VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. 13 methods of slaying by thousands? and plant a thirst in the soul, that it might be quenched by the blood of men? What science or art can boast of more precision, of more to teach it, to hail it with enthusiasm, and to celebrate it in song? Genius has ever sat at the feet of Mars, and exhausted his efforts in preparing exquisite offerings. Human thought has never made such gigantic efforts as when employed in scenes of butchery. Has skill ever been more active and successful-has Poetry ever so kindled, as when the flames of Troy lighted her page? What school-boy is ignorant of the battle ground, and the field of blood, where ancient and modern armies met and tried to crush each other? Has Music ever thrilled like that which led men to battle, and the plume of the desert-bird ever danced so gracefully as when on the head of the warrior? Are any honors so freely bestowed, or cheaply purchased, as those which are gained by a few hours of fighting? See that man, who, so late, was the wonder of the world, calling out, marshalling, employing and wasting almost all the treasures of Europe, for twelve or fifteen years. What multitudes of minds did he call to the murderous work of war!-minds that might have blessed the world with literature, with science, with schools, and with the gospel of peace, had they not been perverted from the great and best object of living! Says a philosophical writer, speaking on this subject, “I might suppose for the sake of illustration, that all the schemes of ambition, and cruelty, and intrigue, were blotted from the page of history, that, against the names of the splendid and guilty actors, whom the world, for ages, has wondered at, there were written achievements of Christian benevolence, equally grand and characteristic,—and then ask what a change would there be in the scenes which the world has beheld transacted, and what a difference in the results! Alexander should have won victories in Persia more splendid than those of Granicus and Arbela; he should have wandered over India, like Buchanan, and wept for another world to bring under the dominion of the Saviour; and returning to Babylon, should have died, like Martyn, the victim of Christian zeal. Cæsar should have made Gaul and Britain obedient to the faith, and crossing the Rubicon with the apostolic legions, and making the Romans freemen of the Lord, should have been the forerunner of Paul, and done half his work. Charlemange should have been a Luther.Charles of Sweeden should have been a Howard; and, flying from the Baltic to the Euxine, like an angel of mercy, should have fallen, when on some errand of love, and, numbering his days by the good deeds he had done, should have died like Mills in an old age of charity. Voltaire should have written Christian tracts. Rousseau should have been a Fenelon. Hume should have unravelled the intricacies of theology, and defended like Edwards, the faith once delivered to the saints." We call ours the most enlightened nation on earth, inferior to none in owning the spirit of Christianity; and we claim this as an age behind none ever enjoyed, for high moral principle and benevolent, disinterested action. But what is the principle in the great mass of mankind! When clouds gather in the political horizon, and war threatens a nation, how are the omens received? How many are there who turn aside and weep, and deprecate the guilt, the woe, and the indescribable evils and miseries of war? The great majority of the nation feel that the path of glory is now opening before them, and that the honor which may possibly be attained by a few battles, is ample compensation for the expense, the morals, the lives and the happiness, which must be sacrificed for the possibility. Let that nation rush to war for some supposed point of honor.Watch the population as they collect, group after group, under the burning sun, all anxious, all eager, and all standing as if in deep expectation for the signal which was to call them to judgment. They are waiting for the first tidings of the battle, where the honor of the nation is staked. No tidings that ever came from Heaven can send a thrill of joy so deep as the tidings that one ship has conquered or sunk another. Was it any thing remarkable, that, in the very heart of a Christian nation, a single horse-race brought over fifty thousand people together? Were they acting so much out of the character of the mass of mankind as to cause it to make any deep impression upon the moral sensibilities of the nation? Suppose it were known that a mind was now in process of training, which might, if its powers were properly directed, be equal to Milton or Locke; but that, instead of this, it will waste its powers in creating such song as Byron wrote, or in weaving such webs as the schoolmen wove. Would the knowledge of such a waste of mind, such perversion of powers, cause a deep sensation of regret among men? or have such perversions been so common in the world, that one such magnificent mind might be lost to mankind, and no one would mourn? The answer is plain. The world has become so accustomed to seeing mind prostituted to ignoble pur. poses, and influence which might reach round the globe like a zone of mercy thrown away forever, that we hardly think of it as greatly out of the way. A generation of men come on the stage of action; they find the world in darkness, in ignorance, and in sin. They live, gain the few honors which are easily plucked, gather the little wealth which toil and anxiety will bestow, and then pass away. As a whole, the generation do not expect or try to throw an influence upon the world which shall be redeeming.— They do not expect to leave the world materially better than they found it. Why do we not mourn that such myriads of immortal minds are destined 14 VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED to pass away, and never to break out in acts of mercy and kindness to the world? Because we have so long been so prodigal of mind, that we hardly notice its loss. CHRIST-LIKE. BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD. To-day is Christmas. For several days past, cartloads of ever-greens have gone by my windows, the pure snow falling on them, soft and still as a blessing. To-day, churches are wreathed in evergreen, altars are illuminated, and the bells sound joyfully in Gloria Excelsis. Throngs of worshippers are going up to their altars, in the Greek, Syrian, Armenian, Roman and English churches. Eighteen hundred years ago, a poor babe was born in a stable, and a few lonely shepherds heard heavenly voices, soft warbling over the moonlit hills, proclaiming "Peace on earth, and good will towards men.' Earth made no response to the chorus. It always entertains angels unawares. When the HOLY ONE came among them, they mocked and crucified him. But now the stars, in their midnight course listen to millions of human voices, and deep organ-tones struggling upwards, vainly striving to express the hopes and aspirations, which that advent concentrated from the past and prophesied for the future. From East to West, from North to South, men chant hymns of praise to the despised Nazarene, and kneel in worship before his cross. How beautiful is this universal homage to the Principle of Love ?-that feminine principle of the universe, the inmost centre of Christianity. It is the divine idea which distinguishes it from all other religious, and yet the idea in which Christian nations evince so little faith, that one would think they kept, only to swear by, that gospel which says "Swear not at all." Centuries have passed, and through infinite conflict have ushered in our brief to-day;" and is there peace and good will among men? Sincere faith in the words of Jesus would soon fulfil the prophecy which angels sung. But the world persists in saying, "This doctrine of unqualified forgiveness and perfect love, though beautiful and holy, | cannot be carried into practice now; men are not yet prepared for it." The same spirit says, "It would not be safe to emancipate slaves; they must first be fitted for freedom." As if slavery ever could fit men for freedom, or war ever lead the nations into peace! Yet men who gravely utter these excuses, laugh at the shallow wit of that timid mother, who declared that her son should never venture into the water till he had learned to swim. Those who have dared to trust the principles of peace, have always found them perfectly safe. It can never prove otherwise, if accompanied by the declaration that such a course is the result of Christian principle, and a deep friendliness for humanity. Who seemed so little likely to understand such a position, as the Indians of North America? Yet how readily they laid down tomahawks and scalping-knives at the feet of William Penn! With what humble sorrow they apologized for killing the only two Quakers they were ever known to attack! 66 The men carried arms," said they, "and therefore we did not know they were not fighters. We thought they pretended to be Quakers, because they were cowards." The savages of the East, who murdered Lyman and Munson, made the same excuse. They carried arms," said they, and so we supposed they were not Christian missionaries, but enemies. We would have done them no harm, if we had known they were men of God." If a nation could but attain to such high wisdom as to abjure war, and proclaim to all the earth, "We will not fight, under any provocation. If other nations have aught against us, we will settle the question by umpires mutually chosen." Think you that any nation would dare to make war upon such a people? Nay, verily, they would be instinctively ashamed of such an act, as men are now ashamed to attack a woman or a child. Even if any were found mean enough to pursue such a course, the whole civilized world would cry fie upon them, and by universal consent, brand them as paltroons and assassins. And assassins they would be, even in the common acceptation of the term. I have read of a certain regiment ordered to march, into a small town, (in the Tyrol, I think,) and take it. It chanced that the place was settled by a colony who believed the gospel of Christ, and proved their faith by works. A courier from a neighboring village informed them that troops were advancing to take the town. They quietly answered, « If they will take it, they must." Soldiers soon came riding in, with colors flying, and fifes piping their shrill defiance. They looked round for an enemy, and saw the farmer at his plough, the blacksmith at his anvil, and the women at their churns and spinning-wheels. Babies crowed to hear the music, and boys ran out to see the pretty trainers, with feathers and bright buttons, "the harlequins of the nineteenth century." Of course, none of these were in a proper position to be shot at. "Where are your soldiers ?" they asked. "We have none," was the brief reply. "But we have come to take the town." "Well, friends, it lies before you." "But is there nobody here to fight?" "No; we are all Christians." Here was an emergency altogether unprovided for by the military schools. This was a sort of resistance which no bullet could hit; a fortress perfectly bomb-proof. The commander was perplexed. "If there is nobody to fight with, of course we cannot fight," said he. "It is impossible to take such a town as this." So he ordered the horses to be turned about, and they carried the human animals out of the village, as guiltless as they entered, and perchance somewhat wiser. VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. 15 reasons, Swedenborgians would add another; for act cording to the doctrine of Correspondence unfolded by their illuminated scribe," spring corresponds to peace; that diapason note, from which all growth This experiment on a small scale indicates how easy it would be to dispense with armies and navies, if men only had faith in the religion they profess to believe. When France lately reduced her army, England immediately did the same; for the exist-rises in harmonious order. ence of one army creates the necessity for another, unless men are safely ensconced in the bomb-proof fortress, above mentioned. But I am willing to accept this wintry anniversary, and take it to my heart. As the sun now begins to return to us, so may the truth and love which he typifies gradually irradiate and warm the globe. The Romans kept their festival with social feasts and mutual gifts; and the windows of New York are to tempt the wealthy, who are making up Christmas boxes for family and friends. Many are the rich jewels and shining stuffs, this day bestowed by affection or vanity. In this I have no share ; but if I were as rich as John Jacob Astor, and not so fearful of poverty, as he is said to be, I would this day go to the shop of Baronto, a poor Italian artist, in Orchard street, buy all he has, and give freely to every one who enjoys forms of beauty. There are hidden in that small obscure workshop, some little gems of art. Alabaster nymphs, antique urns of agate, and Hebe vases of the costly Verd de Prato. There is something that moves me strangely in those old Grecian forms. They stand like petrified melodies from the world's youthful heart. I would like to buy out Baronto every Christmss, and mix those "fair humanities of old religion," with the Madonnas and Saviours of a more spiritual time. The doctrines of Jesus are not beautiful abstractions, but living, vital truths. There is in them no elaborate calculation of consequences, but simply the divine impulse uttered. They are few and sim-to-day, filled with all forms of luxury and splendor, ple, but infinite in spirit, and of universal application. Like the algebraic X, they stand for the unknown quantity, and, if consulted aright, always give the true answer. The world has been deluged with arguments about war, slavery, &c., and the wisest product of them all, is simply an enlightened application of the maxims of Jesus. Faith in God, love to man, and action obedient thereto, from these flow all that belong to order, peace, and progress. Probably, the laws by which the universe were made, are thus reducible to three in one, and all varieties of creation are thence unfolded, as all melody and harmony, flow from three primal notes. God works synthetically. The divine idea goes forth and clothes itself in form, from which all the infinity of forms are evolved. We mortals see truth in fragments, and try to trace it upwards to its origin by painful analysis. In this there is no growth. All creation, all life, is evolved by the opposite process. We must reverence truth. We must have that faith in it, of which action is the appropriate form; and lo, the progress which we have sought for so painfully, will unfold upon us, as naturally as the seed expands into blossoms and fruit. I did not mean to preach a sermon. But the evergreens, and the music from neighboring churches, carried me back to the hill-sides of Palestine, and my spirit involuntary began to ask, What response does earth now give to that chorus of peace and good will? A friend of mine, who has no money to spend for jewels or silks, or even antique vases, has employed his Christmas more wisely than this; and in his action, there is more angelic music, than in those divine old statues. He filled a large basket full of cakes, and went forth into our most miserable streets, to distribute them among hungry children. How little dirty faces peeped after him, round street corners, and laughed from behind open gates! How their eyes sparkled as they led along some shivering barefooted urchin, and cried out, "This little boy has had no cake, sir!" Sometimes a greedy lad would get two shares by false pretences; but this was no conclusive proof of total depravity, in children who never ate cake from Christmas to Christmas. No wonder the stranger with his basket, excited a prodigious sensation. Mothers came to see who it was that had been so kind to their little ones. Every one had a story to tell of health ruined by hard work, of sickly children, or drunken husbands. It was a It matters little that Christ was not born on that day, which the church has chosen to commemorate his birth. The associations twined around it for many centuries, have consecrated it to my mind. Nor am I indifferent to the fact, that it was the old Roman festival for the birth of the Sun. As a form of their religious idea, it is interesting to me, and I see peculiar beauty in thus identifying the birth of the natural sun, with the advent of the Son of Right-genuine out-pouring of hearts. An honest son of eousness, which, in an infinitely higher sense, enlightens and vivifies the nations. The learned argue that Christ was probably born in the spring; because the Jewish people were at that season enrolled for taxation, and this was the business which carried Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem :--and because the shepherds of Syria would not be watching their flocks in the open air, during the cold months. To these the Emerald Isle stood by, rubbing his head, and exclaimed, "Did my eyes ever see the like o' that? A jintleman giving cake to folks he don't know, and never asking a bit o' money for the same!" Alas, eighteen centuries ago, that chorus of good will was sung, and yet so simple an act of sympathizing kindness, astonishes the poor! In the course of his Christmas rambles, my friend 16 VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. entered a house occupied by fifteen families. In the corner of one room, on a heap of rags, lay a woman with a babe, three days old, without food or fire. In another very small apartment, was an aged, weather beaten woman. She pointed to an old basket of pins and tape, as she said, "For sixteen years I have carried that basket on my arm, through the streets of New York; and often have I come home with weary feet, without money enough to buy my supper. But we must always pay our rent in advance, whether we have a loaf of bread to eat or not." Seeing the bed without clothing, her visiter inquired how she slept. Oh the house is very leaky. The wind whistles through and through, and the rain and snow come driving in. When any of us are sick, or the weather is extra cold, we lend our bedding, and some of us sit up while others get a nap." As she spoke, a ragged little girl came in to say, " Mammy wants to know whether you will lend her your fork?" "To be sure, I will, dear,' she replied, in the heartiest tone imaginable. She would have been less generous, had her fork been a silver one. Her visiter smiled as he said, "I suppose you borrow your neighbor's knife, in return for your fork?" "Oh, yes," she replied; and she is as willing to lend as I am. We poor folks must help one another. It is all the comfort we have." The kind-hearted creature did not know, perhaps, that it was precisely such comfort as the angels have in heaven; only theirs is without the drawback of physical suffering and limited means. I have said that these families, owning a knife and fork between them, and loaning their bedclothes after a day of toil, were always compelled to pay their rent in advance. Upon adding together the sums paid by each, for accommodations so wretched, it was found that the income from that dilapidated building, in a filthy and crowded street, was greater than the rent of many a princely mansion in Broadway. This mode of oppressing the poor, is a crying sin, in our city. A benevolent rich man could not make a better investment of capital, than to build tenements for the laboring class, and let them on reasonable terms. This Christmas tour of observation, has suggested to my mind many thoughts concerning the present relations of labor and capital. But I forbear; for I see that this path, like every other, "if you do but follow it, leads to the end of the world." I had rather dwell on the perpetual efforts of Divine Providence to equalize what the selfishness of man strives to make unequal. If the poor have fewer pleasures than the rich, they enjoy them more keenly; if they have not that consideration in society, which brings with it so many advantages, they avoid the irksome slavery of conventional forms; and what exercise of the benevolent sympathies could a rich man enjoy, in making the most magnificent Christmas gift, compared with the beautiful self-denial which lends its last blanket, that another may sleep? That there should exist the necessity for such sacrifices, what does it say to us concerning the structure of society, on this Christmas day, nearly two thousand years after the advent of Him, who said, "God is your father, and all ye are brethren"? THE BATTLE-FIELD. Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Encountered in the battle cloud. Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life.blood of her braveGushed, warm with hope and valor yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm and fresh and still; Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry Oh, be it never heard again! Soon rested those who fought-but thou, A friendless warfare! lingering long And blench not at thy chosen lot; The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn; Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; When those who helped thee flee in fear, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave! VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. No. 2. THE STAR-GAZER. BY C. P. CRANCH. Star after star looked glimmering down, Thought after thought upon him shone. An inner sky did sometimes seem To show him truths of deepest worth, And well he knew the world was dark, And watch that sky he loved so well. One solitary soul he seemed And yet he knew that all might see He knew that all the silent scorn And when the cold and rugged sod Had pressed the brain that toiled for them, That on his statue men would hang The unavailing diadem. All this he felt, and yet his faith, The distant lights that fixed his gaze, And then they started from their dreams, The vision on their souls had burst. And underneath the sod he lay, Now all bedued with fruitful tears; And they could only deck the tomb That told of his neglected years. A LONDON LYRIC. EYBARRY CORNWALL." (Without.) The winds are bitter; the skies are wild; Sobbeth alone her grief, her pain; No one heareth her, no one heedeth her; (Within.) The skies are wild, and the blast is cold; The crackling wine is bubbling Up in each glass to its beaded brim; She who is slain 'neath the winter weather- Had gentleness-vanity-maiden shame. There is an end unto every pain. Disdain-despair; by to-morrow's light And so she'll be given to the dusky night. Without a tear or a human sigh, She's gone-poor life and it's "fever" o'er; So-let her in calm oblivion lie, While the world runs merry as heretofore! (Within.) He who yon lordly feast enjoyeth, He who doth rest on his couch of down, He it was, who threw the forsaken Under the feet of the trampling town. Liar-betrayer-false as cruel What is the doom for his dastard sin? His peers, they scorn?-high dames, they shun him? Unbar yon palace and gaze within. |