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VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED.

No. 11.

THE HYMN OF THE DEW. I know what the dew sang as down to the folds

of the silken rose fell; 'Twas not for the ear, bnt the musing heart,

In the twilight, heard it well.
There came no words—you might listen long

And say that you only heard
The trill of the harp in the waving grass,

And the tune of the evening bird.
But a song it sang, and I caught it well

As it shone in the white moon's rays :
It was sweet as the breast whereon it lay,

And the burden aye was praise'.
It was not meant for the perfumed rose,

The belle of the summer bower ;
'Twas not for the star that, silver bright,

Looked into the heart of the flower :
The praise was all for the Holiest-

And the garden knew the tone,
When the earth was one full cup of bliss,

And the Lord was God alone.
Not such are the passionate words of song

That men to their idol speak,
'Thrilling the nerves and bringing the tears

And leaving the strong one weak.
It stirred not even the pollen-dust

As it gently floated through,
And it lay on my heart like peace all night,

That hymn of the holy dew!

SONG SHOULD BREATHE. Song should breathe of scents and flowers;

Song should like a river flow; Song should bring back seenes and hours

That we loved-ah, long ago! 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 :
For who will fove thee now,

If I love thee not?
Thy soul is dark-is stained

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."

HERMIONE.
Thou hast beauty bright and fair,

Manner noble, aspect free,
Eyes that are untouched by care:
What then do we ask from thee?

Hermione, Hermione?
Thou hast reason quick and strong,

Wit that envious men admire,
And a voice, itself a song!
What then can we still desire ?

Hermione, Hermione?
Something thou dost want, О queen!

(As the gold doth ask alloy), Tears, amid thy laughter seen, Pity mingling with thy joy.

This is all we ask from thee,
Hermione, Hermione !

THE WEAVER'S SONG.
Weave, brothers, weave !-Swiftly throw

The shuttle athwart the loom,
And show us how brightly your flowers grow,

That have beauty, but no perfume
Come, show us the rose, with a hundred dyes,

The lily, that hath no spot;
The violet, deep as your true love's eyes,
And the little forget-me-not.

Sing-sing, brothers ! weave and sing!

'Tis good both to sing and to weave ; STis better to work than live idle ;

'Tis better 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 's 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, fr.

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 ;

sarcastic way, " 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!

"]f you would see" Lowell -- 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, &c.

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 old. SABBATH 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, 80 pure, so cool and bright,

amazed at the decorum and sobriety of these crowdThe 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 lise-march, greenest resting place morning from day break 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 habiliments 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 Heavenence 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 awful; and close at hand

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 anathemaš upon all who « desecrate priest and Levite kepi up a show of worship, drumthe Lord's day;" where notices of meetings, forming upon hollow ceremonials the more Joudly for moral purposes even, can scarcely be read o' Sun. 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 hea. for 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 cheersựl, 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 maniare 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 of the Evangelists! He ful, on this day. But, for myself, looking down bruke 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, “th emost 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 genuflex. humility. 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 our gratilife of the Divine Teacher affords no countenance to tude for "glad tidings of great joy” be desponding? this sullen and gloomy saintliness, shutting up the Must the hymn of our thanksgiving for countless mer. heart 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 ? To him, who, neglecting the revelations of imme.

visiting the Banks of the Wye during a tour. July 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 lofty 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-tusts, sage not unworthy of note in this connection, when which at this season, with their unripe fruits, he speaks of the traini

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 Mirth,

But ost, 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,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; That rejoicest in tracking beauty where the 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 gift, 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 'twill cause a sigh, a tear;

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

Ju 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 higher clime Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
Bid me good morning.

We see into the life of things.

eye was

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 joyiess 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, O! 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!

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