They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise, Here all that live no more; preserved they lie, Blest be the gracious Power, who taught mankind To stamp a lasting image of the mind! Beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing, CRABBE. XXIX. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. "I HAVE already observed, that when we let in religious consideraations, we often let in light upon the difficulties of nature. So in the fact now to be accounted for, the degree of happiness which we usually enjoy in this life, may be better suited to a state of trial and probation, than a greater degree would be. The truth is, we are rather too much delighted with the world, than too little. Imperfect, broken, and precarious, as our pleasures are, they are more than suffi THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 245 cient to attach us to the eager pursuit of them. A regard to a future state can hardly keep its place as it is. If we were designed therefore, to be influenced by that regard, might not a more indulgent system, a higher or more uninterrupted state of gratification, have interfered with the design? At least it seems expedient, that mankind should be susceptible of this influence, when presented to them; that the condition of the world should not be such, as to exclude its operation, or even to weaken it more than it does. In a religious view (however we may complain of them in every other), privation, disappointment and satiety, are not without the most salutary tendencies."-Paley. I HAVE read in some old marvellous tale, Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, White as a sea-fog, landward bound, No other voice nor sound was there, But when the old cathedral bell Proclaimed the morning prayer, Down the broad valley fast and far Up rose the glorious morning star, I have read the marvellous heart of man, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Encamped beside life's rushing stream, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Upon its midnight battle-ground And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, And when the solemn and deep church bell The midnight phantoms feel the spell, Down the broad vale of tears afar Faith shineth as a morning star, LONGFELLOW. XXX. REMEMBRANCE. "WE smile at the child running after the rainbow; but the impulse and the delight which excite him, are the natural effect of the splendid pageant of the cloud on his vision at that season; as natural to him, as the activities of his limbs; and such emotions leave impressions which the cultivated mind loves afterwards to cherish. * * * Whenever, then, we feel grateful to Providence for having made nature so charming to us, let us be equally thankful that He has blessed us with a season of youthful sensibility, both of frame and spirit, to be thus susceptible of its bounteous beauty."- Turner's Sacred History of the World. I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window, where the sun, MUTABILITY. I remember, I remember, And thought the air would rush as fresh My spirit flew in feathers, then, And summer pools could hardly cool I remember, I remember, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven, 247 HOOD. XXXI. MUTABILITY. "THE time in which I live is but a small moment of this world's history. It is a flight of a shadow; it is a dream of vanity; it is the rapid glance of a meteor; it is a flower which every breath of heaven can wither into decay; it is a tale which as a remembrance vanishes; it is a day which the silence of a long night will darken and overshadow. In a few years our heads will be laid in the cold grave, and the green turf will cover us. The children who come after us will tread upon our graves; they will weep for us a few days; they will talk of us for a few months; they will remember us for a few years; when our memory shall disappear from the face of the earth, and not a tongue shall be found to recall it."-Dr. Chalmers. WE are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings We rest-a dream has power to poison sleep; We rise-one wandering thought pollutes the day; It is the same!-For, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free; Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; SHELLEY. XXXII. PROCRASTINATION. "TIME We ought to consider as a sacred trust committed to us by God; of which we are now the depositaries, and are to render an account at the last. That portion of it which he has allotted to us, is intended partly for the concerns of this world; partly for those of the next. Let each of these occupy, in the distribution of our time, that space which properly belongs to it. Let not the hours of hospitality and pleasure, interfere with the discharge of our necessary affairs: and let not what we call necessary affairs, encroach upon the time which is due to devotion. To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. If we delay till to-morrow, what ought to be done to-day, we overcharge the morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. We load the wheels of time, and prevent them from carrying us along smoothly. He who every morning plans the transactions of the day, and follows out that plan, carries on a thread which will guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life. The orderly arrangement of his time is like a ray of light, which darts itself through all his affairs. But, where no plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidents, all things lie huddled together in one chaos, which admits neither of distribution nor review." -Blair. SHUN delays, they breed remorse; Take thy time while time is lent thee; Time wears all his locks before, ROBERT SOUTHWELL. |