope; the star, that sets
Beyond the western wave, is not extinct;
It brightens in another hemisphere,
And gilds another evening with its rays.

7. O glorious hope of immortality!

At thought of thee, the coffin and the tomb
Affright no more, and e'en the monster, Death,
Loses his fearful form, and seems a friend.
At thought of thee, my eager, glowing heart.
Lets go its hold on sublunary bliss,

And longs to drop this cumbrous clog of earth,
And soar to bliss unfading and secure.

8. Exist for ever! O, transporting thought!
When countless ages shall have roll'd away,
And time shall cease, the deathless energies
Of heaven-born mind, all changes shall survive,
And never die.

9

Oh, infidelity,

What solace canst thou offer to the soul,

In all the sad vicissitude of grief,

That pains the feeling heart? Will thy sad dream

Of dread annihilation, sooth the heart

That mourns for friends departed? Will it cheer
The fearful hour, when pale, relentless death

Dissolves the ties of nature? Then the Christian
Can lift his head exulting, and behold

A blest re-union in a world of bliss!

10. Oh thou eternal Source of light and life,
From whom all beings came,-instruct my heart
To bow submissive to thy sovereign will,
And bless the hand that blasts my rising hopes
Of earthly bliss, and draws me to Thyself.

11. When that dear friend, to whom I consecrate
This pensive lay, first taught my youthful voice
The enrapt'ring powers of sacred harmony,
He bade me consecrate my vocal powers,
My heart, my voice, to great Jehovah's praise.

12. And now, if spirits of the good, can view
The scenes they left, and friends they loved below,
O, shade lamented, hear the solemn vow!
While here I dedicate my heart, my voice,
My life, my lyre, to that eternal Power
Who, from primeval nothing, bade me live,
And bade me live to Him. And when my heart
Forgets the sacred theme, oh, may it cease
Its regular vibrations, and my hand

13.

Forget its cunning.

Sainted shade, farewell!

Fain would my muse pursue thy towering flight,
And track thy mounting spirit as it soars
Above the stars; but yet for me remain
A few more conflicts, and a few more tears,
By native feeling wrung; then the bright morn
Of bliss immortal shall arise, and peace
For ever and for ever shall be mine.

14. Then death-divided friends shall part no more.
Then shall we join the bright angelic choir,
And swell the choral song; while not one note
Discordant or untuneful, shall disturb

The full, harmonic, heavenly, holy lay.

This beautiful and sublime poem appeared in the winter of 1818 in the Methodist Magazine, furnished me by John D. Gillett, and published at New-York, where the writer resided. The same year, it contained two other poems, over the signature of Caroline Matilda, (her name was Caroline Matilda Thayer) one called "The Day of Judgment," the other, "Choose God for your Portion." This is decidedly superior to either of those; and it appears to me to possess much merit, both in sentiment and style. It relates to the most interesting and important subject, that ever can agitate the human mind. The adage that "poetry proves nothing," is not true. This poem answers correctly, and in the most glowing manner, the great question which

"The holy instinct of the heart,"

prompts us to ask, and which the scriptures themselves propound: "If a man die, shall he live again?" It speaks of the eternal re-union of Christians in heaven, and so does the word of God,

"They sin who tell us love can die—
With life all other passions fly;

But this-a flame that ever burneth,

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth."

The elocution of this piece should be dignified and solemn.

125. EDUCATION THE PRINCIPLE OF ALL PROSPERITY.-Rev. Robert Hall.

1. Knowledge in general, expands the mind, exalts the faculties, refines the taste of pleasure, and opens innumerable sources of intellectual enjoyment. By means of it, we become less dependent for satisfaction upon the sensitive appetites; the gross pleasures of sense are more easily despised, and we are made to feel the superiority of the spiritual to the material part of our nature. Instead of being continually solicited by the influence and irritation of sensible objects, the mind can retire within herself, and expatiate in the cool and quiet walks of contemplation.

2. The poor man who can read, and who possesses a taste for reading, can find entertainment at home, without being tempted to repair to the public house, for that purpose. His mind can find him employment, when his body is at rest; he does not lie prostrate and afloat on the current of incidents,

liable to be carried whithersoever the impulse of appetite may direct.

3. There is in the mind of such a man an intellectual spring, urging him to the pursuit of mental good; and if the minds of his family are also cultivated, conversation becomes the more interesting, and the sphere of domestic enjoyment enlarged. The calm satisfaction which books afford, puts him into a disposition to relish more exquisitely, the tranquil delight inseparable from the indulgence of conjugal and parental affection; and as he will be more respectable in the eyes of his family, than he who can teach them nothing, he will be naturally induced to cultivate whatever may preserve, and shun whatever may impair, that respect.

4. He who is inured to reflection, will carry his views beyond the present hour; he will extend his prospect into futurity, and be disposed to make some provision for his approaching wants; whence will result an increased motive to industry, together with a care to husband his earnings, and to avoid unnecessary expense. The poor man who has gained a taste for good books, will, in all likelihood, become thoughtful, and when you have given the poor a habit of thinking, you have conferred on them a much greater favor than by the gift of a large sum of money, since you have put them in possession of the principle of all legitimate prosperity.

The Rev. Mr. Hall, from one of whose sermons these excellent remarks, in favor of intellectual culture, are taken, was a finished preacher, and a tasteful and able writer. He was born at Arnsby, near Leicester, May 2d, 1764, and died February 21st, 1831. He was so embarrassed during the delivery of his first discourse, that he put both hands over his face, and, resuming his seat, said: "O, I have lost all my ideas." But oratory being "in him," as was the case with Sheridan; and, possessing untiring industry, notwithstanding this failure in his first attempt at public speaking, he became "the prince of pulpit orators." His eloquence held at will his hearers" spell bound and breathless," or "dissolved them in floods of sympathy." One Saturday evening, while he was preparing himself to discharge the professional duties of the approaching Sunday, a young man, a member of his congregation, called at his house, and wished to speak with him. Upon being told that Mr. Hall was in his study deeply engaged, he said that his business was urgent, and that he "must see him." He was admitted into the study, where he said to Mr. Hall, "I think I have a talent for public speaking, and I do not wish to hide it in a napkin, I wish to devote it wholly to the Christian ministry." After briefly examining him, as to his intellectual powers, and general information, Mr. Hall said: "Go home, young man, your talent will not need a napkin; the smallest pocket handkerchief in the house will be sufficiently large

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