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antry sinks before him. The country is too poor for and too rough for valuable conquest. Nature preeternal barriers, on every side, to check the wantonmbition; and Switzerland remains with her simple ns, a military road to fairer climates, scarcely worth ent possession, and protected by the jealousy of her

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and the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last, nt of self-government by the people. We have under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. n the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions er been enfeebled by the vices or luxuries of the old Such as we are, we have been from the beginning; ardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government and ect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formi

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our own territory, stretching through many degrees de and longitude, we have the choice of many prodI many means of independence. The government The press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect ss could be presented? What means more adequate plish the sublime end? What more is necessary, the people to preserve what they themselves have

ly has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. ready ascended the Andes, and snuffed the breezes oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of and warmed the sunny plains of France, and the Is of Holland. It has touched the philosophy of y and the North, and, moving onward to the South, ed to Greece the lessons of her better days.

t be that America, under such circumstances, can erself! that she is to be added to the catalogue of s, the inscription upon whose ruins is, "They were, y are not!" Forbid it, my countrymen; forbid it,

upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors,

he dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all are, and all you hope to be; resist every project of dison, resist every encroachment upon your liberties, resist y attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your lic schools, or extinguish your system of public inction.

call upon you, mothers, by that which never fails in nan, the love of your offspring; teach them, as they b your knees, or lean on your bosoms, the blessings of rty. Swear them at the altar, as with their baptismal is, to be true to their country, and never to forget or fore her.

call upon you, young men, to remember whose sons you whose inheritance you possess. Life can never be too rt, which brings nothing but disgrace and oppression. ■th never comes too soon, if necessary in defence of liberties of your country.

call upon you, old men, for your counsels, and your yers, and your benedictions. May not your gray hairs ge n in sorrow to the grave, with the recollection, that you e lived in vain. May not your last sun sink in the west n a nation of slaves.

No-I read in the destiny of my country far better hopes, brighter visions. We, who are now assembled here, must be gathered to the congregation of other days. The time ur departure is at hand, to make way for our children upon theatre of life. May God speed them and theirs. May who, at the distance of another century, shall stand here, elebrate this day, still look round upon a free, happy and uous people. May he have reason to exult as we do. y he, with all the enthusiasm of truth, as well as of poetry, laim that here is still his country,

"Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;

Jaflexible in faith; invincible in arms."

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LESSON CI.

The Death of Moses.-JOHN S. TAYLOR.

ON Nebo's hill the patriarch stood,
Who led the pilgrim bands

Of Israel through the foaming waves,
And o'er the desert sands.

How beauteous is the scene that spreads
Before him far and wide,
Beyond the fair and fated bourn
Of Jordan's glorious tide!

Stretched forth in varied loveliness,
The land of promise smiled,
Like Eden in its wondrous bloom,
Magnificent and wild.

He looked o'er Gilead's pleasant land,
A land of fruit and flowers,

And verdure of the softest green,
That drinks the summer showers.

He saw fair Ephraim's fertile fields
Laugh with their golden store,
And, far beyond, the deep blue wave
Bathed Judah's lovely shore.

The southern landscape led his glance
O'er plains and valleys wide,
And hills with spreading cedars crowned,

And cities in their pride.

There Zoar's walls are dimly seen,

And Jericho's far towers

Gleam through the morning's purple mist,

Among their palmy bowers.

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Is it the sun, the morning sun,
That shines so full and bright,
Pouring on Nebo's lonely hill
A flood of living light?

No dim and earthly is the glow
Of morning's loveliest ray,
And dull the cloudless beams of noon,
To that celestial day.

Is it an angel's voice that breathes
Divine enchantment there,
As floating on his viewless wings
He charms the balmy air?

No 'tis a greater, holier power,
That, makes the scene rejoice;
Thy glory, God, is in that light,—
Thy spirit, in that voice!

The patriarch hears, and lowly bends,
Adoring his high will,

Who spoke in lightnings from the clouds
Of Sinai's awful hill.

Now flash his eyes with brighter fires
E'er yet their light depart;

And thus the voice of prophecy
Speaks to his trembling heart :-

"The land, which I have sworn to bless
To Abraham's chosen race,
Thine eyes behold; but not for thee
That earthly resting-place."

With soul of faith the patriarch heard
The awful words, and lay

A time entranced, until that voice
In music died away;—

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Then raised his head,-one look he gave
Towards Jordan's palmy shore;

Fixed was that look, and glazed that eye,
Which turned to earth no more.

A beauteous glow was on his face-
Death flung not there its gloom;
On Nebo's hill the patriarch found
His glory and his doom.

He sleeps in Moab's silent vale,
Beneath the dewy sod,

Without a stone to mark his grave,
Who led the hosts of God.

Let marble o'er earth's conquerors rise,
And mock the mouldering grave;
His monument is that blest Book,
Which opens but to save.

LESSON CII.

on the Entrance of the American Woods.-GALT.

solemn spirit doth inhabit here!

at sacred oracle hath here a home!

dread unknown thrills through the heart in fear, moves to worship in this forest-dome! ried fanes, in whose recesses dim mitred priesthood hath their altars built, old and awful, where the choral hymn is the rapt soul beyond the sphere of guilt, your proud arches, and your columns bend, r tombs and monumental trophies hide; gh, umbrageous vaults, that here extend, k the brief limits of your sculptured pride. er forlorn, by fortune hither cast,

ou the genius brave,-the ancient and the vast?

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