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were the delving, toiling, mud-begrimmed' laborers., the horror and clothes-rending astonishment of blind Nobody seemed surprised at it. Nobody noticed Pharisees, He uttered the significant truth, that it as a thing out of the common course of events. " the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for And this, too, in a city where the Sabbath proprie. the Sabbath.” From the close air of crowded cities, ties are sternly insisted upon; where some twenty from thronged temples and synagogues, — where pulpits deal out anathemas upon all who « desecrate priest and Levite kept up a show of worship, drumthe Lord's day;" where notices of meetings, for ming upon hollow ceremonials the more loudly for moral purposes even, can scarcely be read o' Sun. I their emptiness of life, as the husk rustles the more days; where many count it wrong to speak on that when the grain is gone—He led His disciples out day for the slave, who knows no Sabbath of rest, or into the country stillness, under clear Eastern heafor the drunkard, who, embruted by his appetites, vens, on the breezy tops of mountains, in the shade cannot enjoy it!-Verily, there are strange contra- of fruit trees, by the side of fountains and through dictions in our conventional morality. Eyes, which, yellow harvest fields, enforcing the lessons of His looking across the Atlantic on the gay Sabbath dances divine morality by comparisons and parables sug. of French peasants, are turned upward with horror, gested by the objects around Him, or the cheerful are somehow blind to matters close at home. What incidents of social humanity, the vineyard, the field would be sin past repentance, in an individual, belily, the sparrow in the air, the sower in the seedcomes quite proper in a corporation. True, the field, the feast and the marriage. Thus gently, thus Sabbath is holy—but the canals must be repaired. sweetly kind and cheerful, fell from His lips the Every body ought to go to meeting—but the divi- Gospel of HUMANITY: Love the fulfilling of every dends must not be diminished. Church Indulgences law; our love for one another measuring and mani. are not, after all, confined to Rome.

festing our love of Him. The baptism wherewith To a close observer of human nature, there is He was baptized was that of Divine Fulness in the nothing surprising in the fact, that a class of persons, wants of our humanity; the deep waters of our sorwho wink at this sacrifice of Sabbath sanctities to rows went over him ; Ineffable Purity sounding for the demon of Gain, look at the same time with stern our sakes the dark abysm of sin,—yet how like a disapprobation upon every thing partaking of the cha- river of light runs that serene and beautiful life racter of amusement, however innocent and health. through the narratives the Evangelists! He ful, on this day. But, for myself, looking down broke bread with the poor, despised publican; He through the light of a golden evening upon these quiet. sat down with the fishermen by the sea of Galilee; ly passing groups, I cannot find it in my heart to con. He spoke compassionate words to sin-sick Magdalen; demn them for seeking on this, their sole day of leisure, He sanctified by his presence the social enjoyments the needful influences of social enjoyment, unrestrain- of home and friendship in the family of Bethany ; ed exercise, and fresh air. I cannot think any essen. He laid his hand of blessing on the sunny brows of tial service to religion or humanity would result children; He had regard even to the merely animal from the conversion of their day of rest into a Jewish wants of the multitude in the wilderness; He frownSabbath, and their consequent confinement, like so ed upon none of life's simple and natural pleasures, many pining prisoners, in close and crowded board. The burden of His Gospel was Love; and in life ing houses. Is not cheerfulness a duty-a better ex. and word He taught evermore the divided and scatpression of our gratitude for God's blessings than tered children of one great family, that only as they mere words ? And even under the old law of rituals, drew near each other could they approach Him who what answer had the Pharisees to the question, " Is was their common centre; and that while no ostenit not lawful to do good on the Sabbath-day?" tation of prayer nor rigid observance of ceremonies

I am naturally of a sober temperament, and am, could elevate man to Heaven, the simple exercise besides, a member of that sect which Dr. More has of Love, in thought and action, could bring Heaven called, mistakingly indeed, « the most melancholy of down to man. To weary and restless spirits He all;" but I confess a special dislike of disfigured taught the great truth, that happiness consists in faces-ostentatious displays of piety-pride aping making others happy. No cloister for idle genuflexhumility. Asceticism, moroseness, self-torture-ions and bead-counting, no hair-cloth for the loins ingratitude in view of down-showering blessings, and nor scourge for the limbs, but works of love and painful restraint of the better feelings of our nature, usefulness under the cheerful sunshine, making the may befit a Hindoo fakir, or a Mandan medicine-man waste places of humanity glad, and causing the with buffalo skulls strung to his lacerated muscles, heart's desert to blossom. Why then should we go but they look to me sadly out of place in a believer searching after the cast-off sackcloth of the Pharisee ? of the Glad Evangel of the New Testament. The Are we Jews or Christians? Must even onr gratilife of the Divine Teacher affords no countenance to tule glad tidings of great joy” be desponding? this sullen and gloomy saintliness, shutting up the Must the hymn of our thanksgiving for countless merheart against the sweet influences of human sympa cies, and the unspeakable gist of His life, have everthy and the blessed ministrations of Nature. To more an undertone of funeral dirges? What! shall we

go murmuring and lamenting, looking coldly on one

LINES, another, seeing no beauty nor light nor gladness in this world, wherein we have the glorious privilege

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, of laboring in God's harvest-field, with angels for Composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on reour task-companions, blessing and being blessed ?

visiting the Banks of the Wye during a tour. July To him, who, neglecting the revelations of imme. diate duty, looks regretfully behind and fearfully

13, 1798. before him, Life is a solemn mystery, for which- Five years have past; five summers, with the length ever way he turns, a wall of darkness rises before Of five long winters ! and again I hear him; but down upon the Present as through a sky. These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs light between the shadows, falls a clear still radi. With a sweet inland murmur.—Once again ance, like beams from an eye of blessing; and with. Do I behold these steep and losty cliffs, in the circle of that divine illumination, Beauty and That on a wild secluded scene impress Goodness, Truth and Love, Purity and Cheerfulness, Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect blend like primal colors into the clear harmony of the landscape with the quiet of the sky. light. The author of « Proverbial Philosophy,” The day is come when I again repose upon whom, more than upon any living writer, has Here, under this dark sycamore, and view fallen the mantle of the Son of Sirach, has a pas. These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, sage not unworthy of note in this connection, when Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, he speaks of the train which attends the Just in Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Heaven:

Among the woods and copses, nor disturb • Also in the lengthening troop see I some clad in The wild green landscape. Once again I see robes of triumph,

These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, on earth,

Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, Sciences, and Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! Muses,

With some uncertain notice, as might seem That, like Sisters of Charity, tended in this world's Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, hospital.

Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire Welcome, for verily I knew ye could not but be chil. The Hermit sits alone. dren of the light.

These beauteous forms, Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in Heaven,

Through a long absence, have not been to me And some I have scarcely looked for, as thou, light- As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : hearted Mirtb,

But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din Thou also, star-robed Urania; and thou with the Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, curious glass,

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, That rejoicest in tracking beauty where the eye was Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart ; too dull to note it.

And passing even into my purer mind, And art thou too among the blessed, mild, much. With tranquil restoration :—feelings too injured Poetry?

Of unremembered pleasure : such, perhaps, That quickenest with light and beauty the leaden As have no slight or trivial influence face of matter,

On that best portion of a good man's life, That not unheard, though silent, fillest earth’s gar- of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

His little, nameless, unremembered acts dens with music; And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon Of aspect more sublime ; that blessed mood,

To them I may have owed another gist, us from the stars."

In which the burthen of the mystery,

In which the heavy and the weary weight
TO LIFE.

Of all this unintelligible world,

Is lightened :—that serene and blessed mood, Life! we've been long together,

In which the affections gently lead us on:Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 'Tis hard to part, when friends are dear,

And even the motion of our human blood Perhaps itwill cause a sigh, a tear;

Almost suspended, we are laid asleep Then steal away, give little warning,

In body, and become a living soul:
Choose thine own time,

While with an eye made quiet by the power
Say not good night, but in some bigher clime Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
Bid me good morning.

We see into the life of things.

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BY MRS. BARBAULD.

If this

And mountains; and of all that we behold Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft

From this green earth; of all the mighty world In darkness and amid the many shapes

Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create, Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir

And what perceive; well pleased to recognise Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,

In nature and the language of the sense, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart

The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,

The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods! Of all my moral being.
How often has my spirit turned to thee !

Nor perchance,
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished If I were not thus taught, should I the more
thought,

Suffer my genial spirits to decay: With many recognitions dim and faint,

For thou art with me here upon the banks And somewhat of a sad perplexity,

Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, The picture of the mind revives again :

My dear, dear friend; and in thy voice I catch While here I stand, not only with the sense The language of my former heart, and read Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts My former pleasures in the shooting lights That in this moment there is life and food

Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while For future years. And so I dare to hope,

May I behold in thee what I was once, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, first

Knowing that Nature never did betray, I came among these hills; when like a roe

The heart that loved her; tis her privilege, I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides

Through all the years of this our life, to lead Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

From joy to joy: for she can so inform Wherever nature led : more like a man

The mind that is within us, so impress Flying from something that he dreads, than one With quietness and beauty, and so feed Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,

Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, And their glad animal movements all gone by) Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all To me was all in all.-I cannot paint

The dreary intercourse of daily life, What then I was. The sounding cataract

Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,

Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Their colors and their forms, were then to me Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
An apppetite; a feeling and a love,

And let the misty mountain-winds be free
That had no need of a remoter charm,

To blow against thee: and, in after years,
By thought supplied, nor any interest

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past, Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
And all its aching joys are now no more,

Shall be a mansion for all lovely fornis,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

Thy memory be as a dwelling-place Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Abundant recompense. For I have learned Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts To look on nature, not as in the hour

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes And these my exhortations ! Nor, perchanceThe still, sad music of humanity,

If I should be where I no more can hear Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these To chasten and subdue. And I have felt

gleams A presence that disturbs me with the joy

Of past existence-wilt thou then forget Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime

That on the banks of this delightful stream Of something far more deeply interfused,

We stood together; and that I, so long Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, A worshipper of Nature, hither came And the round ocean and the living air,

Unwearied in that service: rather say And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: With warmer love-oh! with far deeper zeal A motion and a spirit, that impels

Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, All thinking things, all objects of all thought, That after many wanderings, many years And rolls through all things. Therefore am T of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, still

And this green pastoral landscape, were to me A lover of the meadows and the woods,

More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!

THEY ARE ALL GONE.

BY HENRY VAUGHAN.

They are all gone into a world of light,

And I alone sit lingering here! Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,

Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed,

After the sun's remove.

- Then take me on your knee, mother,

And listen, mother of mine :-
A hundred fairies danced last night,

And the harpers they were nine. " And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,

And their dancing feet so small; But, oh, the sound of their talking

Was merrier far than all !" - And what were the words, my Mary,

That you did hear them say ?“I'll tell you all, my mother

But let me have my way! " And some they played with the water,

And roll'd it down the hill; · And this,' they said, shall speedily turn

The poor old miller's mill;

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days,-
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,

Mere glimmerings and decays.
O holy hope, and high humility,

High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and ye have showed them me,

To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just !

Shining nowhere but in the dark !
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark !

For there has been no water

Ever since the first of May; And a busy man shall the miller be

By the dawning of the day!

"6Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,

When he sees the mill-dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,

Till the tears fill both his eyes !'

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,

At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair field or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.
And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted

themes, And into glory peep!

" And some, they siezed the little winds,

That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,

And blew so sharp and shrill66. And there,' said they, the merry winds go

Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow's corn!

"Oh, the poor, blind old widow

Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,

And the corn stands stiff and strong!

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- And with that I could not help but laugh,

And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low

There was no one left but me.

" And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,

The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones

That round about me lay.

« But as I came down from the hill-top,

I heard a jar below;
How busy the jolly miller was,

And how merry the wheel did go!

From this

« And I peeped into the widow's field,

And, sure enough, was seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn

All standing stiff and green.

Let those have night, that blush to let men know
The baseness they ne'er blush to do ;
Let those have night, that love to have a nap
And loll in Ignorance's lap,
Let those, whose eyes, like owls, abhor the light,
Let those have night, that love the night :
Sweet Phosphor, bring the day!
How sad delay
Aflicts dull hopes ! Sweet Phosphor, bring the day!
Alas! my light-in-vain-expecting eyes
Can find no objects, but what rise

poor mortal blaze, a dying spark
Or Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark,
A dangerous, dull, blue-burning light,
As melancholy as the night :
Here's all the suns that glitter in the sphere
Of earth: Ah me! what comfort's here?
Sweet Phosphor bring the day!
Haste, haste away,
Heaven's loitering lamp! Sweet Phosphor, bring the

day! Blow, ignorance ! O thou, whose idle knee Rocks earth into a lethargy: And with thy sooty fingers hast benight The world's fair cheeks, blow, blow thy spite ! Since thou hast puffed our greater taper, do Puff on, and out the lesser too : If e'er that breath-exiled flame return, Thou hast not blown, as it will burn: Sweet Phosphor, bring the day! Light will repay The wrongs of night: Sweet Phosphor, bring the

day!

1

" And down by the weaver's croft I stole,

To see if the flax were high ; But I saw the weaver at his gate,

With the good news in his eye!

- Now, this is all I heard, mother,

And all that I did see; So prythee, make my bed, mother,

For I am tired as I can be!"

SWEET PHOSPHOR, BRING THE DAY.

BY FRANCIS QUARLES.

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