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Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
He is gone on the mountain, he is lost to the forest,
Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river,
VI. IMMORTALITY.-R. H. DANA.
"Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Thick-clustering orbs on this our fair domain,
O listen, ye our spirits! drink it in
From all the air! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight;
⚫ Coronach, (kõr′ o nak), a song of lamentation; a lament.
* Correi, (kor rå), the side of a hill where game usually lies.
'Cum' ber, perplexity; distress. 'Fō rāy, a sudden pillaging incursion in peace or war.
'Sa' ble, dark; black.
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears.
As one vast mystic' instrument, are touched
The dying hear it; and, as sounds of earth
27. SELECTED EXTRACTS.
HE man who carries a lantern in a dark night, can have friends all around him, walking safely by the help of its rays, and he be not defrauded. So he who has the God-given light of hope in his breast, can help on many others in this world's darkness, not to his own loss, but to his precious gain.
2. As a rose after a shower, bent down by tear-drops, waits for a passing breeze or a kindly hand to shake its branches, that, lightened, it may stand once more upon its stem,—so one who is bowed down with affliction lõngs for a friend to lift him out of his sorrow, and bid him once more rejoice. Happy is the man who has that in his soul which acts upon the dejected like April airs upon viölet roots.
3. Have you ever seen a cactus growing? What a dry, ugly, spiny thing it is! But suppose your gardener takes it when just sprouting forth with buds, and lets it stand a week or two, and then brings it to you, and lo! it is a blaze of light, glorious above all flowers. So the poor and lowly, when God's time comes, and they begin to stand up and blossom, how beautiful they will be!
4. The sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for the wide world's joy. The lonely pine upon the mountain-top waves its somber boughs, and cries, "Thou art my sun." And the little meadow violet lifts its cup of blue, and whispers with its perfumed breath, "Thou art my sun." And the grain in a thousand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, "Thou
'Mystic, obscure; involving some secret meaning.
a Jū' bi lee, among the Jews every
fiftieth year, when the bondsmen were all set free and lands restored to their former owners.
art my sun." And so God sits effulgent in heaven, not for a favored few, but for the universe of life; and there is no creature so poor or so low that he may not look up with child-like confidence and say, "My Father! Thou art mine."
5. I think the human heart is like an artist's studio. You can tell what the artist is doing, not so much by his completed pictures, for they are mostly scattered at once, but by the halffinished sketches and designs which are hanging on his wall. And so you can tell the course of a man's life, not so much by his well-defined purposes, as by the half-formed plans-the faint day-dreams, which are hung in all the chambers of his heart.
6. Men are like birds that build their nests in trees that hang over rivers. And the birds sing in the tree-top, and the river sings underneath, undermining and undermining, and in the moment when the bird thinks not, it comes crashing down, and the nest is scattered, and all goes floating down the flood. If we build to ambition, we are like men who build before the track of a volcano's eruption, sure to be overtaken and burnt up by its hot lava. If we build to wealth, we are as those who build upon the ice. The spring will melt our foundations from under us.
7. Shall we build to earthly affections? If we can not transfigure' those whom we love-if we can not behold the eternal world shining through the faces of father and mother, of husband and wife—if we can not behold them all irradiated with the glory of the supernal' sphere, it were not best to build for love. Death erects his batteries right over against our homes, and in the hour when we think not, the missile flies and explodes, carrying destruction all around.
8. I think it is a sad sight to look at one of the receiving hulks at the Navy Yard. To think that that was the ship which once went so fearlessly across the ocean! It has come back to be anchored in the quiet bay, and to roll this way and that with the tide. Yet that is what many men set before them as the end of life-that they may come to that pass where they may be able to cast out an anchor this way and an anchor that way, and never move again, but rock lazily with the tide-without a sail-without a voyage-waiting simply for decay to take their
1 Trans figure, change the outward form or appearance of.
2 Su per' nal, being in a higher region or place; heavenly.
timbers apart. And this is what men call, "retiring from business"-to become simply an empty old hulk.
9. We are beleaguered by Time, and parallel after parallel is drawn around us, and then a change is made, and we see the enemy's flag waving on some outpost. And as the sense of hearing, and touch, and sight fails, and a man finds all these marks of time upon him, oh woe! if he has no Hereafter, as a final citadel into which to retreat.
10. Would that I could break this Gospel as a bread of life to all of you! My best presentations of it to you are so incomplete! Sometimes, when I am alone, I have such sweet and rapturous visions of the love of God and the truths of His word, that I think if I could speak to you then, I should move your hearts. I am like a child, who, walking forth some sunny summer's morning, sees grass and flowers all shining with drops of dew, that reflect every hue of the rainbow. "Oh!" he cries, "I'll carry these beautiful things to my mother," and eagerly shakes them off into his little palm. But the charm is gonethey are no more water-pearls.
11. There are days when my blood flows like wine; when all is ease and prosperity; when the sky is blue, and the birds sing, and flowers blossom, and every thing speaks to me; and my life is an anthem, walking in time and tune; and then this world's joy and affection suffice. But when a change comeswhen I am weary and disappointed-when the skies lower into the somber night-when there is no song of bird, and the per'fume of flowers is but their dying breath breathed away-when all is sunsetting and autumn, then I yearn for Him who sits with the summer of love in His soul, and know that all earthly affection is but a glow-worm light compared to that which blazes with such effulgence in the heart of God.
12. I think that in the life to come my heart will have feelings like God's. The little bell that a babe can hold in its fingers may strike the same note as the great bell of Mos'cow.' Its
1 Mŏs' cōw, a famous city of Russia, formerly capital of the whole Russian Empire. It is situated four hundred miles S. E. of St. Petersburg, with which it is connected by a first-class railroad. The stupendous bell here alluded to, called Czar Kolo
kol, or the Monarch, weighing nearly one hundred and eighty tons, is about twenty-one and a-half feet in height, and twenty-two and a-half in diameter. A huge fragment was broken from it, more than a century ago, when the bell-tower was burned.
note may be soft as a bird's whisper, and yet it is the same. And so God may have a feeling, and I, standing by him, shall have the same feeling. Where he loves, I shall love. All the processes of the Divine mind will be reflected in mine. And there will be this companionship with him to eternity. What else can be the meaning of those expressions that all we have is Christ's, and God is ours, and we are heirs of God? To inherit God-who can conceive of it? It is the growing marvel, and will be the growing wonder of eternity.
13. We are glad that there is a bosom of God to which we can go and find refuge. As prisoners in castles look out of their grated windows at the smiling landscape, where the sun comes and goes, so we from this life, as from dungeon bars, look forth to the heavenly land, and are refreshed with sweet visions of the home that shall be ours when we are free.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
28. FULLER'S BIRD.1
HE wild-winged creature, clad in gōre
Comes down to the water's brink :
2. "Have I till now," he sadly said,
"Preyed on my brother's blood, and made
Once more he glances in the brook,
1 Fuller's Bird, "I have read of a bird, which hath a face like, and yet will prey upon, a man; who, coming to the water to drink, and finding
there by reflection that he had killed one like himself, pineth away by degrees, and never afterward enjoyeth itself."-Fuller's Worthies.