stitution which is not the outgrowth of this character, is not worth the parchment on which it is written. You look in vain in the past for a single instance where the people have preserved their liberties after their individual character was lost.

2. It is not in the magnificence of its palaces, not in the beautiful creations of art lavished on its public edifices, not in costly libraries and galleries of pictures, not in the number or wealth of its cities, that we find pledges of a nation's glory. The ruler may gather around him the treasures of the world, amid a brutalized people; the senatechamber may retain its faultless proportions long after the voice of patriotism is hushed within its walls; the monumental marble may commemorate a glory which has forever departed. Art and letters may bring no lesson to a people whose heart is dead.

3. The true glory of a nation is in the living temple of a loyal, industrious, and upright people. The busy click of machinery, the merry ring of the anvil, the lowing of peaceful herds, and the song of the harvest-home, are sweeter music than pæans of departed glory, or songs of triumph in war. The vine-clad cottage of the hillside, the cabin of the woodsman, and the rural home of the farmer, are the true citadels of any country. There is a dignity in honest toil, which belongs not to the display of wealth or the luxury of fashion. The man who drives the plow, or swings his ax in the forest, or with cunning fingers plies the tools of his craft, is as truly the servant of his country as the statesman in the senate or the soldier in battle.

4. The safety of a nation depends not alone on the wisdom of its statesmen or the bravery of its generals. The tongue of eloquence never saved a nation tottering to its

fall; the sword of a warrior never stayed its destruction. There is a surer defense in every Christian home. I know of no right wrung from tyranny, no truth rescued from darkness and bigotry, which has not waited on a Christian civilization.

5. Would you see the image of true glory, I would show you villages where the crown and glory of the people was in Christian schools, where the voice of prayer goes heavenward, where the people have that most priceless gift, faith in God. With this as the basis, and leavened as it will be with brotherly love, there will be no danger in grappling with any evils which exist in our midst we shall feel that we may work and bide our time, and die, knowing that God will bring victory.

LESSON CXXXIV.

1DEAD SEA FRUITS, or APPLES OF SODOM, a fruit described by ancient writers as externally of fair appearance, but dissolving into smoke and ashes when plucked. It resembles an orange in size and color, but explodes on being touched. It has a bitter taste.

1.

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

ANNE C. LYNCH.

HERE are countless fields, the green earth o'er,

THERE

Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;

Where hostile ranks, in their grim array,

With the battle's smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate was stamped on each rigid face,

As foe met foe in the death-embrace;

Where the groans of the wounded and dying rose
Till the heart of the listener with horror froze;
And the wide expanse of crimsoned plain
Was piled with heaps of uncounted slain :
But a fiercer combat, a deadlier strife,
Is that which is waged in the Battle of Life.

2. The hero that wars on the tented field,
With his shining sword and his burnished shield,
Goes not alone with his faithful brand,-
Friends and comrades around him stand;
The trumpets sound, and the war-steeds neigh
To join in the shock of the coming fray ;
And he flies to the onset, he charges the foe,
Where the bayonets gleam and the red tides flow;
And he bears his part in that conflict dire
With an arm all nerve and a heart all fire.

3. What though he fall? At the battle's close,
In the flush of victory won, he goes

With martial music, and waving plume,
From a field of fame to a laureled tomb!
But the hero that wars in the Battle of Life
Must stand alone in the fearful strife,-
Alone in his weakness or strength must go,
Hero or coward, to meet the foe:

He may not fly; on that fatal field

He must win or lose, he must conquer or yield.

4. Warrior, who com'st to this battle now
With a careless step and a thoughtless brow,
As if the day were already won,

Pause, and gird all thy armor on !

Dost thou bring with thee hither a dauntless will,
An ardent soul that no fear can chill' ?

Thy shield of Faith hast thou tried and proved'?
Canst thou say to the mountain, "Be thou removed""?
In thy hand does the sword of Truth flame bright'?
Is thy banner inscribed "for God and the Right'”?
In the might of prayer dost thou wrestle and plead'?
Never had warrior greater need!

5. Unseen foes in thy pathway hide ;
Thou art encompassed on every side:
There Pleasure waits with her siren train,
Her poison flowers and her hidden chain;
Flattery courts with her hollow smiles,
Passion with silvery tongue beguiles,

Love and Friendship their charmed spells weave:
Trust not too deeply; they may deceive!

6. Hope with her Dead Sea fruits1 is there;
Sin is spreading her gilded snare;

Disease with a ruthless hand would smite,
And Care spread o'er thee her withering blight;
Hate and Envy with visage black,
And the serpent Slander, are on thy track;
Falsehood and Guilt, Remorse and Pride,
Doubt and Despair, in thy pathway glide;
Haggard Want, in her demon joy,
Waits to degrade thee, and then destroy;
And Death, the insatiate, is hovering near
To snatch from thy grasp all thou holdest dear.

7. In war with these phantoms that gird thee round, No limbs dissevered may strew the ground;

No blood may flow, and no mortal ear

The groans of the wounded heart may hear,
As it struggles and writhes in their dread control,
As the iron enters the riven soul.

But the youthful form grows wasted and weak,
And sunken and wan is the rounded cheek;
The brow is furrowed, but not with years;
The eye is dimmed with its secret tears;
And streaked with white is the raven hair,
These are the tokens of conflict there.

8. The battle is ended: the hero goes Worn and scarred to his last repose.

He has won the day, he has conquered doom,
He has sunk unknown to his nameless tomb.
For the victor's glory no voice may plead,
Fame has no echo, and earth no meed.
But the guardian angels are hovering near;
They have watched unseen o'er the conflict here:
They bear him now on their wings away
To a realm of peace, to a cloudless day.
Ended now is his earthly strife,

And his brow is crowned with the Crown of Life!

LESSON CXXXV.

THE HISTORIAN'S REFLECTIONS.

BLAKE.

THROUGH the long period of five thousand years, the

eye of the historian wanders among innumerable millions, and descries peoples, nations, and languages, who