High tho' his titles, proud his name- WALTER SCOTT. (2) Despite-in spite of.-(3) Pelf-money,-possessions. (4) Renown-fame, repute. To be fond of the country we are born and live in, is not only natural but right. But in loving our own blessed land, we should never depreciate, or undervalue other countries, for God has given to all parts of the world suitable and distinct gifts. And oh! where'er your days be past, CRABBE. At all times, and under all circumstances, we can have access to God by prayer. Prayer is not only a duty, but a privilege, and we should never fail to pray to our Heavenly Father morning and evening. In prosperity or in adversity, the act of praying will purify our thoughts, enlarge our conceptions of the great God, better fit us for our daily labours, and prepare us for that blessed region 'where the souls of good men dwell.' We are told that the "effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much;" we ought therefore never to forget our dear relatives and friends in our prayers. THE RAINBOW. How glorious is thy girdle cast As fresh in yon horizon dark, For faithful to its sacred page, Nor lets the type grow pale with age, (1) Mirror'd-reflected. CAMPBELL. The cause of this beautiful phenomenon is to be found in the fact that the light of the sun is composed of three colours,―red, yellow and blue. In passing through the drops of rain, these colours are divided, and bent more or less from the usual straight direction of the sun's rays. The Rainbow was appointed by God as the sign of the covenant of mercy, made with Noah, and with all mankind after the flood.-see Genesis, 9 chap. v. 11 to 16. GELERT. The spearman heard the bugle sound, And still he blew a louder blast, Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam ? So true, so brave, a lamb at home- That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare, And scant and small the booty proved; Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, But when he gain'd the castle door, The hound was smear'd with gouts of gore- Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, His favourite check'd his joyful guise, Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd O'erturn'd his infant's bed he found, He call'd his child-no voice replied; "Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured!" The frantic father cried, And to the hilt his vengeful sword His suppliant, as to earth he fell, Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer waken'd nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell, To hear his infant cry! Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had miss'd, All glowing from his rosy sleep, Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread- Tremendous still in death! Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain, The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir. Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe,- The frantic deed which laid thee low, And now a gallant tomb they raise, Here never could the spearman pass, Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass, Llewellyn's sorrow proved. |