Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that through your hearts to-day What though the radiance which was once so bright We will grieve not, rather find Which having been must ever be, In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the brooks which down their channels fret, The clouds that gather round the setting sun WORDSWORTH.-Abr. THE WORTH OF HOURS. So should we live, that every hour That every thought and every deed Esteeming sorrow, whose employ MILNES. In happy homes he saw the light Excelsior! "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche !" This was the peasant's last good night, Excelsior! BEN ADHEM. "We know we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.'' 1 John iii. 14. "He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen ?"-1 John iv. 20. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." LEIGH HUNt. THE GRAND CURE FOR HUMAN WOES. The cure for all the ills and wrongs, the cares, the sorrows, and the crimes of humanity, all lie in that one word, love. It is the divine vitality that every where produces and restores life. To each and every one of us, it gives the power of working miracles, if we will. From the highest to the lowest, all feel its influence, all acknowledge its sway. Even the poor despised donkey is changed by its magic influence. When coerced and beaten, he is vicious, obstinate, and stupid. With the peasantry of Spain he is a petted favourite, almost an inmate of the household. The children bid him welcome home, and the wife feeds him from her hands. He knows them all, and he loves them all, for he feels in his inmost heart that they all love him. He will follow his master, and come and go at his bidding, like a faithful dog; and he delights to take the baby on his back, and walk him round gently on the greensward. His intellect expands, too, in the sunshine of affection; and he that is called the stupidest of animals becomes sagacious. A Spanish peasant had for many years carried milk into Madrid, to supply a set of customers. Every morning he and his donkey, with loaded panniers, trudged the well known road. At last the peasant became very ill, and had no one to send to market. His wife proposed to send the faithful animal by himself. The panniers were accordingly filled with canisters of milk; an inscription, written by the priest, requested customers to measure their own milk, and return the vessels; and the donkey was instructed to set off with his load. He went, and returned in due time with empty canisters; and this he continued to do for several days. The house-bells in Madrid are usually so constructed that you pull downward to make them ring. The peasant afterwards learned that his sagacious animal stopped before the door of every customer, and after waiting what he deemed sufficient time, pulled the bell with his mouth. If affectionate treatment will thus idealise the donkey, what may it not do! Assuredly there is no limit to its power. It can banish crime, and make this earth an Eden. Maria Child's Letters from New York. As from the bosom of her mystic fountains, Then thro' each vale of mortal mind is rushing; Melting all spirits earthly into one, And leaving holiness and joy-'TIS KINDNESS. D. K. LEE. Were half the power that fills the world with terror, There were no need of arsenals nor forts. The warrior's name by all would be abhorred ! Down the dark future, through long generations, Peace!" Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals, LONGFELLOW. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.* The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, [Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, No children run to lisp their sire's return, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! *This is considered the finest Elegy in any language. It has been termed "exquisite and most thoroughly English"-"tasteful, expressive and touching"" a rich storehouse for rich and apt quotations" and "unequalled for the skill with which the pathetic and picturesque are combined." |