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of rejoicing may not reach the ears of those who, between a rational philanthropy with its adaptation in weakness and suffering scattered the seeds of of means to ends, and that spiritual knight-errantry blessing?
which undertakes the championship of every novel The history of the Edinburgh reformers is vo project of reform, scouring the world in search of new one; it is that of all who seek to benefit their distressed schemes held iu durance by common age by rebuking its popular crimes and exposing its sense, and vagaries happily spell-bound by ridicule. cherished errors. The truths which they told were He must learn that, although the most needful truth not believed, and for that very reason were the more may be unpopular, it does not follow that unpopuneeded, for it is evermore the case that the right larity is a proof of the truth of his doctrines or the word, when first uttered, is an unpopular and denied expediency of his measures. He must have the li. one. Hence he who undertakes to tread the thorny berality to admit that it is barely possible for the pathway of Reform; who, smitten with the love of public, on some points, to be right and himself truth and justice, or indignant in view of wrong, wrong ; and that the blessing invoked upon those and insolent oppression, is rashly inclined to throw who suffer for righteousness, is not available to such himself at once into that great conflict, which the as court persecution, and invite contempt. For folly Persian seer not untruly represented as a war be. has its martyrs as well as wisdom; and he who has tween light and darkness, would do well to count nothing better to show of himself than the scars and the cost in the outset. If he can live for Truth alone, bruises which the popular foot has left upon him, is and, cut off from the general sympathy, regard her not even sure of winning the honors of martyrdom service as its own exceeding great reward;" if he as some compensation for the loss of dignity and can bear to be counted a fanatic and crazy visionary; self-respect involved in the exhibitiou of its pains. if in all good nature he is ready to receive from the To the reformer, in an especial manner, comes home very objects of his solicitude, abuse and obloquy, in the truth that whoso ruleth his own spirit is greater return for disinterested and self-sacrificing efforts than him who taketh a city. Patience, hope, chafor their welfare; if with his purest motives misun-rity, watchfulness unto prayer, how needful are all derstood, and his best actions perverted and distort. these to his success! Without them, he is in dan. ed into crimes, he can still hold on his way, and ger of ingloriously giving up his contest with error patiently abide the hour when « the whirlgig of time and prejudice at the first repulse; or, with that spiteshall bring about its revenges;” if on the whole, he ful philanthropy which we sometimes witness, is prepared to be looked upon as a sort of moral out. taking a sick world by the nose, like a spoiled child, law or social heretic, under good society's interdict and endeavoring to force down its throat the long of food and fire; and if he is well assured that he rejected nostrums prepared for its relief. can through all this preserve his cheerfulness, and What then !-Shall we, in view of these things faith in man,—let him gird up his loins and go for- call back young, generous spirits, just entering upon ward in God's name. He is fitted for his vocation; the perilous pathway ? God forbid !-Welcome, he has watched all night by his armor. Whatever thrice welcome, rather. Let them go forward, not his trial may be, he is prepared; he may even be unwarned of the dangers, nor unreminded of the happily disappointed in respect to it; flowers of un. pleasures which belong to the service of humanity. expected refreshing may overhang the hedges of his Great is the consciousness of right. Sweet is the straight and narrow way; but it remains to be true answer of a good conscience. He, who pays his that he who serves his contemporaraies in faithful. whole-hearted homage to Truth and Duty-who ness and sincerity must expect no wages from their swears his life long fealty on their altars, and rises gratitude. For, as has been well said, there is after up a Nazarite consecrated to their holy service,-is all but one way of doing the world good, and un not without his solace and enjoyment, when, to the happily that way the world does not like, for it con- eyes of others, he seems the most lonely and misersists in telling it the very thing which it does not able. He breathes an atmosphere which the multiwish to hear.
tude know not of—"a serene beaven which they l'nhappily in the case of the reformer, his most cannot discern rests over bim, glorious in its purity dangerous foes are those of his own household. and stillness.” Nor is he altogether without kindly True, the world's garden has become a desert, and human sympathies. All generous and earnest hearts needs renovation, but, is his own little nook weed which are brought in contact with his own beat less ? Sin abounds without, but is his own heart evenly with it. All that is good and truthful and pure? While smiting down the giants and dragons lovely in man, whenever and wherever it truly rewhich beset the outward world, are there no evil cognizes him, must sooner or later acknowledge his guests sitting by his own hearth-stone? Ambition, claim to love, and reverence. His faith overcomes envy, self-righteousness, impatience, dogmatism, all things. The future unrolls itself before him, and pride of opinion, stand at his doorway, ready to with its waving harvest-fields springing up from the enter, whenever he leaves it unguarded. Then too, seed he is scattering; and he looks forward to the there is no small danger of failing to discriminate close of life with the calm confidence of one who
feels that he has not lived idle and useless; but, with | He saw once more his dark eyed-queen
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, And not in vain. In the economy of God, no ef They held him by the hand! fort however small, put forth for the right cause, A tear burst from the sleeper's lids fails of its effect. No voice, however feeble, lifted And fell into the sand. up for Truth, ever dies amidst the confused noises of Time. Through discords of Sin and Sorrow, And then at furious speed he rode Pain, and Wrong, it rises a deathless melody, whose Along the Niger's bank ; notes of wailing are hereafter to be changed to those His bridle-reins were golden chains, of triumph, as they blend with the Great Harmony And, with a martial clank, of a reconciled universe. The language of a trans. At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel atlantic reformer, to his friends, is then as true as Smiting his stallion's flank. it is hopeful and cheering : “ Triumph is certain. We bave espoused no losing cause. In the body we
Before him, like a blood-red flag, may not join our shout with the victors—but in The bright flamingoes flew; spirit we may even now. There is but an interval From morn till night he followed their flight, of time between us and the success at which we aim. O'er plains where the tamarind grew, In all other respects the links of the chain are com- Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, plete. Identifying ourselves with immortal and im And the ocean rose to view. mutable principles, we share both their immortality and immutability. The vow which unites us with At night he heard the lion roar, truth makes futurity present with us. Our being
And the hyæna scream, resolves itself into an everlasting now.
It is not so And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds correct to say that we shall be victorious, as that we
Beside some hidden stream; When we will in unison with the Supreme And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, Mind, the characteristics of his will become, in Through the triumph of his dream. some sort, those of ours. What he has willed is virtually done. It may take ages to unfold itself, The forests, with their myriad tongues, but the germ of its whole history is wrapped up in
Shouted of liberty; bis determination. When we make his will ours, And the blast of the desert cried aloud, which we do when we aim at truth, that upon which With a voice so wild and free, we are resolved is done-decided-born. Life is in That he started in his sleep and smiled it. It is—and the future is but the development of
At their tempestuous glee.
Nor the burning heat of day;
And his lifeless body lay
Had broken and thrown away!
Send Bibles to the heathen,
Their famish'd spirits feed ! Oh! haste, and join your efforts,
The priceless gift to speed ! Then flog the trembling bondman,
If he shall learn to read !
Let love of filthy lucre
Not in your bosoms dwell; Your money, on your mission,
Will be expended well ;And then to fill your coffers,
Husbands and fathers sell !
BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like the dusk in evening skies ! Thou, whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run! Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet ! Womanhood and childhood fleet! Gazing, with a timid glance, On the brooklet's swist advance, On the river's broad expanse ! Deep and still, that gliding stream Beautiful to thee must seem, As the river of a dream.
Have even little children
All they can gain to save, For teachers of the heathen,
Beyond the ocean wave; Then give to fire and faggot, Him who would teach
Then, why pause with indecision, When bright angels in thy vision Beckon thee to fields Elysian ?
BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Childhood is the bough where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered ;Age, that bough with snow encumbered.
Into the sunshine,
Full of the light, Leaping and flashing
From morn till night! Into the moonlight,
Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like
When the winds blow! Into the starlight
Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight,
Happy by day! Ever in motion,
Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward,
Never aweary; Glad of all weathers,
Still seeming best, Upward or downward,
Motion thy rest;Full of a nature
Nothing can tame, Changed every moment,
Ever the same ;Ceaseless aspiring,
Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine
Thy element; Glorious fountain !
Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee !
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Bear, through sorrow, wrong and ruth,
0, that Jew, like balm, shall steal Into wounds, that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ;
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED.
SONG SHOULD BREATHE: Song should breathe of scents and flowers;
Song should like a river flow; Song should bring back scenes and hours
That we loved-ah, long ago!
THE HYMN OF THE DEW. I know what the dew sang as down to the folds
or the silken rose it fell; 'Twas not for the ear, but the musing heart,
In the twilight, heard it well.
And say that you only heard
And the tune of the evening bird.
As it shone in the white moon's rays :
And the burden aye was praise.
The belle of the summer bower ;
Looked into the heart of the flower :
And the garden knew the tone,
And the Lord was God alone.
That men to their idol speak,
And leaving the strong one weak.
As it gently floated through,
That hymn of the holy dew!
Song from baser thoughts should win us ;
Song should charm us out of wo; Song should stir the heart within us,
Like a patriot's friendly blow. Pains and pleasures, all men doeth,
War and peace, and right and wrongAll things that the soul subdueth
Should be vanquished, too, by Song. Song should spur the mind to duty;
Nerve the weak, and stir the strong : Every deed of truth and beauty
Should be crowned by starry Song !
THE SONG OF A FELON'S WIFE. The brand is on thy brow,
A dark and guilty spot; 'Tis ne'er to be erased !
'Tis ne'er to be forgot! The brand is on thy brow!
Yet I must shade the spot :
If I love thee not?
From out the bright world thrown; By God and man disdained,
But not by me-thy own! Oh! even the tiger slain
Hath one who ne'er doth flee, Who soothes his dying pain!
_That one am I to thee !
SONGS BY "BARRY CORNWALL."
Manner noble, aspect free,
Wit that envious men admire,
Hermione, Hermione ?
(As the gold doth ask alloy), Tears, amid thy laughter seen, Pity mingling with thy joy.
This is all we ask from thee,
THE WEAVER’S SƠNG.
The shuttle athwart the loom,
That have beauty, but no perfume
The lily, that hath no spot ;
Sing-sing, brothers ! weave and sing!
'Tis good both to sing and to weave ; 'Tis better to work than live idle ;
'Tix beller to sing than grieve.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
Weave, brothers, weave ! - Weave, and bid thus put to flight the azure demons of his unfortunate The colors of sunset glow!
temperament. There is, somehow, a close affinity Let grace in each gliding thread be hid !
between moral purity and clean linen; and the Let beauty about ye blow !
sprites of our daily temptation, who seem to find Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine, easy access to us through a broken hat, or a rent in And your hands both firm and sure,
the elbow, are manifestly baffled by the “ complete And time nor chance shall your work untwine; mail” of a clean and decent dress. I recollect on But all-like a truth-endure.
one occasion hearing my mother tell our family So-sing, brothers, fc.
physician, that a woman in the neighborhood, not
remarkable for her tidiness, had become a church Weave, brothers, weave !—Toil is ours;
member. “Humph !” said the Doctor, in his quick, But toil is the lot of men ;
what of that? Don't you know that One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers,
no unclean thing can enter the kingdom of Heaven!" One soweth the seed again!
“ If you would see" Lowell si aright," as Walter There is not a creature, from England's king,
Scott says of Melrose Abbey, one must be here of a To the peasant that delves the soil,
pleasant First Day, at the close of what is called the That knows half the pleasures the seasons bring,
" afternoon service." The streets are then blossomIf he have not his share of toil!
ing like a peripatetic flower garden,—as if the tulips, So-sing, brothers, fc.
and lilies, and roses of my friend Warren's nursery, in the vale of Nonantum, should take it into their heads to promenade for exercise. Thousands swarm forth, who during week days are confined to the mills. Gay colors alternate with snowy whiteness ; ex
tremest fashion ellows the plain demureness of oldSABBATH IN LOWELL.
fashioned Methodism. Fair pale faces catch a warmer tint from the free sunshine and fresh air. The
languid step becomes elastic with that “springy To a population like that of Lowell, the weekly motion in the gait,” which Charles Lamb admired. respite from monotonous in-door toil, afforded by Yet the general appearance of the city is that of the first day of the week, is particularly grateful. quietude; the youthful multitude passses on calmly; Sabbath comes to the weary and over-worked ope- its voices subdued to a lower and softened tone, as if rative emphatically as a day of rest. It opens upon fearful of breaking the repose of the Day of Rest. him, somewhat as it did upon George Herbert, as he A stranger, fresh from the gaily-spent Sabbaths of describes it in his exquisite little poem :
the Continent of Europe, would be undoubtedly “ Sweet day, so pure, so cool and bright,
amazed at the decorum and sobriety of these crowd. The bridal of the earth and sky!”
ed streets. Apart from its soothing religious associations, it I am no Puritan, but I nevertheless welcome with brings with it the assurance of physical comfort and joy unfeigned this First Day of the Week-sweetest freedom. It is something, to be able to doze out the pause in our hard life-march, greenest resting place morning from daybreak to breakfast in that luxuri- in the hot desert we are treading! The errors of ous state between sleeping and waking, in which the those who mistake its benignant rest for the iron mind eddies slowly and peacefully round and round, rule of the Jewish Sabbath, and who consequently instead of rushing onward, the future a blank, the hedge it about with penalties, and bow down before past annihilated, the present but a dim consciousness it in slavish terror, should not render us less grate. of pleasurable existence. Then, too, the satisfaction ful for the real blessing it brings us. As a day is by no means inconsiderable of throwing aside the wrested in some degree from the god of this world, worn and soiled babiliments of labor, and appearing as an opportunity afforded for thoughtful self-comin neat and comfortable attire. The moral influ. muning, let us receive it as a good gift of our Heaven. ence of dress has not been overrated even by Carlyle's ly Parent, in love rather than fear. Professor in his « Sartor Resartus." William Penn In passing along Central street this morning, my says, that cleanliness is akin to godliness. A well attention was directed, by the friend who accompadressed man, all other things being equal, is not half nied me, to a group of laborers, with coats off and as likely to compromise his character, as one who sleeves rolled up, heaving at levers--smiting with approximates to shabbiness. Lawrence Sterne used sledge-hammers,—in full view of the street, on the to say, that when he felt himself giving way to low margin of the canal, just above Central street bridgespirits, and a sense of depression and worthlessness, I rubbed my eyes, half expecting that I was the suba sort of predisposition for all sorts of little mean-ject of mere optical illusion ; but a second look only nesses--he forthwith shaved himself, brushed his confirmed the first. Around me were solemn, go-towig, donned his best dress and his gold rings, and meeting faces--smileless and awsul; and close at hand