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The fourth, with eyes of earnest ken,
Surveys the boundless universe;
While her ecstatic lips rehearse
The fifth is robed in spotless white;
And from the beating of her heart,
Such heavenly coruscations start,
The sixth inhales perpetual Morn:
For, through the bright Infinitude,
She sees, beyond the present Good, The Better destined to be born :Her name is Aspiration; ever She sings the might of Will, the beauty of Endeavour.
Crown and completion of the seven
Rapt Adoration sits alone;
She wakes the Lyre's divinest tone, It touches Earth, it dwells in heaven; All life and nature join her hymn: Man, and the rolling worlds, and choirs of cherubim.
Know'st thou that lyre? If through thy soul
The immortal music never ran,
Thou art but outwardly a man; -
Immortal spirit, hear and soar!
The angels wave their golden wings,
And strike the seven celestial strings,
THE TIME FOR PRAYER.
Lift up thy thoughts on high ;
Morn is the time for prayer!
And in the noontide hour,
And He will give thee rest:
Noon is the time for prayer !
When the bright sun hath set,-
Then let thy prayer arise
Eve is the time for prayer!
And when the stars come forth,-
To pure bright dreams of heaven,--.
Night is the time for prayer!
When is the time for prayer?
Thy thoughts should heavenward flee.
THE RULE OF LIFE. Happiness is not what we are to look for. Our place is to be true to the best which we know, to seek that and do that; and if by “virtue its own reward” be meant that the good man cares only to continue good, desiring nothing more, then it is true and noble. But if virtue be valued because it is politic, because in pursuit of it will be found most enjoyment and fewest sufferings, then it is not noble any more, and it is turning the truth of God into a lie. Let us do right, and whether happiness or unhappiness come, it is no very great matter. If it come, life will be sweet; if it do not come, life will be bitter-and yet to be borne. On such a theory alone is the government of this world intelligibly just. The well-being of our souls depends only on what we are, and nobleness of character is nothing else but steady love of good, and steady scorn of evil. The government of the world is a problem while the desire of selfish enjoyment survives; and when justice is not done according to such standard, self-loving men will still ask, why? and find no answer. Only to those who have the heart to say, we can do without that, it is not what we ask or desire, is there no secret. Man will have what he deserves, and will find what is really best for him, exactly as he honestly seeks for it. Happiness may fly away, pleasure pall or cease to be obtainable, wealth decay, friends fail or prove unkind, and fame turn to infamy; but the power to serve God never fails, and the love of him is never rejected. Most of us, at one time or other of our lives, have known something of that only pure love in which no self is left remaining: We have loved as children, we have loved as lovers; some of us have learned to love a cause, a faith, a country; and what love would that be which existed only with a prudent view to after interests. Surely, there is a love which exults in the power of self-abandonment, and can glory in the privilege of suffering for what is good. Que mon nom soit flétri pourvu que la France soit libre,” said Danton; and those wild patriots who had trampled into scorn the faith in an immortal life-in which they would be rewarded for what they were suffering, went to their graves as beds, for the dream of a people's liberty. Shall we, who would be thought reasonable men, love the living God with less heart than these poor men loved their phantom? Justice is done; the balance is not deranged. It only seems deranged, as long as we have not learned to serve without looking for recompense.-Westminster Review.
THE GOOD GREAT MAN.
Beings there are in the vast tide
HAPPINESS OF MAN.
'Tis to have
A YOUNG MAN'S CHARACTER. It is of incalculable worth to a young man to have a pure mind; for this is the foundation of a good character. The mind, in order to be kept pure, must be employed on topics of thought, which are themselves lovely, chaste and elevating. 'It has the power to select its own themes for meditation. If the young only knew how durable and how dismal is the injury produced by the indulgence of degrading thoughts; if they only realised how frightful are the moral depravities which a cherished habit of loose imagination produces on the soul, they would shun them as the bite of a serpent. The power of books to excite the imagination, is a subject that cannot be too much considered.
The cultivation of an amiable, elevated, and glowing heart, alive to all the beauties of nature, all the sublimities of truth, invigorates the intellect, and renders the will independent of all base passions. It gives also to the affections that power of adhesion to whatever is pure, good, great, and best adapted to lead out the whole nature of man into those scenes of action and impression by which its energies may be most appropriately employed, and by which its high destination may be most effectually reached.
The opportunities for exciting these faculties in benevolent and self-denying efforts for the welfare of our fellow men are so many and great that it really is a great privilege to live. The heart which is truly benevolent, may luxuriate in an age like this. The Divine promises are inexpressibly rich, the main tendencies of things so manifestly in accordance with them, the extent of moral influence is so great, and the effect of its employment so visible, that whoever aspires after benevolent action, and reaches forth to the true dignity of his nature, can find free scope for his intellect, and allinspiring themes for his heart.
A PSALM OF LIFE.
Tell me not in mournful numbers
“Life is but an empty dream!” For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest,
not its goal;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.