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days when Christ sang with his disciples, when the disciples sang too, as in our churches they have almost ceased to do. Oh! but for one moment even, to have sat transfixed, and to have listened to the hymn that Christ sang and to the singing! But the olive-trees did not hear his murmured notes more clearly than, rapt in imagination, we have heard them!

8. There, too, are the hymns of St. Ambrose' and many others, that rose up like birds in the early centuries, and have come flying and singing all the way down to us. Their wing is untired yet, nor is the voice less sweet now than it was a thousand years ago. Though they sometimes disappeared, they never sank; but, as engineers for destruction send bombs' that, rising high up in wide curves, overleap great spaces and drop down in a distant spot, so God, in times of darkness, seems to have caught up these hymns, spanning long periods of time, and letting them fall at distant ēras, not for explosion and wounding, but for healing and consolation.

9. There are crusaders' hymns, that rolled forth their truths upon the oriental air, while a thousand horses' hoofs kept time below, and ten thousand palm-leaves whispered and kept time above! Other hymns, fulfilling the promise of God that His saints should mount up with wings as eagles, have bōrne up the sorrows, the desires, and the aspirations of the poor, the oppressed, and the persecuted, of Huguenots, of Covenanters, and of Puritans, and winged them to the bosom of God.

10. In our own time, and in the familiar experiences of daily life, how are hymns mossed over and vine-clad with domestic associations! One hymn hath opened the morning in ten thousand families, and dear children with sweet voices have charmed the evening in a thousand places with the utterance of another. Nor do I know of any steps now left on earth by which one may


St. Ambrose, a celebrated Christian father, was probably born at Trèves, in 340. After a careful education at Rome, he practiced with great success, as an advocate, at Milan; and about 370 was appointed prefect of the provinces of Liguria and Æmilia, whose seat of government was Milan. He was appointed Bishop of Milan in 374; and finally acquired so

much influence, that after the mas-
sacre of Thessalonica in 39, he refused
the Emperor Theodosius to the
Church of Milan for a period of eight
months, and then caused him to per-
form a public penance. Ambrose
was a man of eloquence, firmness,
and ability. The best edition of his
works is that of the Benedictines.
2 Bombs, (bumz).

so soon rise above trouble or weariness as the verses of a hymn and the notes of a tune. And if the angels, that Jacob saw, sang when they appeared, then I know that the ladder which he beheld was but the scale of divine music let down from heaven to earth. H. W. BEECHER.




HEN MUSIC, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell,—
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,—
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each-for MADNESS ruled the hour-
Would prove his own expressive power.
2. First FEAR, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewildered laid;
And back recoiled, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.-
Next ANGER rushed-his eyes on fire,

In lightnings owned his secret stings:

In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept, with hurried hands, the strings.—
With woful measures, wan DESPAIR—

Low sullen sounds!-his grief beguiled;

A solemn, stränge, and mingled air;
'Twas sad, by fits-by starts, 'twas wild.
3. But thou, O HOPE! with eyes so fair-
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whispered promised pleasure,

And både the lovely scenes at distance hail!
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She called on ECHO still, through all her song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;
And HOPE, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair.
4. And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,
REVENGE impatient rose.

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down;
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woes;
And ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat;
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
Dejected PITY, at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice applied,

Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ;

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

5. Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to naught were fixed

Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ;
And now it courted Love-now, raving, called on HATE.—
With eyes upraised, as one inspired,

Pale MELANCHOLY sat retired;

And, from her wild, sequestered seat,

In notes, by distance made more sweet,

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul;

And, dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels joined the sound;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ;
Or, o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay,-
Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

6. But, oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone,

When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph of healthiest hue,


Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,—
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known!

The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen,
Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green :

Brown EXERCISE rejoiced to hear;

And SPORT leaped up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:

He, with viny crown, advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed;
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viöl,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best.
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempè's' vale her native maids,
Amid the festal-sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing;

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings,
LOVE framed with MIRTH a gay fantastic round—
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound—
And he, amid his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.


WILLIAM COLLINS, one of the most interesting and exquisite of English poets, was born at Chichester on Christmas-day, 1720. He was educated at Winchester, and Magdalen College, Oxford. Before leaving college he published the "Oriental Eclogues," which, to the disgrace of the university and the literary public, were wholly neglected. In 1744 he came to London as a literary adventurer, and about two years later published his "Odes," and made the acquaintance of Dr. Johnson, who held him in the highest esteem. His life in the metropolis was irregular, and, until the death of an uncle, who left him a legacy of £2000, was one of continual hardship. On the receipt of this little fortune, he repaid Miller, the bookseller, the loss sustained by the publication of his neglected "Odes," which were afterward destined to become immortal. Unhappily, the seeds of discase and occasional insanity had been too deeply sown in his former poverty to be eradicated, and after a short sojourn in France, he passed through the doors of a lunatic asylum to his early home, where, in care of his sister, he died, in 1756, at the early age of thirty-six. His appearance was manly, his conversation elegant, his views extensive, his disposition cheerful, and his morals

1 Tempe, (têm ́på), a valley of European Turkey, in the N. E. of Thessaly, between the mountains of Olym

pus on the N., and Ossa on the S. The beauties of its scenery are much celebrated by ancient writers.

pure. He was a man of extensive literature, and of vigorous faculties. The "Oriental Eclogues" are written in a clear, correct style, and they charm by their figurative language and descriptions, the simplicity and beauty of their dialogues and sentiments, and their musical versification. No poet has been more happy in the use of metaphors and personification. Collins' "Odes" are unsurpassed by any thing of the same species of composition in the English language, and that to the “Passions" is a perfect master-piece of poetical description.



WAS at the royal feast for Persia won


By Philip's warlike son:

Aloft, in awful state,

The godlike hero sate,

On his imperial throne.

His valiant peers were placed around
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound;
So should desert in arms be crowned.

The lovely Thais' by his side

Sat, like an eastern blooming bride,
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!

None (nun) but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave, deserves the fair.

2. Timotheüs, placed on high

Amid the tuneful choir,

With flying fingers touched the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire.

The song began from Jove,

Who left his blissful seats above-
Such is the power of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form belied the god:
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

'Tha' is, a celebrated beauty of Athens, an attendant of Alexander, who gained such influence over him, as to cause him, during a great festival at Persepolis, to set fire to the

palace of the Persian kings. On the death of the conqueror, she married Ptolemy, king of Egypt, one of Alexander's generals. She is sometimes called Menandria.

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