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VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED.
THE HYMN OF THE DEW.
I know what the dew sang as down to the folds Of the silken rose it fell;
'Twas not for the ear, but the musing heart,
In the twilight, heard it well.
There came no words-you might listen long
The trill of the harp in the waving grass,
But a song it sang, and I caught it well
It was not meant for the perfumed rose,
And the garden knew the tone,
And the Lord was God alone.
Not such are the passionate words of song
Thrilling the nerves and bringing the tears
It stirred not even the pollen-dust
As it gently floated through,
And it lay on my heart like peace all night,
SONGS BY "BARRY CORNWALL.”
Thou hast beauty bright and fair,
Manner noble, aspect free,
Eyes that are untouched by care:
What then do we ask from thee?"
Thou hast reason quick and strong,
And a voice, itself a song!
What then can we still desire?
Something thou dost want, O queen!
Pity mingling with thy joy.
SONG SHOULD BREATHE.
Song from baser thoughts should win us;
Pains and pleasures, all men doeth,
War and peace, and right and wrongAll things that the soul subdueth
Should be vanquished, too, by Song.
Song should spur the mind to duty;
THE SONG OF A FÉLON'S WIFE. The brand is on thy brow,
A dark and guilty spot; 'Tis ne'er to be erased!
'Tis ne'er to be forgot! The brand is on thy brow!
Yet I must shade the spot:
Thy soul is dark-is stained-
Oh! even the tiger slain
Hath one who ne'er doth flee, Who soothes his dying pain! -That one am I to thee!
THE WEAVER'S SONG.
And show us how brightly your flowers grow,
Come, show us the rose, with a hundred dyes,
The violet, deep as your true love's eyes,
Sing-sing, brothers! weave and sing !
Weave, brothers, weave!-Weave, and bid
Let grace in each gliding thread be hid!
Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine,
Weave, brothers, weave!-Toil is ours;
One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers,
There is not a creature, from England's king,
That knows half the pleasures the seasons bring,
SABBATH IN LOWELL.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
To a population like that of Lowell, the weekly respite from monotonous in-door toil, afforded by the first day of the week, is particularly grateful. Sabbath comes to the weary and over-worked operative emphatically as a day of rest.. It opens upon him, somewhat as it did upon George Herbert, as he describes it in his exquisite little poem:
"Sweet day, so pure, so cool and bright,
thus put to flight the azure demons of his unfortunate
I am no Puritan, but I nevertheless welcome with joy unfeigned this First Day of the Week-sweetest pause in our hard life-march, greenest resting place in the hot desert we are treading! The errors of those who mistake its benignant rest for the iron rule of the Jewish Sabbath, and who consequently hedge it about with penalties, and bow down before it in slavish terror, should not render us less grate. ful for the real blessing it brings us. As a day wrested in some degree from the god of this world, as an opportunity afforded for thoughtful self-communing, let us receive it as a good gift of our Heavenly Parent, in love rather than fear.
Apart from its soothing religious associations, it brings with it the assurance of physical comfort and freedom. It is something, to be able to doze out the morning from daybreak to breakfast in that luxurious state between sleeping and waking, in which the mind eddies slowly and peacefully round and round, instead of rushing onward, the future a blank, the past annihilated, the present but a dim consciousness of pleasurable existence. Then, too, the satisfaction is by no means inconsiderable of throwing aside the worn and soiled habiliments of labor, and appearing in neat and comfortable attire. The moral influence of dress has not been overrated even by Carlyle's Professor in his Sartor Resartus." William Penn In passing along Central street this morning, my says, that cleanliness is akin to godliness. A well attention was directed, by the friend who accompadressed man, all other things being equal, is not half nied me, to a group of laborers, with coats off and as likely to compromise his character, as one who sleeves rolled up, heaving at levers--smiting with approximates to shabbiness. Lawrence Sterne used sledge-hammers,—in full view of the street, on the to say, that when he felt himself giving way to low spirits, and a sense of depression and worthlessnessa sort of predisposition for all sorts of little meannesses-he forthwith shaved himself, brushed his wig, donned his best dress and his gold rings, and
margin of the canal, just above Central street bridgeI rubbed my eyes, half expecting that I was the subject of mere optical illusion; but a second look only confirmed the first. Around me were solemn, go-tomeeting faces-smileless and awful; and close at hand
were the delving, toiling, mud-begrimmed laborers., the horror and clothes-rending astonishment of blind Nobody seemed surprised at it. Nobody noticed Pharisees, He uttered the significant truth, that it as a thing out of the common course of events. the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for And this, too, in a city where the Sabbath proprie- the Sabbath." From the close air of crowded cities, ties are sternly insisted upon; where some twenty from thronged temples and synagogues, - where pulpits deal out anathemas upon all who "desecrate priest and Levite kept up a show of worship, drumthe Lord's day;" where notices of meetings, forming upon hollow ceremonials the more loudly for moral purposes even, can scarcely be read o' Sun- their emptiness of life, as the husk rustles the more days; where many count it wrong to speak on that when the grain is gone-He led His disciples out day for the slave, who knows no Sabbath of rest, or into the country stillness, under clear Eastern heafor the drunkard, who, embruted by his appetites, vens, on the breezy tops of mountains, in the shade cannot enjoy it!-Verily, there are strange contra- of fruit trees, by the side of fountains and through dictions in our conventional morality. Eyes, which, yellow harvest fields, enforcing the lessons of His looking across the Atlantic on the gay Sabbath dances divine morality by comparisons and parables sugof French peasants, are turned upward with horror, gested by the objects around Him, or the cheerful are somehow blind to matters close at home. incidents of social humanity, the vineyard, the field would be sin past repentance, in an individual, belily, the sparrow in the air, the sower in the seedcomes quite proper in a corporation. True, the field, the feast and the marriage. Thus gently, thus Sabbath is holy-but the canals must be repaired. sweetly kind and cheerful, fell from His lips the Every body ought to go to meeting-but the divi- GOSPEL OF HUMANITY: Love the fulfilling of every dends must not be diminished. Church Indulgences law; our love for one another measuring and maniare not, after all, confined to Rome. festing our love of Him. The baptism wherewith To a close observer of human nature, there is He was baptized was that of Divine Fulness in the nothing surprising in the fact, that a class of persons, wants of our humanity; the deep waters of our sorwho wink at this sacrifice of Sabbath sanctities to rows went over him; Ineffable Purity sounding for the demon of Gain, look at the same time with stern our sakes the dark abysm of sin,-yet how like a disapprobation upon every thing partaking of the cha- river of light runs that serene and beautiful life racter of amusement, however innocent and health- through the narratives of the Evangelists! He ful, on this day. But, for myself, looking down broke bread with the poor, despised publican; He through the light of a golden evening upon these quiet- sat down with the fishermen by the sea of Galilee; ly passing groups, I cannot find it in my heart to con- He spoke compassionate words to sin-sick Magdalen; demn them for seeking on this, their sole day of leisure, He sanctified by his presence the social enjoyments the needful influences of social enjoyment, unrestrain-of home and friendship in the family of Bethany; ed exercise, and fresh air. I cannot think any essential service to religion or humanity would result from the conversion of their day of rest into a Jewish Sabbath, and their consequent confinement, like so many pining prisoners, in close and crowded boarding houses. Is not cheerfulness a duty-a better expression of our gratitude for God's blessings than mere words? And even under the old law of rituals, what answer had the Pharisees to the question, "Is it not lawful to do good on the Sabbath-day?"
He laid his hand of blessing on the sunny brows of children; He had regard even to the merely animal wants of the multitude in the wilderness; He frowned upon none of life's simple and natural pleasures.. The burden of His Gospel was Love; and in life and word He taught evermore the divided and scattered children of one great family, that only as they drew near each other could they approach Him who was their common centre; and that while no ostentation of prayer nor rigid observance of ceremonies I am naturally of a sober temperament, and am, could elevate man to Heaven, the simple exercise besides, a member of that sect which Dr. More has of Love, in thought and action, could bring Heaven called, mistakingly indeed, "th emost melancholy of down to man. To weary and restless spirits He all;" but I confess a special dislike of disfigured taught the great truth, that happiness consists in faces-ostentatious displays of piety-pride aping | making others happy. No cloister for idle genuflex. humility. Asceticism, moroseness, self-torture-ions and bead-counting, no hair-cloth for the loins ingratitude in view of down-showering blessings, and painful restraint of the better feelings of our nature, may befit a Hindoo fakir, or a Mandan medicine-man with buffalo skulls strung to his lacerated muscles, but they look to me sadly out of place in a believer of the Glad Evangel of the New Testament. The life of the Divine Teacher affords no countenance to this sullen and gloomy saintliness, shutting up the heart against the sweet influences of human sympa. thy and the blessed ministrations of Nature. To
nor scourge for the limbs, but works of love and usefulness under the cheerful sunshine, making the waste places of humanity glad, and causing the heart's desert to blossom. Why then should we go searching after the cast-off sackcloth of the Pharisee? Are we Jews or Christians? Must even our gratitude for "glad tidings of great joy" be desponding? Must the hymn of our thanksgiving for countless mercies, and the unspeakable gift of His life, have evermore an undertone of funeral dirges? What! shall we
go murmuring and lamenting, looking coldly on one another, seeing no beauty nor light nor gladness in this world, wherein we have the glorious privilege of laboring in God's harvest-field, with angels for our task-companions, blessing and being blessed?
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,
Composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a tour. July 13, 1798.
To him, who, neglecting the revelations of immediate duty, looks regretfully behind and fearfully before him, Life is a solemn mystery, for which-Five years have past; five summers, with the length ever way he turns, a wall of darkness rises before Of five long winters! and again I hear him; but down upon the Present as through a sky- These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs light between the shadows, falls a clear still radi- With a sweet inland murmur.-Once again ance, like beams from an eye of blessing; and with- Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, in the circle of that divine illumination, Beauty and That on a wild secluded scene impress Goodness, Truth and Love, Purity and Cheerfulness, Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect blend like primal colors into the clear harmony of The landscape with the quiet of the sky. light. The author of "Proverbial Philosophy," The day is come when I again repose upon whom, more than upon any living writer, has Here, under this dark sycamore, and view fallen the mantle of the Son of Sirach, has a pas-These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, sage not unworthy of note in this connection, when he speaks of the train which attends the Just in Heaven : "Also in the lengthening troop see I some clad in The wild green landscape. Once again I see robes of triumph, These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved Of sportive wood run wild these pastoral farms, on earth, Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, Sciences, and Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! Muses, With some uncertain notice, as might seem That, like Sisters of Charity, tended in this world's Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, hospital. Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire Welcome, for verily I knew ye could not but be chil- The Hermit sits alone.
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
These beauteous forms,
Thou also, star-robed Urania; and thou with the curious glass,
That rejoicest in tracking beauty where the eye was too dull to note it.
And art thou too among the blessed, mild, muchinjured Poetry?
That quickenest with light and beauty the leaden
face of matter,
That not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gar
dens with music;
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Is lightened that serene and blessed mood,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
Be but a vain belief, yet. oh! how oft-
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished If I were not thus taught, should I the more
With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
The picture of the mind revives again:
I came among these hills; when like a roe
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
Knowing that Nature never did betray,
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance-
Of past existence-wilt thou then forget
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!