Page images
PDF
EPUB

would God it were morning! And, in the morning, would God it were evening!"

v. The spirit of little children is a spirit of thankful ness.

How

How easy a thing it is to please a little child! How prompt, in the expression of its pleasures! How beautiful, in the utterance of its thanks! How unlike men, in their indifference, ingratitude, and disregard of God! And, what a loss, in this unlikeness, of what gives the highest zest to our enjoyment!

"Ten thousand, thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ;

Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy."

vi. The spirit of little children is a loving spirit. Observe their little ways. Take notice of their natural caresses. Mark the abandon of their loving natures. Love seems their very life. They wake to greet it, and they fall asleep upon its memory. And their love is "without dissimulation;" the most like Eden's, ere it yet had felt the Fall.

vii. The spirit of little children is an obedient spirit. Implicit confidence brings this about. They think not for themselves. They do as they are bid. They are content to do it. And, how much the happiest so! Soon will you find it, my dear daughters. Soon will you regret that the responsibilities of life are laid upon your hearts. Lighten them, as you best may. Be as dear children before God. Be as dear children of the Church. Say, with the infant Samuel, "Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth." "My good child, know this,

that thou art not able to do these things of thyself, nor to walk in the commandments of God, and to serve Him, without His special grace; which thou must learn at all times to call for by diligent prayer."

viii. The spirit of little children is a devout spirit. They look up, through their mother, to their God. Their primal altar is her knees. What an instinctive attitude of supplication! How artless in its ways! How perfect and undoubting its repose! A lovelier, more affecting, sight is never seen, than a young child at prayer. Who does not long to pray, as he prayed then?

My daughters, may you be, through life, as little children; as dependent, as confiding, as humble, as hopeful, as thankful, as loving, as obedient, as devout. So shall those blessed words of Jesus Christ be yours, in time, and through eternity: "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not; for oF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN."

IV.

THE FOURTH ADDRESS

* TO THE GRADUATING CLASS AT ST. MARY'S HALL.

NOTHING LOST.

BELOVED children, the painful parting moment comes, at last! The daily task, the daily pleasure, and the daily prayer, are done and gone! No more, the thronged and busy school-room, with its beaming galaxy of cheerful faces, and bright eyes. No more, the long-drawn corridors, through which the ready feet hastened, at every summons of the faithful bell. No more, the patient and devoted teacher, waiting your approach; the quiet lecture-room; the books, the maps, the apparatus, the black-board, and the slate. No more, the evening stroll, with loving arms clasped close to loving hearts, along the sweet, sky-tinctured Delaware, upon the ver dant carpet of its loveliest bank. No more, the morning bell, the still, sequestered, sacred, "noons," the evening prayer, and hymn; with the fond parting, where heart went with hand. No more, the peaceful dormitory,

* March, A. D. 1849.

with its space for silent prayer, and then its welcome. couch; and then the sleep, as sweet as when the moonlight slept on that Venetian bank,* in Shakspeare's pictured page. No more, the festal day, with that domestic Sacrament, in which a father, with his children, of one family, fed, with still hearts, in penitential love, upon that blessed banquet, which the Saviour spread, and gave Himself, to be its heavenly food. No more! No more!

But, no! It is not so. These are not gone. The mind, the soul, die not. They are immortal; and they lend their immortality to all their issues, interests, and incidents. No hour of faithful study, in your whole school course, dear children, has been lost. It told, in treas ure, such as California could not compass, in that most thorough, searching, all-embracing, trial of your strength, and wealth, of mind, which made your closing examination the most satisfactory to me, and the most honourable to your teachers and yourselves, that I have ever witnessed. Your early hours, your systematic occupa tion, your simple fare, your joyous sports, your constant intercourse of mutual love: these are not lost. They live, in the serene repose of your well-balanced feelings; in the sweet contentment of your daily life; in the subdued, yet buoyant, cheerfulness of your young hearts. And, in the sacred haunts of home, and in the converse of the dear ones that surround its hearth, and in the social intercourse of life, they will attest the wholesome

*In point of fact, the scene in "the Merchant of Venice," which supplies this allusion, is laid at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the Continent.

wisdom, and the faithful tenderness, which have controlled your training here; while they give pledge, with God to bless you, of health, and usefulness, and influence, and that true cheerfulness, which flows from a well-ordered mind, in all your after life. And this is not the best. The faithful counsels and instructions of this sacred place; its vocal chaunts; its tender and subduing hymns; its solemn prayers; your penitent confessions, the fervent protestations of your faith, your glad thanksgivings, your beseeching intercessions, your devotions of the heart, your patient catechizing, your child-like listening to the sure word of God, your eager study of its blessed page: these are not lost. They are engrafted in your heart; and, in the dew, that is won down from heaven, on tender, faithful, loving souls, are bringing forth the fruits of righteousness and peace. They have led you, by the Spirit's mild constraint, to the baptismal water, to the sacred rail, to the most holy Eucharist and, if you continue faithful in the use of these divine provisions, for the renewal of your nature, and salvation of your souls, through the most blessed Cross of Jesus Christ, they will conduct you, all your days, in holiness and righteousness of life; console and smoothe the hour and pillow of your death; and open for you, in the pathway which the blessed Saviour trod, and stained with tears and blood, the Paradise of God.

Oh, my beloved, what a blessedness and beauty in such thoughts and hopes as these, made true and real— and, if we but will, made certain, and made ours-by the most holy word of God; as they were purchased for

« PreviousContinue »