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^ 



AMEH.ICA^/ Tract 5ociety, 

150J/ASSAU 5T., 

^ NEW YOR.K- 



993479A 

A '■■• ^ 



1£ 1 >J< I I 



COPYRIGHT, 1889, 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 



Golden Thoughts 



PEN AND PENCIL. 





OR me this freshness in the morning; hours. 

For me the water's dear tranquillity ; 
For me the soft descent of chestnut flowers ; 
The cushat's cry for me ; 

The lovely laughter of the wind -swayed wheat, 
The easy slope of yonder pastoral hill, 

The sedgy brook whereby the red kine meet 
And wade and drink their fill ; 

For me the bounding in of tides ; for me 

The laying bare of sands when they retreat, 

The purple flush of calms, the sparkling glee, 
When waves and sunshine meet. jkak 



j) HEN winter winds are piercing chill, 

And through the hawthorn blows the gale, 

[/Wilh solemn feet I tread the hill 

That overbrows the lonely vale. 

O'er the bare upland and away 

Through the long reach of desert woods, 
The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 

And gladden these deep solitudes. 

Where, twisted round the barren oak. 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke — 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Alas! how changed from the fair scene 

When birds sang out their mellow lay, 

And winds were soft and woods were green 
And the song ceased not with the day ! 

But still wild music is abroad, 

Pale desert woods, witliin your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 

Has grown familiar with your song: 

I hear it in the opening year — 

I listen, and it cheers me long. h. w. lo 




-S long as I ha\'e the imnye of Deborah before my eyes, and while 
I throw myself back into tlie age. country, circumstances, of this 
Hebrew Boadicea in the not yet tamed chaos of the spiritual 
creation, so long all is well — all replete with instruction and 
example. In the fierce and inordinate I am made to know and 
be grateful for the clearer and purer radiance which shines on a Christian's 
paths; while in the self-oblivion of these heroes of the Old Testament, their 
elevation above all low and divided interests, above all in the entire and 
vehement devotion of their total being to the service of their divine Master, I 
find a lesson of humility, a ground of humiliation, and a shaming, yet rousing, 
example of faith and fidelity. s. t. cui.KRiuiiii. 




THE HHODORA. 

In May, when sea-winds pierced 

our solitudes, 
I found the fresh rhodora in the 
woods. 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook 
) please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool. 
Made the black water with their beauty gay ; 
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 

Rhodora, if the sages ask thee why 

This charm is wasted on the earth and sky. 

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 

Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why wert thou there, O rival of the rose ! 

I never thought to ask. I never knew; 

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 

The selfsame Power that brought me there brought you. 



Bright flower, whose home is everywhere ! 

A pilgrim bold in nature's care, 

And all the long year through, the heir 

Of joy or sorrow, 
Methinks that there abides in thee 
Some concord with humanity 
Given to no other flower I see 

The forest thorougli ! 




^ a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, 
Rising with htr liara of proud lowers 
airy distance, with majestic motion. 
A ruler of the waters and their powers : 
And such she was^her daughlers had their dowers 
^' From s])f)i]s of rations, and the cxhaustless East 

Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
In purple was she robed, and ofher feast 
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased. 

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; 

And, annual marriage now no more renewed, 
The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, 

Neglected garment ofher widowhood ! 

St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood, 
Stand, but in mockery of his withered power. 

O'er the proud Place where once an emperor sued. 
And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
When Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower, lord 




AISE, raise thine eyes a little way, 
O sinful man, discerning 
r Thy sins, how great and foul are they, 
And to repentance turning. 

On the Crucified One look ; 
Thou shalt read, as in a book, 
What well is worth thy learning. 
Look on the head, with such a crown 

Of bitter thorns surrounded ; 
Look on the blood that trickles down 
The feet and hands thus wounded ! 
Let thai frame thy tears engage, 
Marking how Judcea's rage 
And malice hath abounded. 



If thus he bled, that only Son 

Tiie Father held so dearly. 
Thou, wicked servant, faithless one. 
Oh. how much more severely ! 

If the green wood kindled, how 
Shall not every sapless bough 
Consume as fuel merely ! 

O mortal, heed these terrors well ! 

O sinner, flee from sinning! 
Consider thou the woes of hell. 
Ne'er ending, still beginning ! 

Render thanks to Christ on high, 
Thus with him beyond the sky 
Eternal glory winning. — Amen. m. b 




S?5^TERNAL spirit of the cliainloss miiitl ! 
■!^'> BriHhtfst in dungeons, Liberty, thou ;irt, 

■ C>j I-"or tlicri- ihy habitation is tlie lit-art — 

"*■•'• The heart which love of thee alone am bind: 
Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place. 

And thy snd floor an altar — for 't was trod 
Until his ver\' steps have left a trace 

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Honnivard ! May none those marks efl'ace ! 
For they appi-al from tyranny to God. 




RING your gifts, oh, hither bring 

Myrrh for rite— for tribute, gold — 
" Frankincense for sacrifice. 

Lord ! thine incense take and hold ! 
King ! I bring thee gold of price ! 
Myrrh with tomb will harmonize! 
For thoa, entombed, hast purified 
Earthly ground and rolUng tide 

And the depths below the deep ! 
We will sing thee, deathless One, 
God himself, and God's great Son ; 

Thou, King, gracious aspect keep: 
I this measure fain would bring. 
Be pro]jitious, O niv King ! 
Take this music which is mine. 
Anthemed from the songs divine ! 




lessons in life. Slij;lit circumstance 
common dinner-pliiie riny. iirid wroti 
to fill Ilia cellars from the Austrian 
the seller's measuremc'iil, he workw! 
is now calk-t! the modern analysis. 

This woodland brook suggests 
the pendulous boughs .ind disperse; 
surface nnd the image flies. It is a r 
of years is snapped in a nionient. 

The tenderer the heart is, the paiiifulli 
withers the blossom of love, as the most delicate 
by the faintest breeze. 



Ml 










op ng n 


I 1 


k 
I 




Ui 




i reflect on 

f JfiTl e"tS of 




ary 


nj 


m I 




t Without en 


hat I 


a«. 


Th 


est lea% 




m the stream 


of slight c 


ire 


nistanc 


'S 


in life— litde 


ur ho 


les, s 


uce 




onsolations, and 


■L:'i. ih 


re in 


iva 


er, are 


lo 


"'<-■ "^ '"-'"Y 


are th^ 


texts 


of 


cience. 


I 


iscal heard a 


tract 


pon 


ou 


id. K 


pk 


r determined 


neyarc 


s; l.u 


td 


S|)Ulillg 


the accuracy of 


It one 


of th 


e^ 


rliest s 


ec 


liens of what 



another tliougiit. A breath of wind raises 
s all the reflections of leaves. Ruflle the 
.iibject of hourly experience that the bond 



Ule 



uud. 



.An unkind word 
vine are troubled 




1 1 



osit ( 



:l tlK 



gre 



1 hills side, 



That luoks nriiund on u jmisjiect wiik', 

And send my iiiiiKi fir away to rove 

O'er flowery ineadovv uiid bending grove, 

That looks in the silent dei»ths below 

At the stranger woods that downward j^row; 

And fly o'er the face of the winding stream 

With the beach bird that starts with a sudden scream. 

Or skim with the gull the atiil, calm sea 

Where the white sail sleeps so peacefully ; 

Till I ;ill forget in that waking dream 

But the sky, grove, sea, and winding stream. 

Oh, grant me an hour, an hour like this. 
To drink from far purer streams of bliss 
Than flow from the dusty paths of life, 
Uptossed by maddening passion and strife ; 
For my mind comes back with a lighter spring 
Than the bird from her weary wandering, 
With a calm more deep than the slill, bright sea 
Where the white wave sleeps so [>eacefully. 
To join the world of care again, 
And look on die struggles and strife of men 
With an eye tJiat beams with as pure a ray 
As called my soul from these scenes away. 



The morning's brightness cannot make thee glad 

Ifthou art not more bright than it within ; 
And naught of evening's peace hast thou e'er had 

If evening first diil not with thee begin. 
Full many a sun I saw first set anil rise 

Before my day had found a rising too. 
And I with nature learned to harmonize, 

AikI to her times and seasons made me true. 




i — her pitcher on her shoulder, 
e Hebrews, and as 
r some water recei 



Devoi't, as 

vant of such a master, lie c 

tlie wliole matter to God, pray»ig 

that the courtesy of the appointed damsel 

might be the providential hint to guide 

him. Presently the daughters and the 

wives <if the town gather round the well, 

ider fair to look 

ill long afterwards the custom with 

arsal with Arab women still. A friendly request 

kindly answer, and even an offer to draw water 



the camels as well The sign that had been asked seems granted ; 

appointed one must be before him. 




NTIL the day break, nnd tlie shadows flee away, whit ' 
a blessing It is to sec in Ji-sus " ihu morning sur "! 

It is best to see Jesus as the sun ; but when v 
cannot do so, the next best thing is to see him as the , 
star which prophesies the day and shows that the 
eternal light is near at hand. If I ani not to-d 
that I hope to be, yet I sue Jesus, and that assures ' 
me that I shall one day he like him. A sight of '' 
J sua by faith is the pledge of beholding him in 1 
glory and being transformed into his image. 





Ft-tidvtly sliL- puts furih in trim iirr, 
As vigorous as a lark at break of tl 

Is she fur trojiic suns or ])nl;ir snnw ? 

Wh;il boots tlic iin[iiiry? NcitbtT in 
She cari'S fur ; kt hiT travul wIilti.' 
Sbe fiiiils familiar names, a lieaitjii ' 



r bffur 



wind 10 blo> 



nd ihft 



Yet still I ask, Wliat baven is her marl 
And almost as ic was whfn ships wt'i 
I From time to time, like pilj,'rims, h< 

Crossing the waters), doiibt and something dark, 
Of the old sea some revereniial fear. 

Is with me at thy farewell, joyous bark. 



Go, in tby glory, o'er the ancient sea. 
Take with diee gentle winds ihy sails to 

Sunshine and joy upon thy streamers be, 
Fare- thee- well, bark ! farewell I 



Proudly the flashing billow tho 
The breeze yet follows thco ' 

AVho now of .-storms hath dreai 
And yet the deejj is strong ! 



I hast cleft, 
ith cbecr an 




The education to happiness is 
a possible tiling— not to a happi- 
ness supposi-d to rtst on enjoy- 
ments of any kind, but to one 
1 content and resignation. This is the best 
■t of philosophy. This enters into the " wisdom " spo- 
1 of in the Scriptures. Now it can be taught The 
con\'crse is taught every d:>y and all day long. Captiousness, 
sensitiveness, and a Martha-like care for the things of this world 
are often the direct fruits of education. . . . 

As a man lives more with himself than wiih art, science, 
or even with his fellows, a wise teacher, having before him the 
intent to make a happy-minded man of his pupil, will try to lay 

a groundwork of divine contentment in him 

We must not imagine that too much stress can well be laid 
upon the importance of educiition to contentment, for it comes 
under the head of those things that are not adjuncts or acquisi- 
tions for a man, but which form the texture of his being. What a 
man has learned is of iinporiaiice, but what he is, what he can do, 
what he will become, are more significant things. Finally, it may 
be remarked, that to make education a great work, we must have the educa- 
tors great; that book-learning is mainly good as it gives us a chance of com- 
ing into the company of greater and better minds than the average of men 
around us; and that individual greatness and goodness are things to be aimed 
at rather than the successful cultivation of those talents which go to form some 
eminent membership of society. Each man is a drama in himself; has to 
play all the parts in it, to be king and rebel, successful and \-an<iuished, free 
and slave ; and needs a bringing up fit for the universal creature that he is. 





From liis lips, ere lln 
Till; yelling luujrlitt-r 



AT BABYLON. 
felS(CARCK h;id the terrible hias])lieniy rolk-.l 

e the nionarcli at lie;irt w,i 
s hushed, and all 
Was still as death in the royal hall. 
And sec ! and set- ! on the white wall hij;h 
The form of a hand went slowly by, 
And wrote, and wrote on the broad wall wl 
Letters of fire, and vanished in night. 
I'ale as death, with a steady stare 
And with trenibliny knees, the king sat the 
The magicians came, but of them all 
None could read the flame-seript on the wa 
But that same night. In all his pride, 
By the hands of his servants Belshazzar die 



DAFFODILS. 
1 WANiiKKED luiidy as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
Whfn all at once i saw a crowd, 

A host of golden dafibdils, 
Beside ihe lake, beneath the trees, 
p"lutlering and danciny in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle in the milky way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a b;iy ; 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: 

A i>oet could not but be gay 
In such a jocund company : 

I gazed and gazed, but little thought 

Wiiat wealth the show to me had brought. 

For oft when on my couch 1 lie. 

In vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude. 
And then my heart with pleasure fills. 
And dances with the daffodils. w 





T!ie silence at 
lilt a moment's 
tlioujjlit itiiiiiuls lis (if tile siiii[ili.- fart that iii;uiy of those wild 
iiiui artless stnihis ufic afuT ;ill Init tlic utterance iif one happy 
ineBKLigo to the earth. The full sweet sonj; nf hirds, with few 
exceptions, is to lie heard in perlcction only durinjj the season of nesting and 
rearinjf the young. Heni:e the seemingly sudden, bat really gradual, quiet that 
falls upon the woods. But, in truth, the great song of earth to heaven never 
ceases; wander where we will in these pleasant domains, if the ear be but 
rightly in tunc, one may catch in ever falling or rising cadence soft and happy 
echoes of peace and joy rising as in a cloud towards the summer sky. The 
hum, the murmur, the whisper of the meadow grass or the waving corn, the 
all-pervading sound of multitudinous insect life, the faint rustle of the wander- 
ing breeze among the far-off tree-tops, the still fainter music of the streamlet 
in the next hollow, 

■' Tiiiit to llie quiet Woods all ni-lil 
Singeth n (|uiet lime," 

all these, together, float dreamily through the balm\- air, and j-ct tell us that 
the songs of summer never die. Even the silence lias a voice. Happy they 
who can so join in it here in this world of changing sun and shade that they 
may know at last of the deeper mystery and the yet grander song of another 
and a greater life. w. c. johns. 

»9 




Nature, in all its fulness, is the Lords. 
There are no genlile oaks, no pagan pines ; 
The grass beneath our feet is Christian grass, 
The wayside weed is sacred unto him. 

We are but human plants, with power to shut 
In upon self our own impoverished lives. 
Refusing light and growth. Unthankful I y 
We flaunt our blossoms in the face of heaven. 
As if they overshone the eternal Sun 
That is our inspiration ; as if we 
Sat in ourselves, and decked ourselves with flowej 
An infinite Uttlcness of vanity. 
God is our need, a Presence and a Life. 
Without him thought is soulless; rapture blind; 
Duty a lifelong bondage ; love thin air. 
Through him alone is man a living soul, 
Through him alone is earth the bride of heaven. 

Here in thy great world-garden, Lord, we stand. 
And thou, whose trees we are, who art our Sun, 
Hast once descendetl to our roots of being, 
And bloomed and breathed in our humanity, 
That we might be iis thou, and know no death. 
The life we live is thine, not ours. We bloom 
To gladden earth with sacrifice like thine, 
So clad in thy white robes of righteousness. 
Keep us ! for here the blossoms blight so fast ! 
The fruit is flawed in turning from thy beams 
To the biting east, to folly and to sin. 
And let all trees, the wildings of the wood. 
And grafts of rarest culture, waft thee praise ! 




UBLIME but neither bleak nor bare 
Nor mistj are the mountains there. 
Soltly sublime profusely f;iir, 
Lp to their suminiis clothed in green 
And fruiHul ab the \ales between. 

They lit,htlv rise, 

And scile the skies. 
And groves and gardens still abound ; 
While chestnut green and olive gray 
Chet^uer the steep and winding way. 




ANGEL CHOIRS. 
■ Lord their j)raises brinning, 

Aiigd choirs on high are singing, 
i Yielding him in royal beauty 

Heart and voice in love and duty : 
-t? Waving wings the throne surrounding. 
T* Timbrels, harps, and belU are sounding. 

See their heavenly vestments glisti^n. 
, To their heavenly music listen : 

Hear them, by the Godhead staying, 
" Holy, holy, holy!" saying. 
None that grieveth or complaineth 
In that heavenly land remaincth : 
Every voice in concord joining. 
Hi'ly praise to God combining. 
I ! . ly love their minds disposeth ; 
iJL-avenly light to all discloseth. 
Blessed three in God united, 
Seraphs worshipping delighted, 

ft .iffection overflowing ; 
Cherubim their reverence showing. 
Bowing low, their pinions folding, 
God's majestic tlirone beholding. 
Oh, wliat lair and heavenly region ! 
Oh, what bright and glorious legion ! 
Saints and angels all excelling 
In that glorious chy dwelling 
Which in rest divine reposeth 
And sweet light and peace discloseth. 
Every one who there rcsideth 
Qad in purity abideth. 
Charity their spirits joining. 
Firm in unity combining ; 
Toil nor ignorance undergoing, 
Trouble nor temptation knowing. tkomas a KKMn 




PERSON should go out upon llie water on a fijif day lo a 
■ short distance from a beautiful coast if he would sei 
JlQ really .smile, N<:vcr does she look so joyous as when the 
^'^i' sun is liri>;htly roHfctcd by tho waters, wliilf the waves arc rip- 
pling gentlv. anil the scene receives lite and animation here and 
there from the glancing transit of a rowboat ajul the quieter mo- 
tion of ;i few small vessels. But the land niust he well in sight, 
y for its own .sake, but because the vastness aii<l awfulness of a mere 
t would ill sort with llie other parts of the gay and glittering prospect. 



— ■ — ^At his side there sped 
The golden spirit, whose yellow har\ests trail 

Across the continents and fringe the isles 

And freight men's argosies whereer they sail : 

Oh, what a wealth of sheaves lie there outspread ! 

Came the dear spirit whom earth doth love the best. 
Fragrant of clover blooms and nc«-mown hay. 

Beneath whose mantle weary ones find rest, 
On whose green skirts the little children play : 

She bore the food our jiatienC cattle crave. 




The qualilicationti required 
for a perfect naturalist are as 
many and as lofty as' were re- 
quired by old chivalrous writers 
for tlie perfect knight-errant of 
the middle ages ; for our perfect 
naturalist should be strong in 
body, able to haul a dredge, 
A rock, turn a boulder, walk all day, uncertain where he shall 
it ; ready to face sun and rain, wind and frost, and to eat or 
ink thankfully anything, however coarse or meagre; he should 
V how to swim for his life, to pull an oar, sail a boat, and ride 
the first horse that comes to hand. For his moral character he must, 
like a knight of old, be first of all gentle and courteous, ready and 
able to ingratiate himself with the poor, the ignorant, and the sav- 
age because he knows how much valuable information can 

only be obtained from fishermen, miners, hunters, and tillers of the 
soil. Next, he should be brave and enterprising, and withal patient and un- 
daunted: not merely in travel but in investigation, knowing that the kingdom 
of nature, like the kingdom of heaven, must be taken by violence, and that 
only to those who knock long and earnestly does the great mother open the 
doors of her sanctuary. He must be of a reverent turn of mind also, giving 
nature credit for an inexhaustible fertility and variety which will keep him his 
life long always reverent, yet never superstitious ; wondering at the commonest, 
but not surprised by the most strange, .... able to see grandeur in the 
minutest objects, beauty in the most ungainly, estimating each thing, .... 
spiritually, by the amount of divine thought revealed to him therein: .... 
believing that every pebble holds a treasure, every bud a revelation, making it 
a point of conscience to pass over nothing through laziness or hastiness, lest 
the vision once offered and despised .'should be withdrawn, and looking at 
every object as if he were never to behold it again. c. kimsslev. 





JND as he was yet a-coming, the devil threw liini down and tare him." 
Oh, he not discouninL-d, though the d(--vil throw you down and tear 
you as you are coniinjj. Here is a Saviour ready to hft up when 
the devil tlirows down ; ready to heal when the devil tears ; ready 
to hel]) all that are hurt by the old serpent. It is his trade to de- 
stroy the works of the devil. Fear not the hon of hell ; here is the 
Lion of the tribe of Judah to defend you ; it is unbehef and depart- 
ing from Christ that may brinij yuu to the greatest danger; therefore, Fear 
not, only believe. tuosias KHSKrxn. 

Because thou art often strongly tempted, tliou must not think that all is 
lost. Thou art man, not Ciod ; a spirit fallen, not a jmre angel. 




A HANinT!, of red sand, from 
the hot cliniL- 
Of Arab deserts brought. 
Within this glass becomes ihe s|iy of Time, 
The minister of tliought. 



How many weary centuries lias it been 
About those deserts blown ! 
How many strange vicissitudes has seen, 
How many histories known ! 

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare, 

Crushed it beneath their tread ; 
Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air 

Scattered it as they sped. 

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth 

Held close in her caress, 
Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith 

Illumed ihe wilderness. 



, that from Bassora's gate 
A\'ith westward steps depart ; 
Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of fate 
And resolute in heart. 



These have passed over it, or may have passed ! 

Now in this crj'stal tower, 
Imprisoned bv some curious hand at last, 

It counts^ tile passing hour. 




Scattered by a strong lieliglit 
Into fragments musical. 

Stir and shig in every busli ; 
By tliy silver founts th:U fall, 
As if tw entice the stars at nipht 

To thine heart : by grass and rush, 
And little weeds the children pull, 
Mistook for flowers ! 

Oh, beautiful 
Art thou, earth, albeit worse 
Than in heaven is called good t 
Praised be the mosses soft 
In thy forest pathways oft. 
And the thorns, which make us think 
Of the thornless river-brink 

Where the ransomed tread ; 
Prais6d be thy sunny gleams, 
And the storm, that worketh dreams 

Of calm unfinished. 





OU shall look out upon a Rray, frnsten earth and'a gray, cliill- 
ing sky. The trees stretch forth naked branches imploringly. 
The air pinrhcs and pierces yon, a homesick desolation clasps 
around your shivering, shrinking heart — and then God works 
a miracle. The windows of heaven are opened and there 
conies forth a blessing. The gray skv unlocks her treasures, 
and softness and whiteness and warmth and beauty float gent- 
ly down upon the evil and the good. Through all the long 
while you sleep, the work goes noiselessly on. Earth puts off her 
ind when the morning comes she stands before you in the white 
robes of a saint. The sun hallows her with illuminating touch and she is glo- 
rified. There is no longer on her pure brow anything common or unclean. 
The Lord God hath wrapped her about with light as with a garment. His di- 
vine charity hath covered the multitude of her sins, and there is no scar or 
stain, no "mark of her shame," no "seal of her sorrow." The far-off hills 
swell their white purity against the pure blue of the heaven. The sheeted splen- 
dor of the fields sparkles back a thousand suns for one. The trees lose their 
nakedness and misery and desolation, and every slenderest twig is clothed 
upon with a glory. All the roofs are blanketed with snow, all the fences are 
bordered. Every gate-post is statuesque ; every wood-pile is a marble quarry. 
Harshest outlines are softened. Instead of angles and rnggedness and squalor, 
there are billowy, fleecy undulations. Nothing so rough, so common, so ugly, 
but it has been transfigured into newness of life. 

And there is a deeper beauty than this. It is not only that the snow makes 
fair what was good before, but it is a messenger of love from heaven, bearing 
glad tidings of great joy. Hope for the future comes down lo earth in every 
tiny snow-flake. Underneath, as they span the hillside and lie lightly piled 
in the valleys, the earth-spirits and fairies arc ceaselessly working out their 
manifold plans. The grasses hold high carnival safe under their crystal roof. 
The roses and lilies keep holiday. gail Hamilton. 

28 




■♦[ERU.SALKM was pret'mincntly a mountain city, surrounded on all 
■ sides by hills, and with liilis, famous and sacred beyond all others, 
its own site. Looking out at the (lennatli gate on the north 
of Zion, the Almond pool, near at hand, refreshed the eye. Be- 
yond it, across a little valley, slightly to the northwest, near the 
Jaffa road, was Psephinos. one of the castles by which the city was 
at once defended and overawed. It rose in an octagon high Into 
the clear blue, showing from its battlements the whole sweep of the 
country from the seacoast to beyond the Dead Sea, and from the 
far north away towards Edom on the south. Its natural features, its history, 
and its religious associations united to endear it to the Jew. Even in the first 
days of its conquest, to love it was held an earnest of good, and to-day the 
fondest desire of a goodly Israelite is that he may die within its gates, or at 
least that some of its earth may be sprinkled over his coffin. 




Ascend, beloved, to the joy ; 

The fcstal day has come ; 
To-night the Lamb doth feast his own. 
To-night he with his bride sits down. 
To-night puis on the spousal crown. 

In the great upper room. 

Ascend, beloved, to the love ; 

This is the day of days; 
To-night the bridal song is sung, 
To-night the thousand harps are strung, 
In sympathy with heart and tongue. 
Unto the Lamb's high praise. 
Ascend, beloved, to the life: 

Our days of death are o'er ; 
Mortality has done its worst. 
The fetters of the tomb are burst. 
The last has now beconif the first. 

For ever, evermore. 
Ascend, beloved, to the feast ; 

Make haste, the day is come ; 
Thrice blest are they the Lamb doth call 
To share the heavenly festival. 
In the new Salem's palace hall, 
Our everlasting home. 









'^^ i'-^^ eniotioiis which an angel 

i^^l clouti fi(wt likf lishes in thf 

as ;i sliori.-, I look out into th;it 

transfurm:ition!i : the active eiichantmci 



ifics by its luvdini-ss, and without any 
.1 benefit. I see tlie sjic-cladc of morning from 
house, from daybreak to sunrise, with 
litjht share. The long slender bars of 
wi of crimson light. From the earth, 
lent sea. I seem to partake its rapid 
: reacln:s my dust, and I dilate and 



conspire with the morning wind The dawn is my Assyria, the sunset and 

moonrise my Paphos and unimaginable realms of faerie; broad noon shall 
be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my 
Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams. 

The inhabitants of cities suppose diat the country landscape is pleasant 
only half the year. I please myself with the graces of the winter scenery, and 
beheve that we are as much touched by it as by the genial influences of sum- 
mer. To the attentive eye each moment of the year has its own beauty, and 
in the same field it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, 
and which never shall be seen again. The heavens change every moment, 
and reflect their glory or gloom on the plains beneath. The state of the crop 
in the surrounding farms alters the expression of the earth from week to week. 
The succession of native plants in the pastures and roadsides, which makes 
the silent clock by which time tells the summer hours, will make even the di- 
visions of the day sensible to a keen observer. The tribes of birds and insects, 
like the plants punctual to their lime, follow each other, and the year has 
room for all. ksierson, 





^HE day of the Lord is at hand, at hand. 

Its storms roll up the sky : 
A nation sleeps starving on heaps of gold, 

All dreamers loss and sigh : 
The night is darkest before the dawn, 
When the pain is sorest the child is bom, 

And the day of the Lord at hand. 

Gather you, gather you, angels of God — 

Freedom and mercy and truth ; 
Come ! for the earth is grown coward aiid old, 

Come down and renew her youth ; 
Wisdom, self-sacrifice, daring, and love. 
Haste to the battlefield, sloop from above. 

To the day of the Lord at liand. 
Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell — 

Famine and plague and war: 
Idleness, bigotry, cant, and misrule, 

Gather and fall in the snare ! 
Hirelings and mammonites, pedants and knaves, 
Crawl to the battlefield, sneak to your graves. 

In the day of the Lord at hand! 
Who would sit down and sigh for a lost age of gold. 

While the Lord of all ages is here? 
True hearts will leap up at the trumpet of God. 

And those who can suftir can dare : 
Each old age of gold wa.-i an iron age too, 
And the meekest of s:iints may find stern work to do 

In the day of the Lord at hand. c. kings 




GYPT h:is in all ages been the nalurid place of refuge for all who 
- were driven from Palestine by distress, persecution, or discontent. 
^[C Rhinocolura, the river of Egypt, or as Miiton, with his usual ex- 
quisite and learned accuracy, calls it, 

" The brook that parts 
Kgypt from Syrian ground," 
rnight have been reached by the fugitives in three days ; and once 
Upon the further bank, they were beyond the reach of Herod's jurisdiction. 



xe:. 




Your voiceless lips, O flowers! 
4 are living preachers. 

\ Each cup a pulpit and each 

^ ^C '^3fa book, 

t(fo '*%iV^ Supplying to my fancy numer- 



ous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 



Fl ral apostles that m de \y splendor 

'■ Weep without woe, and blush without a crime," 

Oh, may 1 deeply learn, and ne'er surrender 
Your love sublime! 

Not useless are yc, flowers ! though made for pleasure ; 

Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night. 
From everv source your sanction bids me treasure 

Harmless delight. 

Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary 
For such a world of thought could furnish scope? 

Each fading calyx a memcnio mori. 
Yet fount of hope) 

Posthumous glories ! aiigel-Iike collection. 

Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth : 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection 

And second birth. 

Were I in churchless solitudes remaining, 
Far from all voice of teachers or divines. 

My soul would find in flowers, of God's ordaining, 

Priests, sermons, shrines. Horace smiti 




/ 




^HANK riu.i for pleasant ^ 

ChLint il, 
And clap your hnnds ingcthei 

Ye exulting hills. 
Thank him, teeming valley, 

Thank him. fruitinl plum. 
Fur the golden sunshine 

And the silver rain! 
Thank God. of good the giver! 

Shout it, sportive breeze. 
Respond, O tuneful river. 

To the nodding trees. 
Thank him, bud and birdhng, 

As ye grow and sing, 
Mingle in thanksgiving, 

Kvery living thing! 



Universal nature 

Revets in her birth. 
When God, in pleasant weather. 

Smiles upon the earth. 




*" ■^ic^'^ F I were asked to name one plant 
as typical of the color and fragrance 
of the sweet spring season, what other 
could it be than that modest and sin- 
,■ beloved one, the lily of the valley ? I know not 
ulieilicr it is from some dear early association, from hav- 
ing; sut'ii one who is gone to her rest long ago arranging 
tlift^c lliiwers that were her favorites, and setting them in 
Kii waicr on her work-table, to be companions for her in 
.■-gnne in'inths of May, but it is certain that of all the flow- 
;. (hat grciw, this little one most surely touches the tender- 
est place in my heart. And every year when the time eomes 
for its blossoming, and when first I find it in the cool and 
shady spots that suit it besl, there comes a film of moisture 
across my ev-es not quite consistent with die hardness of per- 
iiihood. Where in the world can there be anything 
more perfect than these lilies of the valley ? Look at their 
II leaves, outlined so delicately, just two of them, perfect as 
■% " , the wings of a bird, and the few white bells that tremble on 

the slender stalk, shedding the sweetest perfume. Be sure 
that here we have one of nature's most complete conceptions. You may look 
upon a mountain and wish that it were loftier or more precipitous, upon a river 
and wish that it were clearer, upon a tree and desire for it some further spread- 
ing of its boughs, some richer filling of its foliage ; but you cannot look upon 
a hly of the valley and wish it to be other than it is. Only one addition is 
possible, and that is given in the cool of the early morning, when there hangs 
upon each of those fairy bells one pure, bright drop of dew. It is curious that 
a plant so humble and so sweet as this should have had a great reputation for 
giving strength to the weary and the weak, but our forefathers distilled from it 
a miraculous water, the " golden water," as they called it. 





^Ij^HILOSOPHY has become Christian ; science has knelt to Christ. 
" There is a deep significance in that homage of the Magians. 

For it in fact was but a specimen and type of that *hich science 
has been doing ever since. The inind of Christ has not only entered 
into the temple and made it the house of prayer, it has entered into 
the temple of science and purified the spirit of philosophy. This is its spirit 
now as expounded by its chief interpreter. " Man, the interpreter of nature, 
knows nothing, and can do nothing, except that which nature teaches him." 
What is this but science bending reverently before the Child, becoming child- 
like, and, instead of projecting its own fancies upon God's world, listening rev- 
erently to what it has to teach him? k. w. robkrtson. 




HOU hastenest down the hills to meet me at the road. 
The secret scarcely lisping of thy beautiful abode 
Among the pines and mosses of yonder shadowy height. 
Where thou dost sparkle into song and till the woods with 
light. 

The traveller crossing the rude bridge, dear brook, would 

never guess 
From thy staid movement through the fields thy mountain 
loveliness ; 
Thou wanderest among weeds and grain in commonplace disguise, 
Most happy to evade the glance of undiscerning eyes. 

happy soul ! thy song is sweet upon the mountain-side, 
The trees bend over thee, in league to stay thy downward tide; 
The wild arbutus, flushed with haste, trails close to make appeal 
For brief delay, and after her the wet -eyed violets steal. 

And thou respondest humanly, almost, to human thought. 
Soothing the silent pain wherewith a stranger meddleth not; 
Healing sick fancies from thy clear life's overflowing cup, 
And winning flagging foot and heart for ever up and up. 

1 will not name the hills that meet to hold thee hand in hand, 

The summits leaning towards thy voice, the mountain, lone and grand. 

That looks across to welcome thee into the open light: 

Be hidden, O my brook, from all save love's anointed sight ! 

Yet I am glad that every year, and all the summer long, 

Some wayfarers will seek thy side and listen to thy song. 

And feel their hearts bound on with thine over the rocks of care ; 

With such as these, through shade and shine, thy friendship will I share. 




Let us carry ourselves 
back, in spirit, to the niystcri- ■; 
ous Week, the teejiiing work- .'■y 
days of the Creator, as they . 
rose in vision before the t'VL-of the 
the generations of the heaven ami the e.irtli. in tlic d 
that "the Lord Cud made tlie earth and the hta\ 
And who that iias watchi^d thtir iiays wiili ;in i I r 
standing heart, could, as tlie vision evolviiii; sli I i 
vanced towards him. contL-mjilate the filial and I 
bee; tliehoine-building, wedded, and ciivorceiess a 
low ; and above all the manifoldly intelligent ant ir be 
with their commonwealths and confederacies, their ir 
riors and miners, the husbandfolk, that fold in the r I ny 
flocks on tlie honeyed leaf, antl the virgin sisters w ih 
the holy instincts of maternal love, detached and in sell 
less purity, and not say to himself Behold the sha low 
of approaching humanity, the sim rising from beh nd 
in the kindling morn of creation! Thus all I ver 
natures find their highest good in semblances and eck 
ings of that which is higher and belter. All th ngs 
strive to ascend, and ascend in their striving. And 
shall man alone stoop ? Shall his pursuits and dcs res "^ 

the reflections of his inward life, be like the rellecte I 

image of a tree on the edge of a pool, that grows dow arl and seeks a mock 
heaven in the unsuitable element beneath it, in neighborl o 1 \ tl the si m 
water-weeds and oozy bottom-grass that are yet better d n t ell a In ore 
noble, in as far as substances that appear as shadows are preferible to sl adows 
mistaken for substance! No ! it must be a higher good to make you happy. 
While you labor for anything below your proper humanity, you seek a happy 
life in the region of death. Well saith the moral poet, 
■' Unless above himself he can 
Erect liimseir, how mean a thing Is 





Fair daffodils, we weep to see 

Vou haste away so suon : 
As yet the early rising sun 
Has not attained its noon : 
Stay, stay, 
Until ihe hastering day 

Has run 
But to the even -song. 

And having prayed together we 
Will go with you along. 

We have shnrt lime as you to stay. 

We have as brief a spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 

As you, or anything. 

As your hours do, and dry 
Away 

Like to the summer's rain, 
Or as the pearls of morning dew, 

Ne'er to be found again. 



These are thy wonders, Lord of love, 

To make us see we are but flowers that glide ; 
Which when we once can find and prove. 
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. 
Who would be more. 
Swelling through store, 
Forfeit their paradise by their pride. 




/ ND so Jesus came, and with him and in him heaven's own light and 
peace. It could not have been long after his arrival— it must have 
been almost immediately — that the sisters felt they had received 
more than an angel unawares. How best to do him honor was 
equally the thought of both. alkrko edkrshkim. 



And now, worshipper sg; 
of final causes and the 
ful in nature, answer 
but one question: Why this prodigal 
^i^iij variety? .... Of all unfathomable tri- 
umphs of design, what surpasses that by which 
llic scales on a butterfly's wing are arranged to 
produce a certain pattern of artistic beauty beyond 
all painttr's skill ? What a waste of power, on any 
utilitarian theory of nature! Mystery inexpli- 
cable on the conceited notion that this variety 
i has existed for countless ages in 
1 SLa-depths and untroddi 
only that some few individuals might at 1. 
■ and admire a corner here and 
there of ilie boundless realms of beau- 
ty-. Inc.\|ilicable, truly, if man be the 
aiitl ■.he object of their existence 
explicable enough to him who believes that 
s crcatL-d all things for himself and rejoices 
in his own handiwork, and that the material universe 
is, as the wise man says, "A platform whereon His 
eternal Spirit sparts and makes melody." Of all the 
blessings which the study of nature brings to the 
patient observer, let none, perhaps, be classed 
higher than this^that the farther he enters 
■J tliuse fairy gardens of life and 
birth which Spenser 
V and described 
in his great poem, 
? more he learns die awful and yet 
niforMble trmh, that they do not belong to him 
but to One greater, wiser, lovelier than he; and as he stands, silent with awe, 
amid the pomps of nature's ever-busy re.st. hears, as of old, " The word of 
the Lord God, walking among the trees of the garden in the cool of the day." 






LEAVING PORT. 



f AIR ship, that from the Italian shore 

Saili'st Ihc placid ocoan-plains 
With my lost Arthur's Imcd remains, 
Sprtfud ihy full winjijs and waft him o'er. 

So draw him home to those that mourn 
In vain ; a favorable s])eed 
Ruffle ihy mirrored mast, and load 

Throu^li prosperous floods his holv urn. 

All night no ruder air perplex 
Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright 
As our pure love, through early light 

Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. 

Sphere all your lights around, above; 

Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow ; 

Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, 
My friend, the brother of my love : 

My Arthur, whom I shall not see 
Till all my widowed race be run ; 
Dear as the mother to the son. 

More than my brothers arc to me. 




A : y There never yet was flower 

A>?4jJ^ fiiir in vain. 

Let classic poets rhyme it 
as they will ; 
The seasons toil that it may 
blow again, 
And summer's heart doth 
feel its every ill ; 
Nor is a true soul ever born for naught : 

Wherever any such hath lived and diet] 
Theru hai.i been something for true freedom wi 

Some Ijjlwark levelled on the evil side. 
Toil on, then, Greatness! then act in the right, 
However narrow souls may call thee wrong, 
as thou wouldst be in thine own clear sight. 
And so thou shalt be in the world's erelong; 
Far n-orJdlings cannot, struggle as they may, 
From man's great soul one great thought hide 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 

When thou, for all thy gold, so common art; 

Thou teachest me to deem 

More sacredly of every human heart. 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 

Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom, look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 







AISING his eyes, perhaps from a reverie of sorrow, Jesus at a 
glanct took in the significance of the whole scene. At that 
moment a poor widow timidly dropped in her litde contribu- 
tion Jesus was pleased with the faithfulness and the self- 
sacrificing spirit of the gift. y. w, FAumn. 

45 




Rest in thy litde cot. 

Lulled by a pleasing dream, 
Like sunny, murmuring stream 

Of depth tliou knowest not : 

111 wnrm and rosy sleep, 

Smiling, as though no harm could near 

thee creep. 
Smile, baby ! Thou art wise, 
Forecasting sadder days. 
Mt'jj say, " Life mocks our gaze; 
Tears after smiles arise : 
This earth yields little now 
Tempting our race to mirth or careless brow." 
Smile, baby ! Well for thee 
No sinful memories cloud 
Thy fresh young heart, or shroud 
The heaven we strive to see ; 
No fear of grief unknown 
Forces from thee a tear or bitter moan. 
Smile on, in soothing dream 
Of happier worid than ours, 
A paradise of flowers 
Where peace may ever beam ; 
By death and sin untrod, 

Chilled by no poisonous breath, they trust in God. 
Smile, baby ! Could we change 
Again to be like thee. 
Innocent still, and free 
From what may heaven estrange : 
To see angds, the while, 
Guarding our infancy, we too might smile. 






NTO a ck'M.L 



,vith ilic drifu'ti snow, 
into a weary land 

Our truant footsteps ijo; 
Yet doth ll)y care, O Katlier, 

Ever tliy wamierers kec|t: 
Still (loth tliy love, I) Sliepherd, 

Follow thy sheep. 

Over the pathless wild 

Him who shall hear me hark. 

Him who siiall lead me home i* 
Listen I between the slorni-jjUBts, 



Comes not the cheering whisper, 

Over me he is hending, 

Now I can safely rest. 
Found at the last, and clinging 

Close to the Shepherd's breast ; 
So let me lie till the Ibld-bells 

Sound on the homeward track, 
And the rejoicing angels 

Welcome us back ! 



DiBiNCi two hundred years the s 

shaped iiiid nourished the English 
C -"- mind. Greek and Latin fountains 
ot philosophy and grace Howed into 
poetry from the pulpit. Shakespere 
lyht h:iVL* picki.ll up crumbs of Plato and Euripides from 
L- orator of Foul's Cross. Tlie preacher had a religious 
d an instructive charatter. He entertained that he might 
e the hearer. He unfolded the grandeur of a proph- 
ecy or the comfurt of an epistle, and alarmed the conscience 
or bound up a wounded heart : he brought tidings of for- 
U^^ V-\ ] eign learning to the scholar, of discoveries to the naturalist, 

Ti^^^^^ Y and of manners to the people, and thus he won the ears of 

the thoughtful, the inquisitive, and the idle 

Amusement is only the accident of our early eloquence. 
In (fevotion, Jearm'ng, argument, and imagination it is un- 
equalled. It comes warm from the Bible. The irradiated 
mind shoots a glory into the commonest word, and Chris- 
tian duties are drawn with so much patience of love and em- 
bellishment that later pens seem to produce faint and imperfect copies. 

Imagine Uonne reappearing in the Chapel of Lincoln's Inn with one of 
the discourses which he delivered to the society of 1618. Let him exhibit, in 
all its fulness, that manifold style which was the delight of his friends and of 
the crowds, the imperial logic, the gorgeous perspective of imagery, the poem 
in a word, the melting pathos, the rapturous piety, and the splendor of lan- 
guage that flowed over the argument and adorned it, like a crimson mantle 
upon armor. The fervor of the old eloquence is needetl to strike heat into 
the sinner. Gehazi might have laid Elisha's staff for ever upon the Shunam- 
mite's child. The eyes open only to the prophet's call. 






^IIE stood breast high amid the corn, 

Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the sun. 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

" Sure." I said, " heaven did not mean 
Where I reap thou shoiildst but glean ; 
Lay thy sheaf adown and come. 
Share my harvest and my home," 




Have you not heard the poets tell 
How came the dainty Baby Bel! 

Into this world of ours? 
The gates of heaven were left ajar ; 
With folded hands and dreamy eyes. 
Wandering out of paradise, 
She saw this planet, like a star, 
Hung in the glistening depths of even — 
Its bridges, running to and fro, 
O'er which the white-winged angels go^ 
Bearing the holv dead to heaven. 
She touched a bridge of flowers — those feet, 
So light they did not bend the bells 
Of the celestial asphodels, 

They fell like dew upon the flowers : 
Then all the air grew strangely sweet ! 
And thus came dainty Baby Bell 

Inio this world of ours. 
She came and brought delicious May ; 
The swallows built beneath the eaves. 
Like sunlight, hi and out the leaves 
The robins went the hvelong day: 
The lily swung its noiseless bell, 

And oer the porch the trembling vine 
Seemed bursting with its veins of wine. 
How sweetly, softly, twilight fell ! 
Oh, earth was full of singing birds 
And opening springtide flowers. 
When the dainty Hab\' Hell 
Came to this world of ours ! 



teS':®^ 



tW^ 




li^EGlON of life and light, 
K^^^ Land of ihe good whose earthly toils arc o'er ; 

^^ Nor frost nor heat may blight 
^^, Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore, 
B»^ Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore! 

There, without crook or shng, 

Walks the Good Shepherd : blossoms, while and red, 
Round his meek temples cling; 

And to sweet pastures led. 

His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed. 

He guides, and near him they 

Follow delighted : for he makes them go 

Where dwells eternal May, 
And heavenly roses blow, 
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow. 

He leads them to the height. 

Named of the infinite and long-sought Good, 

And fountains of delight. 
And where his feet have stood 
Springs up along the way their tender food. 




JjATIENT she is, and Iractable. though wild: 
And innocence hath privilege in her 
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes 
And feats of cunning and the pretty round 
Of trespasses, affected to proi'oke 

Mock chaslisetncnt and partnership in play. 

And, as a fagot sparkles on the hearth, 

Not less if unattended and alone 

Than when both young and old sit gathered round 

And lake delight in its activity, 

Even so this hajijiy creature of herself 

Is all-sufficient ; solitude to her 

Is bUthe society, who fills the air 

With gladness and involuntary songs. 

Light are her sallies as the tripping lawn's 

Forth startled from the fern where she lay couched ; 

Unthought of, unexpected as the stir 

Of the soft breeze rufRing the meadow flowers, 

Or from before it chasing wantonly 

The many-colored images impressed 

Upon the bosom of a placid lake. 





fHE miller dreams not at what cost 
The quivering millstones hum and whirl, 
Nor how (or every turn are tossed 
Armfuls of diamond and of pearl, 
f No more than doth the miller there, 
Shut in our several cells, do we 
Know with what waste of beauty rare 
Moves every day's machinery. 




ROM morn till evening's purple tinge 
In winsome helplessness she lies ; 
Two rose k-avcs, with a silken fringe. 
Shut softly on her starry eyes. 

There's not in Ind a lovelier bird, 
Broad earth owns not a happier nes 

O God, thou hast a fountain stirred 
Whose waters nevermore shall rest 



This beautiful, mysterious thing, 
This seeming visitant from heaven, 

This bird with the immortal wing, 
To me, to me Thy hand has given. 

This pulse first caught its tiny stroke. 

This blood its crimson hue. from mine; 
This life which I have dared invoke. 

Henceforth is parallel with Thine. 
A silent awe is in my room. 

1 tremble with delicious fear, 
The future, with its light and gloom. 

Time and eternity, is here. 

Doubts, hopes, in eager tumult rise ; 

Hear, O my God, one earnest prayer: 
Room for my bird in paradise, 

And give her angel plumage there. 





-^^^ 




ITitid [ilk with ihL 

In tlic bfiiLiiful 5>pnnf, of [Iil > i. ir 
W lien tilt vitikt t,k mis tlimuyh [hi. t,olden sunbeams 

And whispers, " Come look Ibi* me here" — 

In the beautiful spring of the year. 
Come ! I will show you an odorous nook 

Where the censers of morning are swung ; 
Nature will lend you her bell and her book 

Where the chimes of the forest are hung— 

And ihe censers of morning are swung. 
Come and breathe in this heaven-sent air. 

The breeze that the wild bird inhales; 
Come and forget that life has a care. 
In these extjuisite mountain gales — 
The breeze that the wild bird inhales. 
O wonders of God ! O Bounteous and Good ! 

We feel that thy presence is here, 
That thy audible voice is abroad In this wood. 

In the beaudful spring of the year — 

And we know that our Father is here. 

JAMBS T. FIELDS. 
55 




^^^ ES, and it is a subject for amazement. Dull hearts 
(r^^' there may be that have never cared to med- 
itate deej>ly on tiiese mysteries of our salva- 
which the wonder and even per- 
plexity of nobler spirits may have seemed un- 
reasonable or inexplicable. Such there may be. 
but who of higher strain, as he sees and feels 
the infirmities with which he is encompassed, the 
weakness and frailty with which he is clothed, has 
not found himself at times overwhelmed with the con- 
templation of the mystery of Emmanuel — the everhsting 
God — manifested in, yea, tabernacling in, this very mortal 
flesh? This mystery of mysteries, that the Eternal Son 
of the Eternal Father, he whose outgoings had been 
from everlasting, whose hands had laid the bases of the 
hills and spread out the floods, that he should bectmie 
incarnate, should take upon him our nature and our iufir- 
mities— can it be ? Can the world produce a narrative that 
can make such a conception credible? Yes, blessed bu Ciud, 
we have that narrative. With what a noble yet circumstantial 
simplicity -a simplicity that in the language, no less than in the facts related, 
bewrays the record of her who saw and believed — is the opening story told of 
man's redemption ! The angel Gabriel, he who stood among the highest of 
the angel hierarchy, is sent from God to a rude and lone village on the 
hills of Galilse — Nazareth the disestcenicd — and to a betrothed 
virgin, whose name was Mary. Of the early history of that 
highly favored one we know nothing. Yet without borrowing 
one thought from the legendary notices of apocryphal nar- 
, ii does not seem a baseless fancy to recognize in her 
one of those pure spirits that in seclusion and loneliness were 
looking and longing for the theocratic king, and that, deeply 
imbued, as we see the virgin must have been, both with 
the letter and the spirit of the Old Testament, were 
awaiting the evolution of the highest of all its 
transcendent prophecies. rev, c. j. ellicott. 







HE left her pitcher at the well, and to her home returned, 
The welcome words of life to bear that in her full heart burned : 
Her kindred and the stranger's ear alike the news receive 
Of water from a hidden spring the Saviour waits to give. 

Like her of Sychar hast thou drunk of that blest fount? 

Then go, 
Let others learn the priceless gifts that from the waters flow. 
Go forth, and in thy Sa\'iour"s strength thy voice shall yet 
be heard. 
And wandering hearts shall turn and bless a feeble woman's word. 



57 





^ROM a ruin thou art 
Muging, 
O lonely, lontK liird 
The soft blue air is ring 
By thy summer music 
But all is (lark and cold h 
Wht-re harps no more are hi 
■ Whence winn'st ihou that exulting li 
O lonely, lonely bird ? 

Thy song- flows richly swelling 

To a triumph of plad sounds, 
As from its cavern dwcllinij 

A stream in glory bounds! 
Though the castle echoes c.itch i 

Of human step or word. 
Though the fires be quenched and the feasting done, 

O lonely, lonely bird ! 

How can that flood of gladness 

Rush through that fiery lay 
From the haunted place of sadness. 

From the bosom of decay ? 
While dii^e notes on the brei-ne's moan. 

Through the ivy garlands heard. 
Come b'ent with thy rejoicing lone, 

O lonely, lonely bird ! 

There 's many a heart, wild singer, 

Like thy forsaken tower. 
Where joy no more may linger. 

Where love has left his bower ; 
And there 's many a spirit e'en like thee, 

To mirth as lightly stirred. 
Though it soar from ruins in its glee, 

O lonely, lonely bird ! 




liNWARMED by any sune^et lijiht 
The gray day darkened into night, 
A night made hoary with the swarm 
And wliirl-dance of tht blhiding stnrm, 
As zigzag, wavering to and fro. 
Crossed and rccrossed ihe winged snow; 
And ere the early bedtime came 
The white drift piled ihe window frame, 
And through the glass the clothes-line posts 
Looked in like tall and sheeted gliosis. 



The moon above the eastern wood 
Shone at its full : the hill range stood 
Transfigured in the silver flood, 
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, 
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 
Took shadow, or the sombre green 
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 
Against the whiteness at their back. 
For such a world and such a night 
Most fitting that unwiirming light, 
Which only seemed, where'er it fell, 
To make the coldness visible. 




See yonder field with ^ofden plenty bending. 

As swept by summer airs ; 
Among die rustling ears, too closely blending, 
,^„- Are rank and wasteful tares. 

Such is our life : our best and purest pleasures 

Are mixed with sad alloy: 
Aiul few among the soul's most cherished treasures 

liut yield more grief than joy. 
Even affections the most pure and holy, 

The spirit's choicest flowers. 
Are intertwined with weeds of melancholy, 

And shade with gloom our bowers. 

Theie we expect not prizes, but probation; 

Labor, and not repose : 
Our sjifest triumph is some self-ovation. 

And our best gifts our woes. 
Patience a while, the retribution 

Will come, nor tarry long ; 
Each doubt will then receive a clear solution, 

A remedy each wrong. 

Let all grow until harvest, tares still blending 

And dazzling the mocked eye: 
The humbler corn, laden with worth, low bending 

In scorned humility. 
The lares will then no more elude the reapers. 

The fire will have its prey. 
No enemy will mock the expectant sleepers 

Or steal their hopes away. 





liE primrose blooms lor Easter-tide, 
The daffodil for May, 
But June 's the lordly Summer's bride, 
And this her bridal day. 

And who but you. as pure as dew, as true as ye 
are tender, 
So light of heart, should bear your part amid her bridal 
cheer ? 
And who but you, to life so new, should play amid her 
splendor. 
Should rise with loving rapture through the radiance of 




SOLEMN thing it is to me 

To look upon a babe that sleeps, 

Wearing in its spirit deeps 
The undeveloped mystery 

Of our Adam's taint and woe, 
Which, when they developed be, 

Will not let it slumber so ; 
Lying now in life bene^lJi 

The shadow of the coming death. 

O little lids, now folded fast, 
Must ye learn to drop at last 

Our large and burning tears ? 
O warm, quick body, must thou lie. 
When the time comes round lo die, 

Still from all the whirl of years. 
Bare of all the joy and pain? 
small, frail being, wilt thou stand 
At God"s right hand. 
Lifting up those sleeping eyes. 
Dilated by great destinies, 

To an endless waking? thrones and seraphim, 
Through the long ranks of their solemnities. 
Sunning thee with calm looks of heaven's surprise. 

But thine alone on him? 



^m 




■girl rock, Tyre 
Qiicf;ii of Com- 
is a floating pal- 
the midst of the 



gITH this lofty mass of edifices towering o 
might well he thought a fit type of the a 
merce, and the prophet naturally spoke of hei 
ace. as a ship moored by the long strand ; " i 
seas," with her " masts ot cedar," her "sails of fine linen, blue 
and purple, her mariners, rowers, and pilots." There is one point of view in" 
which this whole coast is specially remarkable. " A mournful and solitary 
silence now prevails along the shore which once resounded with the world's 
debate." This sentence, with which Gibbon solemnly closes his chapter on 
the Crusades, well sums up the general impression still left by the six days' 
ride from Beyrout to Ascalon ; and it is no matter of surprise that in this impres- 
sion travellers have felt a response to the strains in which Isaiah and Ezekiel 
foretold the desolation of Tyre and Sidon. In one sense, and that the highest, 
this feeling is just. The Phcenician power which the prophets denounced has 
entirely perished ; even while " the world's debate " of the Middle Ages gave a 
new animation to these shores, the brilliant Tyre of Alexander and Barbarossa 
had no real conneaion with the Tyre of Hiram ; and perhaps no greater stretch 
of imagination in ancient history is required than to conceive how the two small 
towns of Tyre and Sidon, as they now exist, could have been the parent cities 
of Carthage and Cadiz, the traders with Spain and Britain, the wonders of the 
East for luxury and magnificence. In this respect the prophecies of the Hebrew 
seers were a real revelation of the coming fortunes of the world, the more re- 
markable because experience had not yet justified such a result, a. p. Stanley. 

63 



^C%j^... 




Bring flowers to strew in the 

conqueror's path, 
He hath shaken thrones in his 

stormy wrath ! 
He comes with the spoils of na- 
tions back, 
.~j? Tlif viius lie crushed in his chariot's track, 
The tnri looks red where he won the day — 
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way. 

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell ; 

They have tales of the joyous woods to tell, 

Of the free bhie streams and the glowing sky, 

And the bright world shut from his languid eye: 

They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours 

And the dream of his youth — bring him flowers, wild flowers ! 

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear, 
They were born to blush in her shining hair ! 
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth, 
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth, 
Her place is now by another's side — 
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride. 

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, 

A crown for the brow of the early dead ! 

For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst. 

For this in the woods was the violet nursed ; 

Though they smile in \'ain for what once was ours. 

They are love's last gift — bring ye flowers, pale flowers ! 

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer. 

They are nature's offering ; their place is there ; 

They speak of hope to tlie fainting heart. 

With a voice of promise they come and part ; 

They sleep in dust through the «intr\- hours, 

They break forth in glorj — bring flowers, bright flowers ! 



"fel^^^^>-^r-> 




UDDEN and terrible as a dap of 
thuiidtr frum a cloudless sky 
^~> there swejit in before them a 
weird-looking man, with long, 
flowiiijr bair, a mantle of Hheepskiii round 
his slKiuIders, and a rugged staff in his 
hand : and before they could ask him who 
he was or wjiy lii.> li.ul come thilher, be 
had flung the gage of defiance at their feet and said, " As Jehovah tiie God of 
Israel liveth, there shall not be dew or rain these years but according to my 
word." Who was this strange, uncourlly, and defiant visitor? All we know of 
him up till this time is expressed in the words, " Elijah the Tishbite, who was 
of the inhabitants of Gilead." No flourish of trumpets ushers him into the 
presence of royalty, and in like manner no herald precedes him in the sacred 
page to proclaim his parentage or tell the story of his early life. He comes 
here as suddenly into view as if he had just descended from the clouds and 
clothed himself with their thunder as he came, or we might fancy that he had. 
at that moment alighted from the chariot of fire, which, tarrying for him in the 
heavens, was to bear him ultimately from the earth, wm. h. taylor, d. d. 

9 6s 




BOX fixed up in the window of the room where 1 slept was taken 

possession of by :i pair of wrens. Already the nest was built 
and two eijgs kid, when one day the window being open, as well 
as the room door, the female wren, venturing too far to recon- 
noitre, was sprung upon by grimalkin, who had planted herself 
there for the purpose, and before relief could be given was de- 
stroyed. Curious to see how the survivor would demean him- 
self, I watched him carefully for several days. At first he sang 
with great vivacity for an hour or so, but becoming uneasy went off for half an 
hour ; on his return he chanted again as before, went to the top of the house, 
stable, and weeping willow, that she might hear him ; but seeing no appear- 
ance of her, he returned once more, visited the nest, ventured cautiously into 
the window, gazed about with suspicious looks, his voice sinking to a low, 
melancholy note as he stretched his little neck about in every direction. Re- 
turning to the box, he seemed for some minutes at a loss what to do, and soon 
after went off, as I thought, altogether, for I saw him no more that day. To- 
wards the afternoon of the second day he again made his appearance, accom- 
panied with a new female, who seemed exceedingly timorous and shy, and who 
after great hesitation entered the box. At this moment the little widower or 
bridegroom seemed as if he would warble out his very life with ecstasy of joy. 
After remaining half a minute in, they both flew off, but returned in a few 
minutes and instantly began to carry out the eggs, feathers, and some of the 
sticks, supplying the place of the two latter with materials of the same sort, 
and ultimately succeeded in raising a brood of seven young, all of which es- 
caped in safety. 





a 



I (in thy wave. O sea. 

Rolling iipoTi the shore? 
A filful wail 
Of storm-spent gale 

Fmiii afar in thy hollow roar. 
Chahng the rocks 
With ccasek-ss shocks. 

Seethinji the glowing sand ; 
Thy [iiemory dwells 
In echoing shells 

Piled on thy glistening strand. 
Thou singest no praise 
Of bygone days, 

To mock at the present gloom ; 
Mute thou must keep 
On the hours that sleep 

In futurity's awful womb. 
But in every surge 
That plays on thy verge, 

In the ebb or flow on thy shore. 
Come shadows dim 
Of the might in Him 

Who liveth for evermore. 




Beneath these fruit-tree boughs 

that shed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my 

head. 
With brightest sunshine round 
me spread 
Of spring's unclouded weatlicr ; 
In this sequestered nook how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard seat, 
And birds and flowers once more to greet, 
My Inst year's friends together. 

One have I marked, the happiest guest 
In all this covert of ihc blcstr 
Hail to thee, far above the rest 

1 n joy of voice and pinion ! 

Thou, linnet! in ihy green array, 

Presiding spirit here to-day, 

Dost lead the revels of the May, 

And this is thy dominion. 

While birds and butterflies and flowers 
Make all one band of paramours, 
Tiiou, ranging up and down the bowers. 

Art sole in thy employment : 
A life, a presence like the air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care, 
Too blest with any one to pair. 

Thyself thine own enjoyment. 

WILLIAM 





hr\j 



^jTM 



t^'ERHAPS as you look into the fireplace it widens and grows deep 
and cavernous. The back and the jambs are built up of great 
stones, not always smoothly laid, with jutting ledges ujjon which 
ashes are apt to lie. The hearth-stone is an enormous block of 
trap-rock, with a surface not perfectly even, but a capital place to 
crack biittcniuts on. Over the fire swings an iron crane, with a 
row of pothooks of all lengths hanging from it. It swings out 
when the housewife wants to hang on the teaketde, and it is strong enough to 
support a row of pots, or a mammoth caldron kettle on occasion. What a 
jolly sight is this fireplace when the pots and kettles in a row are all boiling 
and bubbling over the flame and a roasting-spit is turning in front! But the 
brilliant sight is in the frosty morning, about daylight, when the fire is made. 
The coals are raked open, the split sticks are piled up in open-work criss- 
crossing, as high as the crane ; and when the fiame catches hold and roars up 
through the interstices, it is like an out-of-door bonfire. How it roars up the 
wide chimney, sending into the air the signal smoke and sparks which an- 
nounce to the farming neighbors another day cheerfully begun ! It is time to 
blow out the candle, which has lost its cheerfiilness in the light of day. The 
daily round begins. charges dudlev warnf.r. 

69 




A-i#rfr -NDER the coolin 
, — i7^^ ""l ■ Where chdinp" str 



e coohng shadow of a stately elm, 
a poodly river's side. 
"M-Sj ' Where ghding streams the rocks did overwhelm — 
V. " A lonely place, with pleasures dignified, 

I once that loved the shadv woods so well, 
Now thought the river did the trees excel, 
And if the sun would shine, there would I dwell. 
While on the stealing stream I fixed my eye, 

Which to the longed-for ocean held its course, 
I marked nor crooks nor rocks that there did lie 
Could hinder aught, but still augment its force. 
O happy flood, quoth I, that holdst thy race 
Till thou arrive al thy beloved place; 
Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace. 
Nor is 't enough that thou alone may'st slide, 

But hundred brooks in thy clear waves do meet ; 
So hand in hand along with thee they glide 

To Thetis' home, where all embrace and greet : 
Thou emblem true of what 1 count the best. 
Oh, could I lead my rivulets to rest ! 
So may we pass to that vast mansion, ever blest. 







BRISK, ij-ile IS oftLti useful espccnlly to tht bhips of desire " (as 
tlie HtbrtM phrasi. is") bo there should be in the soul such a 
warmth and Mtjor as will help to speed us to the desired harbor. 
It IS not well to ht wind bound m dulncss ind indifferency. But 
tempests ire penlous \ei though the wind be iti the right point' 
so are strong passions, even in j^ood men they both hinder the 
voyage and hazard the ship. Such a quickness as consists with 
quietness is what we should all labor after, and meekness will contribute very 
much towards it ; it will silence the noise, control the force, moderate the im- 
petus, and correct all undue and disorderly transports. What manner of grace 
is this, that even the winds and the sea obey it ? If we will but use the author- 
ity God has given us over our own hearts, we may keep the winds of passion 
under the command of religion and reason, and then the soul is quiet, the sun 
shines, all is pleasant, serene, and smiling, and the man sleeps sweetly and 
safely on the lee side. We make our voyage amon^ rocks and quicksands, 
but if the weather be calm we can the better steer so as to avoid them, and 
by a due care and temper hit the mean between extremes; whereas he that 
suffers these winds of passion to get head and spread a large sail before them, 
while he shuns one rock splits upon another, and is in danger of being drowned 
in destruction and perdition by many foolish and hurtful lusts, especially those 
whence " wars and fightings come." m^tthew menkv. 




In every copse and sheltered 
dell 
Unveiled to the observant 

Are faitJiful monitors who tell 



How pass [lie hours and seasons by. 

The fjreen-robed children of the spring 
Will mark the periods as they pass, 

Mingle whh leaves Time's feathered wing, 
And hind with flowers his silent glass. 

Mark where transparent waters glide. 
Soft llowiiig o'er their tranquil bed; 

There, cradled on the dimpling tide, 
Nyniph^ea rests her lovely head. 

But conscious of the earliest beam, 
She rises from her humid rest, 

And sees, reflected in the stream, 
The virgin whiteness of her breast; 

Till the bright day-star to the west 
Dechnes, in ocean's surge to lave; 

Then, folded in her modest vest. 
She slumbers on the rocking wave. 



Thus in each flower and simple bell 

That in our path betrodden lie. 
Are sweet remembrancers who tell 

How last the winged moments fly. 

CHAKLOTTE 5 





WJ SWEETER picture looks from out the lake 
Than hangs within the famed Pinacothek 
Of Munich, or in Dresden's long-drawn halls. 
Before me rise ihe domes and pinnacles 
Of nature's temples to the God of nature 
From his own hand : all shining stainless white 
So as no arc on earth could whiten them. 




^f LOWERS preach to us if we will lea 

The rose saith in the dewy morn, 

" I am most fair, 

\'et all my loveliness is born 

Upon a thorn." 

The poppy saith, amid the corn, 

" Let but my scarlet head appear 

And I am held in scorn ; 

Yet juice of subtle virtue lies 
Within my cup of curious dyes." 
The lilies say, " Behold how we 
Preach, without words, of purity." 
The violets whisper from the shade 
Which their own leaves have made, 
" Men scent our fragrance on the air. 
Yet take no heed 
Of humble lessons we would read." 



But not alone the fairest flowers; 

The merest grass 

Along the roadside where we pass. 

Lichen and moss and sturdy weed, 

Tell of His love who sends the dew, 

The rain and sunshine too. 

To nourish one small seed. 





IFE of our life, and light of all our seeing. 
How shall wc rest on any hope but Thcc. 
Wiiat time our souls, to Tlieo for refuge fleeing, 
Long for the home where there is no more S' 

For still this sea of life, with cnillcss wailing, 
Dashes above our heads its blinding spray, 

And vanquished hearts, sick with remorse and failin 
Moan like the waves at set of autumn day. 

And ever round us swells the insatiate ocean 
Of sin and doubt that lures us to our grave ; 

When its wild billows, with their mad commotion 
Would sweep us down, then only Thou canst save 

And deep and dark the fearful gloom uniighted 
Of that untried and ali -surrounding sea, 

On whose bleak shore arriving, lone, benighted, 
We fall, and lose ourselves at last in Thee. 



" There shall be no more sea." O God, our Father, 
When sorrow's waters beat us ceaselessly. 
Help us to bear the grief till Thou shall gather 
Thy loved, thy cared for, where is no more sea. 




My child is lying on my knees, 

The signs of heaven she reads ; 
; "" My face is all the heaven she 
sees, 
And all the heaven she needs. 

And she is well, yea, bathed in 



bliss, 
If heaven is in my face ; 
Behind it all is tenderness 
And truthfulness and grace. 
I also am a child, and I 

Ani ignorant and weak ; 
I gnze upon the starry sky. 
And then I must not speak ; 

For ;ill behind the starry sky, 
Behind the world so broad, 
Behind men's hearts and souls, doth lie 
The infinite of God. 

If Irue to her, though troubled sore, 

i cannot clioose but be, 
Thou, who art peace for evermore, 
Art very true to me. 



Lo ! Lord. I sit in tliy wide space, 
My child upon my knee; 

She looketh up into my face. 
And I look up to thee. 





{ HE path of life we walk to-day 

Is strange as that the Hebrews trod ; 
We need the shadowing rock, as they — 
We need, like them, the guides of God. 

God send his angels, cloud and fire. 

To lead us o'er the desert sand ! 
God give our hearts their long desire, 

His shadow in a weary land! 




I AM going to be placed in concealment: 
where, 1 know not myself. For though I 
would rather have suffered death from the ty- 
rants (especially from the hand of the furious 
Duke George of Saxony) I must not slight 
the counsels of good people. . . . For awhile 
then we must be silent and endure. Christ 
says, ■' A little while and ye shall not see me, 
and again a little while and ye shall see me." 
I trust it will be so with me now. But God's 
will, which is ever the best, be done in this, 
as in heaven and on earth. Amen. 



Away amid the mountains of Thuringen. on a lofty summit reached by a 
steep and difficult ascent, and surrounded by dark, untrodden forests stretch- 
ing off interminably in the distance, stood the towering and isolated castle of 
Warthurg, where the ancient landgraves in the earlier time had established their 
retreat. Thither the five mysterious persons, by a circuitous and hidden path, 
conducted silently, yet carefully and kindly, the astonished Luther. As they ar- 
rived the bolts were drawn back, the iron bars fell, and the gates opened. The 
reformer passes the threshold, enters the inner court; the massive gates close 
upon him and he is shut in ! Then he is conducted to an apartment prepared 
for him. He finds a knight's garb and sword ; his ecclesiastical dress is re- 
moved, and they array him instead in knightly costume, enjoining him to let 
his hair and beard grow. 

" Here am I." He writes to Melancthon, " I am going through the Bible 
in Hebrew and Greek ; I am to write a discourse in German touching auricu- 
lar confession ; also to continue the translation of the Psalms, and to compose 
a collection of sermons. My pen is never idle." 





I N Alpine heiHhis tlie !oi 
shed ; 
5^ He paints tlie n 

The flowers while aiici blue, 
And feeds them with his dew : 
On Alpine heights :i loving Fruhi'i 
dwells. 

On Alpine heights, in troops ;ili 
white a 

The sheep and wild goats ro : 
There, in the solitude, 
He fills their hearts with food; 

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells. 

On Alpine heights the herdsman tends his 

His shepherd is the Lord ; 

For he who feeds the sheep 

Will sure his offspring keep ; 

On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells. 



993479A 



