O ye wild winds! a mightier Power than yours 10 Yet oh! when that wronged Spirit of our race Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains, Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air, To waste the loveliness that time could spare, 15 To fill the earth with woe, and blot her fair 20 Unconscious breast with blood from human veins But may he like the Spring-time come abroad, Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light; LESSON LXXX.-DAYBREAK.-RICHARD H. DANA, SEN. "The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun rising: the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang."-The Pilgrim's Progress. Now, brighter than the host that all night long, In fiery armor, up the heavens high Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's song, dim. 5 Star of the dawning, cheerful is thine eye; 10 Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him. "Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st, "as earth grows bright? And sigh, when little birds begin discourse In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh source! A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure. 5 And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse, Of ills and pains of life must be the cure, And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure." I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue Along that eastern cloud of deep, dull red; 10 Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew; And all the woods and hilltops stand outspread With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort shed. Still,-s -save the bird that scarcely lifts its song,The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead,15 The silent city emptied of its throng, And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong. But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth, 25 He feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies. And 't is because man useth so amiss Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad; Else why should she in such fresh hour as this 30 From her fair face? It is that man is mad' Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine When Nature grieves: nor deem this heart is bad. Thou look'st towards earth; but yet the heavens are thine, mine? 35 If man would but his finer nature learn, And not in life fantastic lose the sense Of simpler things; could Nature's features stern But bear my lot, albeit in spirit bowed, Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn, Shall see them pass. Breathe calm, my spirit 's torn, Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring nigh! And when I grieve, oh! rather let it be 15 That I, whom Nature taught to sit with her Should leave, and go with care, and passions fierce and How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain Desire! 30 Be called my chamber, PEACE, when ends the day; LESSON LXXXI.-THE LIGHT OF HOME.-MRS. S. J. HALE. My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, And thou must go ;-but never when there, 6 Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, It dazzles to lead astray: 5 10 15 20 Like the meteor's flash 't will deepen the night, But the hearth of home has a constant flame, "T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same. The sea of ambition is tempest tost, And thy hopes may vanish like foam; And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, For never, till shining on thy shroud, The sun of fame 't will gild the name, And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim, And how cold and dim those beams must be, 5 10 LESSON LXXXII.-A PSALM OF LIFE.-H. W. LONGFELLOW. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, For the soul is dead that slumbers, . Life is real! Life is earnest! Art is long, and Time is fleeting; And our hearts, though stout and brave, 5 10. 15 20 Still, like muffled drums, are beating Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! We can make our lives sublime, Footsteps on the sands of time; 5 10 15 LESSON LXXXIII.-TO THE CONDOR.-E. F. ELLET. Wondrous, majestic bird! whose mighty wing Powerful to soar in strength and pride on high, Proud nursling of the tempest, where repose Dost thou in silence, breathless and alone,- The mountain's frozen peak is lone and bare; |