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ing support. With him is no change; he is unmoved from age to age; his mercy, as well as his being, endures forever; and, if we rely on him, and live in obedience to his laws, all tears shall be wiped from our eyes, and all sorrow banished from our hearts. If we are rebels to his cause, slaves to vice, and followers of evil, we must expect the displeasure of a holy God, the just punishment of our folly and wickedness; for a righteous retribution will be awarded to the evil as well as to the good.

Let it be the highest, the holiest, the unceasing concern of each one of us, to live the life, that we may be prepared to die the death, of the righteous; that, when they who come after us shall ask, Where is he? unnumbered voices shall be raised to testify, that, although his mortal remains are moldering in the cold earth, his memory is embalmed in the cherished recollections of many a friend who knew and loved him; and all shall say, with tokens of joy and confident belief, If God be just, and piety be rewarded, his pure spirit is now at rest in the regions of the blessed.


Tell me, thou star, whose wings of light
Speed thee in thy fiery flight,
In what cavern of the night

Will thy pinions close now?

Tell me, moon, thou pale and gray'
Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way,
In what depth of night or day
Seekest thou repose now?
Weary wind, who wanderest
Like the world's rejected guest,
Hast thou still some secret nest
On the tree or billow?


We have spoken of the "perpetual pleasures" that surround the throne of God. But what has man to do with themes so high, and so little in harmony with his actual condition? Look at him in the guise he wears! Does he seem like an aspirant

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to immortality and glory? Is such an one as he indeed on his way to the royal abode of universal dominion ?-Is not his anxiously fixed upon the low path he is treading? is not his brow knit with care, and soiled with degrading labor? is he not in heart ignoble? is he not emaciate? are not his garments worn-his feet lacerated-his provision corrupted? Yes, and has not his spirit bowed to the humiliations of his lot; so that he even consents to the scorn that belongs to it? All this is true, and more might be said; nevertheless, man must not surrender his pretension to the heavens. He has a special reason for his hope-a reason stronger than all contradictions.



I would not live alway: no, no, holy man ;

Not a day, not an hour, should lengthen my span;
The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here,
Are enough for life's woes, e'en enough for its cheer;
Would I not go the way which the prophets of God,
Apostles and martyrs, so joyfully trod?
While brethren and friends are all hastening home,
Like a spirit unblest o'er the earth would I roam?

I would not live alway: I ask not to stay
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way;
Where seeking for rest, we but hover around
Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found;
Where hope, when she paints her gay bow in the air,
Leaves its brilliance to fade in the night of despair,
And joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray,
Save the gleam of the plumage that bears him away.

I would not live alway: thus fettered by sin,
Temptation without, and corruption within:
In a moment of strength if I sever the chain,
Scarce the victory's mine, ere I'm captive again;

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E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears,
And my cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears,
The festival trump calls for jubilant songs,
But my spirit her own miserere' prolongs.

I would not live alway: no, welcome the tomb;
Immortality's lamp burneth bright 'mid the gloom;
The pillow is there on which Christ bowed his head;
How sweetly I'll slumber on that holy bed!
But sweeter the morn that shall follow that night,
When the sunrise of glory shall beam on my sight,
While the full matin song, as the sleepers arise
To hail the glad morning, shall peal through the skies.

Who, who would live alway? away from his God;
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode ?

Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns;
Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet
Their Savior and brethren transported to greet;
While the songs of salvation unceasingly roll,
And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul.

That heavenly music! What is it I hear ?
The notes of the harpers ring sweet in the air!
And see, soft unfolding, those portals of gold!
The king all arrayed in his beauty behold!
O give me, O give me the wings of a dove!
Let me hasten my flight to that palace above-
'Tis now that my soul on glad pinions would soar,
And in ecstasy bid earth adieu, evermore.


Are you placed upon earth only to live in an indolent calm, and to occupy your minds with none but pleasant and cheerful objects? We should lose our reason, you say, if we were to think closely upon death. You would lose your reason! What! Have the many pious people who mingle this thought with all their actions, and who, from reflecting on their last

r, learn to restrain their passions, and derive the most pow


Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,

'T was sad as sad could be;

And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

erful motive to fidelity,-have the saints who, like the apostle, die daily, that they may not die eternally, have all they lost their reason? You would lose your reason! That is to say, you would regard this world as a state of banishment; pleasures, as intoxicating; sin, as the greatest of evils; places, honors, favor, fortune, as dreams; and salvation, as the great, the only business of life. Happy folly! I wish from this day you might all be of the number of those thus wisely bereft of reason! You would lose your reason!-Yes, that false, worldly, proud, carnal, foolish reason which seduces you; that corrupt reason which obscures faith, which authorizes the indulgence of passion, which makes people prefer time to eternity, a shadow to a substance, and which leads all men astray; that deplorable reason, that vain philosophy, which considers the fear of an hereafter as a weakness, and which, because it fears it too much, pretends or endeavors not to believe it.

All in a hot and copper sky,

The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink:
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!

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Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue, and white.
And some in dreams assured were
Of the spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought
Was withered at the root;

We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;

It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood;
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!


Awake, awake, Deborah; awake, awake; utter a song: arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity captive, thou son of AbiThen he made him that remaineth have dominion over the nobles among the people: the Lord made me have domin


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