Изображения страниц

Hark! he shrieks "Help! help!" He crys "Help!" but ah, no help is nigh.

The monsters of the deep stand ready for their prey, and the victim, in despair, awaits his awful death. The booming gun and the shrieks of human agony are vain. Peace and farewell to the poor sailor boy.



[With force and vigor.]

Good nature-what a blessing! Without it man is like a wagon without springs, it has the full benefit of every stone and way-rut. Good nature is the prime minister of a good conscience. It tells of the genial spirit within, and good nature never fails of a wholesome effect without.

Good nature is not only the government of one's own spirit, but it goes far in its effects upon those of others. It manifests itself on every street; it humanizes man; it softens the friction of a business world. Good nature is the harmonious act of conscience. Good nature in practical affairs is better than any other; better than what men call justice; better than dignity; better than standing on one's rights, which is so often the narrowest and worst place to stand on one can find.

A man who lacks good nature is like a long, lean, bony man sitting on an oak bench without anything under him; while a good natured man is like a fleshy man who always has a cushion under him. He can sit down anywhere and be comfortable. A man who lacks good nature is always quarrelling with somebody. It is impossible for him to agree with any one, and he is always losing his temper. This want of good nature made a certain President's road a hard one to travel. He might have seen better days had he known how to regulate his temper.

A man who knows how to hold on to his temper is the man who is respected by the community. And one who has good nature successfully travels about as does he who goes upon the prin

ciple-little of baggage but plenty of money. A man who is armed with hopefulness, cheerfulness and a genial spirit, is one who is going to be of practical and beneficent usefulness to his fellow man. There are no things by which the troubles and difficulties of this life can be resisted better than with wit and humor. And let the happy person who possesses these-if he be brought into the folds of the church-not allow conversion to deprive him of them. God has constituted these in man, and especially when they are so salient in meeting good naturedly the trials of this world they should be used. Happiness, at last, is dependent upon a soul that has holy communion with its Creator, "for in Him we have life eternal." Men also fail in happiness because they refuse to read the great lessons found in the great book of nature. Happiness is to be sought in the possession of true manhood rather than in its internal conditions.



[Simply and tenderly.]

Still sits the school house by the road,
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,
And blackberry vines are running.

Within the master's desk is seen,
Deep-scared by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats,
The jack-knife's carved initial.

The charcoal frescoes on its wall
Its door's worn sill betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing.

Long years ago a winter sun
Shone over it at setting,
Lit up its western window panes
And low eaves' icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls
And brown eyes. full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.

For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled,
His cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered,
As restlessly her tiny hands

The blue checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt

The soft hand's light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing.

"I'm sorry that I spelt the word; I hate to go above you, Because"-the brown eyes lower fell— "Because, you see, I love you!"

Still memory to a gray haired man

That sweet child-face is showing; Dear girl! the grasses on her grave

Have forty years been growing.

He lives to learn, in life's hard school, How few who pass above him, Lament their triumph and his loss Like her because they love him.



The Sabbath Day is the beautiful river in the week of Time. The other days are troubled streams, whose angry waters are disturbed by the countless crafts that float upon them. But the sure river Sabbath flows on to eternal rest, chanting the sublime music of the silent, throbbing spheres, and timed by the pulsations of the everlasting life. Beautiful river Sabbath, glide on! Bear forth on thy bosom the poor, tired spirit to the rest which it seeks, and the weary, watching soul to endless bliss.



[Boldly and vigorously.]

Do thy little-do it well.

Do what right and reason tell
Do what wrong and sorrow claim;
Conquer sin and cover shame.

Do thy little, though it be
Dreariness and drudgery:
They whom Christ apostles made,
"Gathered fragments" when He bade

Do thy little, never mind

Tho' thy brethren be unkind⚫
Tho' the men who ought to smile
Mock and taunt thee for awhile.

Do thy little, never fear
While the Saviour standeth near;
Let the world its javelins throw,
On thy way undaunted go.

Do thy little; God hath made
Million leaves for forest shade;
Smallest stars their glory bring-
God employeth every thing.

Do thy little, and when thou
Feelest on thy pallid brow,
Ere has fled the vital breath,
Cold and damp, the sweat of death,
Then the little thou hast done-
Little battles thou has won,
Little masteries achieved,
Little wants with care relieved,
Little words with love expressed,
Little wrongs at once confessed,
Little favors kindly done,
Little toils thou didst not shun,
Little graces meekly worn,
Little slights with patience borne-
These shall crown thy pillowed head,
Holy light upon thee shed;
These are treasures that shall rise

Far beyond the smiling skies.


[With force.]

I pity the unbeliever-one who can gaze upon the grandeur. the glory and beauty of the natural universe and behold not the touches of His finger, who is over and with all and above all; from my very heart I do commiserate his condition.


The unbeliever! on whose intellect the light of revelation never penetrated; who can gaze upon the sun, and moon, and stars, and upon the unfading and imperishable sky, spread out so magnificently above him, and say all this is the work of

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »