LESSON LIV.

A Thought on Death.-MRS. Barbauld.*

WHEN life as opening buds is sweet,
And golden hopes the spirit greet,
And youth prepares his joys to meet,
Alas! how hard it is to die!

When scarce is seized some valued prize,
And duties press, and tender ties
Forbid the soul from earth to rise,

How awful then it is to die!

When, one by one, those ties are torn,
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
And man is left alone to mourn,

Ah! then, how easy 'tis to die!

When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
And films, slow-gathering, dim the sight,
And clouds obscure the mental light,

'Tis nature's precious boon to die!

When faith is strong, and conscience clear,
And words of peace the spirit cheer,

And visioned glories half appear,

'Tis joy, 'tis triumph, then to die!

LESSON LV..

The Old Man's Funeral.-BRYANT.

I SAW an aged man upon his bier :

His hair was thin and white, and on his brow A record of the cares of many a year;—

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Cares that were ended and forgotten now.

And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, And women's tears fell fast, and children wailed aloud,

* Written after she had passed her eightieth year.

Then rose another hoary man, and said, In faltering accents, to that weeping train, "Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead? Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain, Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast, Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast.

"Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled,His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled, Sinks where the islands of refreshment lie, And leaves the smile of his departure, spread O'er the warm-coloured heaven and ruddy mountain head.

"Why weep ye then for him, who, having run
The bound of man's appointed years, at last,
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labours done,
Serenely to his final rest has passed?
While the soft memory of his virtues yet
Lingers, like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set.

"His youth was innocent; his riper age

Marked with some act of goodness every day; And, watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, Faded his late-declining years away.

Cheerful he gave his being up, and went

To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.

"That life was happy; every day, he gave
Thanks for the fair existence that was his;
For a si k fancy made him not her slave,

To mock him with her phantom miseries.
No chronic* tortures racked his aged limb,
For luxury and sloth had nourished nonet for him.

"And I am glad that he has lived thus long;
And glad that he has gone to his reward;
Nor deem that kindly nature did him wrong,
Softly to disengage the vital cord.

When his weak hand grew palsied, and his eye
Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die."

* A chronic disease is one of long duration.

+ Pron. nun.

LESSON LVI.

Sunday Evening.BowRING.

How shall I praise thee, Lord of light?
How shall I all thy love declare?
The earth is veiled in shades of night;
But heaven is open to my prayer;—
That heaven, so bright with stars and suns;
That glorious heaven, which knows no bound;
Where the full tide of being runs,

And life and beauty glow around.
From thence, thy seat of light divine,
Circled by thousand streams of bliss,
Which calmly flow and brightly shine,-
Say, to a world so mean as this,
Canst thou direct thy pitying eye?

How shall my thoughts expression find,
All lost in thy immensity!

How shall I seek, thou infinite Mind,
Thy holy presence, God sublime!

Whose power and wisdom, love and grace,
Are greater than the round of time,
And wider than the bounds of space!

Gently the shades of night descend;
Thy temple, Lord, is calm and still;
A thousand lamps of ether blend,

A thousand fires that temple fill,
To honour thee. "Tis bright and fair,
As if the very heavens, impressed
With thy pure image smiling there,

In all their loveliest,robes were dressed.
Yet thou canst turn thy friendly eye
From that immeasurable throne;
Thou, smiling on humanity,

Dost claim earth's children for thy own,
And gently, kindly, lead them through
Life's varied scenes of joy and gloom,
Till evening's pale and pearly dew
Tips the green sod that decks their tomb.

LESSON LVII.

The Star of Bethlehem.-J. G. PERCIVAL.

BRIGHTER than the rising day,
When the sun of glory shines;
Brighter than the diamond's ray,
Sparkling in Golconda's mines;
Beaming through the clouds of wo,
Smiles in Mercy's diadem
On the guilty world below,

The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

When our eyes are dimmed with tears,
This can light them up again,
Sweet as music to our ears,

Faintly warbling o'er the plain.
Never shines a ray so bright
From the purest earthly gem;
O! there is no soothing light
Like the Star of Bethlehem.

Grief's dark clouds may o'er us roll,
Every heart may sink in wo,
Gloomy conscience rack the soul,

And sorrow's tears in torrents flow;
Still, through all these clouds and storms
Shines this purest heavenly gem,
With a ray that kindly warms-

The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

When we cross the rearing wave
That rolls on life's remotest shore;
When we look into the grave,

And wander through this world no more;
This, the lamp whose genial ray,
Like some brightly-glowing gem,
Points to man his darkling way-
The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

Let the world be sunk in sorrow,
Not an eye be charmed or blessed;
We can see a fair to-morrow

Smiling in the rosy west;

This, her beacon, Hope displays;
For, in Mercy's diadem,

Shines, with Faith's serenest rays,
The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

When this gloomy life is o'er,
When we smile in bliss above,
When, on that delightful shore,
We enjoy the heaven of love,-
O! what dazzling light shall shine
Round salvation's purest gem!
O! what rays of love divine
Gild the Star of Bethlehem!

LESSON LVIII.

The Funeral of Maria.—MACKENZIE.

MARIA was in her twentieth year. To the beauty of her form, and excellence of her natural disposition, a parent, equally indulgent and attentive, had done the fullest justice. To accomplish her person, and to cultivate her mind, every endeavour had been used, and had been attended with that success which parental efforts commonly meet with, when not prevented by mistaken fondness, or untimely vanity.

Few young ladies have attracted more admiration; none ever felt it less: with all the charms of beauty, and the polish of education, the plainest were not less affected, nor the most ignorant less assuming. She died when every tongue was eloquent of her virtues, when every hope was ripening to reward them.

It is by such private and domestic distresses, that the softer emotions of the heart are most strongly excited. The fall of more important personages is commonly distant from our observation; but, even where it happens under our immediate notice, there is a mixture of other feelings, by which our compassion is weakened.

The eminently great, or extensively useful, leave behind them a train of interrupted views, and disappointed expectations, by which the distress is complicated beyond the simplicity of pity. But the death of one, who, like Maria, was to shed the influence of her virtues over the age of a