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Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound !
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Feel the gladness of the May!
We will grieve not, rather find
In the faith that looks through death,
Is lovely yet;
THE WORTH OF HOURS.
So should we live, that every hour
The shades of night were falling fast,
who bore 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device,
“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 !)
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 & 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,
Nile's sacred waters flow on to the main,
each vale enclosed amidst the mountains,
A golden stream of sympathy is gushing;
Then throp each vale of mortal mind is rushing;
Purging humanity of every blindness,
D. K. LEE.
Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
There were no need of arsenals nor forts.
And every nation that should lift again
Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain!
The sounds of war grow fainter, and then cease,
I hear, once more, the voice of Christ say, Peace!”
The blast of War's great trumpet shakes the skies !
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.*
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds :
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
(Hark! how the sacred calm that breathes around,
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;
A grateful earnest of eternal peace.]
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care;
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubhorn glebe has broke :
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."