in name. The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful Swiss, in their native fastnesses; but the guarantee of their freedom, is in their weakness, and not in their strength. The mountains are not easily crossed, and the valleys are not easily retained.

4. We stand, the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices, or luxuries, of the old world. Such as we are, we have been from the beginning,— simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government and selfrespect.

5. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degrees of latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and many means of independence. The government is mild. The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented? What means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end? What more is necessary, than for the people to preserve what they themselves have created?

6. Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France, and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of Germany and the north, and, moving onward to the south, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better days.

7. Can it be, that America, under such circumstances, can betray herself? that she is to be added to the catalogue of republics, the inscription of whose ruin is, "They were,

but they are not."

Heaven.

Forbid it, my countrymen; forbid it,

8. I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are, and all you hope to be, resist every project of disunion, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction. 9. I call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in woman, the love of your offspring, teach them, as they climb your knees, or lean on your bosom, the blessing of liberty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal vows, to be true to their country, and never to forget or to forsake her.

10. I call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you are,— whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too short, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. Death never comes too soon, if necessary in defense of the liberties of your country.

11. I call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your prayers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs go down in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection that you have lived in vain. May not your last sun sink in the west upon a nation of slaves.

LESSON LXXVIII.

THE VALUE OF THE BIBLE. - ROBERT HALL.

1. On casting a survey over the different orders into which society is distributed, I am at an utter loss to fix on any description of persons, who are likely to be injured by the most extensive perusal of the word of God.

2. The Bible is the treasure of the poor, the solace of the sick, and the support of the dying; and, while other books may amuse and instruct in a leisure hour, it is the peculiar triumph of that book, to create light in the midst of darkness; to alleviate the sorrow which admits of no other alleviation; to direct a beam of hope to the heart, which no other topic of consolation can reach; while guilt, despair, and death, vanish at the touch of its holy inspiration.

3. There is something in the spirit and diction of the Bible, which is found peculiarly adapted to arrest the attention of the plainest and most uncultivated minds. The simple structure of its sentences, combined with a lofty spirit of poetry, its familiar allusions to the scenes of nature, and the transactions of common life, the delightful intermixture of narration with the doctrinal and preceptive parts, and the profusion of miraculous facts, which convert it into a sort of enchanted ground, its constant advertence to the Deity, whose perfections it renders almost visible and palpable, unite in bestowing upon it an interest which attaches to no other performance, and which, after assiduous and repeated perusal, invests it with much of the charm of novelty,—like the great orb of day, at which we are wont to gaze with unabated astonishment, from infancy to old age.

4. What other book, beside the Bible, could be heard in public assemblies, from year to year, with an attention that never tires, and an interest that never cloys? With few exceptions, let a portion of the sacred volume be recited in a mixed multitude, and though it has been heard a thousand times, a universal stillness ensues; every eye is fixed, and every ear is awake and attentive. Select, if you can, any other composition, and let it be rendered equally familiar to the mind, and see whether it will produce this effect.

1.

2.

3.

LESSON LXXIX.

HOPE TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH.-CAMPBELL.

Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn,
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return,
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour!
Oh! then thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power:
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye!
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey
The morning dream of life's eternal day;
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin!
And all thy Phenix a spirit burns within!

Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose,
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes!
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh,
It is a dread and awful thing to die!
Mysterious worlds, untraveled by the sun!
Where Time's far-wand'ring tide has never run,
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres,
A warning comes, unheard by other ears.

'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud,
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud!
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust,
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod
The roaring waves, and called upon his God,

With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss!

Phenix, a fabulous bird, which is said to exist single, and to rise again from its own ashes; but here used as an emblem of immortality.

4.

Daughter of Faith! awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb! Melt, and dispel, ye specter doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness a on the parting soul! Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! The strife is o'er, the pangs of nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.

5. Soul of the just! companion of the dead! Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled? Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose; Doomed on his airy path awhile to burn,

6.

And doomed, like thee, to travel, and return. Hark! from the world's exploding center driven, With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,

On bickering wheels and adamantine car.

From planet whirled to planet more remote, He visits realms beyond the reach of thought; But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun! So hath the traveler of earth unfurled

Her trembling wings, emerging from the world; And, o'er the path by mortal never trod, Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God!

a Cimmerian darkness, see p. 63.