Chapter X: Part 10

No pow’r had he; no friendly aid
To him the timely succour brought;
But while his coming he delayed,
Another won the boon he sought;
Until the Saviour’s love was shown,
Which _healed_ him by a word alone.

Bethesda’s pool has lost its power!
No angel, by his glad descent,
Dispenses that diviner dower
Which, with its _healing_ waters, went;
But He, whose word surpassed its wave,
Is still omnipotent to save.
_B. Barton._

Oh! Thou who driest the mourner’s tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived, and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown,
And he who has but tears to give,
May weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt _heal_ the broken heart,
Which like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathe sweetness out of woe.
_Moore._

Dread Omnipotence alone,
Can _heal_ the wound He gave;
Can point the brim-full, grief-worn eyes,
To scenes beyond the grave.
_Burns._

Thus ever in the steps of grief,
Are sown the precious seeds of joy;
Each fount of Marah hath a leaf,
Whose _healing_ balm we may employ.
Then, ’mid life’s fitful, fleeting day,
Look up! the sky is bright above!
Kind voices cheer thee on thy way!
Faint spirit! trust the God of Love!
_Miss A. D. Woodbridge._

_Heal_ me, for my flesh is weak;
_Heal_ me, for thy grace I seek;
This my only plea I make,
_Heal_ me for thy mercy’s sake.
_Lyte._

Thou cam’st with _healing_ on thy wings,
Oh, gentle gale of spring!
Like one that some sweet message brings
Of hope and comforting;
So with a power to _heal_ the smart
Of sin, comes grace unto the heart.
_Egone._

HEALTH.

Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise Him, who is the _health_ of my countenance, and my God.--Psalm xlii. 11.

Pleasant words are as an honey-comb, sweet to the soul, and _health_ to the bones.--Proverbs, xvi. 24.

Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no physician there? why then is not the _health_ of the daughter of my people recovered?--Jeremiah, viii. 22.

I will restore _health_ unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord.--Jeremiah, xxx. 17.

_Health_, brightest visitant from heaven,
Grant me with thee to rest!
For the short term by nature given,
Be thou my constant guest!
For all the pride that wealth bestows,
The pleasure that from children flows,
Whate’er we court in regal state
That makes men covet to be great;

Whatever sweets we hope to find
In Love’s delightful snare;
Whatever good by Heaven assigned,
Whatever pause from care:
All flourish at thy smile divine;
The spring of loveliness is thine,
And every joy that warms our hearts,
With thee approaches and departs.
_Bland, from Alciphron._

Slow wand’ring on the margin of the deep,
I breathe the cheering gale of _health_ once more;
And see the billows gently dash the steep,
That rears its bold head on the sandy shore.

Fresh looks the landscape with the dews of dawn;
A bluish mist swims o’er the softened grove;
The wanton deer bound lightly o’er the lawn,
And every copse resounds with notes of love.

The village-clocks proclaim the passing hour;
The tall spires glitter to the early sun;
The ploughman, whistling, quits his low-roofed bow’r,
And now his peaceful labour is begun.

Yet not this ocean, cheered with many a sail,
Nor all these rural sounds, and pastures fair,
To solace worn disease could aught avail,
Or from his bosom chase the clouds of care.

The merry morn no rapture could impart,
Nor converse sweet of friends his hours beguile;
In vain could beauty warm his aching heart,
Or on his cold-wan cheek awake a smile.

Yet oft we slight thy worth, O, blessed _Health_!
Poor mortals as we are, till thou art flown;
And thy sweet joys, more dear than fame or wealth,
Touch not our hearts, but pass unfelt, unknown.

The joys, without whose aid whate’er of blest,
Or great, or fair, the heavens to man ordain,
Is dull and tasteless to the unthankful breast,
Love loveless, youth old age, and pleasure pain.
_Rev. E. Hamley._

What is life?--like a flower, with the bane in its bosom,
To-day, full of promise, to-morrow it dies!
And _health_ like the dewdrop that hung on its blossom,
Survives but a night, and exhales to the skies:
How oft ’neath the bud that is brightest and fairest,
The seeds of the canker in embryo lurk!
How oft at the root of the flower that is rarest,
Secure in its ambush the worm is at work!
_Dr. W. Beattie._

Green pastures and clear streams,
Freedom and quiet rest,
Christ’s flock enjoy beneath his beams,
Or in his shadow, blest.

The mountain and the vale,
Forest and field they range;
The morning dew, the evening gale,
Bring _health_ ev’ry change.

The wounded and the weak
He comforts, heals, and binds;
The lost he came from heaven to seek,
And saves them when he finds.
_J. Montgomery._

HEARING.

_Hear_ thou in heaven thy dwelling-place; and when thou _hearest_, forgive.--I. Kings, viii. 30.

They are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her _ear_; which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.--Psalm lviii. 4, 5.

He that planted the _ear_, shall he not _hear_?--Psalm xciv. 9.

Incline thine _ear_ unto wisdom.--Proverbs, ii. 2.

The _ear_ that _heareth_ the reproof of life abideth among the wise.--Proverbs, xv. 31.

The _hearing ear_, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made even both of them.--Proverbs, xx. 12.

Take heed what ye _hear_.--Mark, iv. 24.

Take heed therefore how ye _hear_.--Luke, viii. 18.

This is the slowest, yet the daintiest sense;
For even the _ears_ of such as have no skill,
Perceive a discord, and conceive offence;
And knowing not what’s good, yet find the ill.
And though this sense first gentle music sound,
Her proper object is the speech of men;
But that speech, chiefly, which God’s heralds sound,
When their tongues utter what His spirit did pen.
_Sir John Davies._

As Thou hast touched our _ears_, and taught
Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain,
Quell Thou each thankless, godless thought
That would make fast our bonds again.
From worldly strife, from mirth unblest,
Drowning Thy music in the breast,
From foul reproach, from thrilling fears,
Preserve, good Lord, Thy servants’ _ears_.

From idle words that restless throng,
And haunt our hearts when we would pray,
From pride’s false chime, and jarring wrong,
Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way:
For thou hast sworn that every _ear_
Willing, or loath, Thy trump shall _hear_,
And every tongue unchained be,
To own no hope, O God, but Thee.
_Keble._

HEART.

The hypocrites in _heart_ heap up wrath.--Job, xxxvi. 13.

The _heart_ knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.--Proverbs, xiv. 10.

The _heart_ is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?--Jeremiah, xvii. 9.

A new _heart_ also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony _heart_ out of your flesh, and I will give you an _heart_ of flesh.--Ezekiel, xxxvi. 26.

Blessed are the pure in _heart_: for they shall see God.--Matthew, v. 8.

A good man, out of the good treasure of his _heart_, bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man, out of the evil treasure of his _heart_, bringeth forth that which is evil: for of the abundance of the _heart_ his mouth speaketh.--Luke, vi. 45.

Hope maketh not ashamed, because the love of God is shed abroad in our _hearts_ by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.--Romans, v. 5.

With the _heart_ man believeth unto righteousness.--Romans, x. 10.

That Christ may dwell in your _hearts_ by faith.--Ephesians, iii. 17.

I care not, so my kernel relish well,
How slender be the substance of my shell;
My _heart_ being virtuous, let my face be wan,
I am to God, I only seem to man.
_Quarles._

So now the soul’s sublimed, her sour desires
Are re-calcined in Heaven’s well-tempered fires;
The _heart_ restored, and purged from drossy nature,
Now finds the freedom of a new-born creature;
It lives another life, it breathes new breath,
It neither fears nor feels the sting of death.
_Quarles._

Heaven’s Sovereign saves all beings but Himself
That hideous sight--a naked, human _heart_.
_Young._

The Almighty, from His throne, on earth surveys
Naught greater than an honest, humble _heart_;
An humble _heart_, His residence! pronounced
His second seat, and rival to the skies.
_Young._

Wash, Lord, and purify my _heart_,
And make it clean in every part,
And when ’tis clean, Lord, keep it too,
For that is more than I can do.
_Thomas Ellwood._

A temple of the Holy Ghost, and yet
Oft lodging fiends; the dwelling-place of all
The heavenly virtues--charity and truth,
Humility, and holiness, and love--
And yet the common haunt of anger, pride,
Hatred, revenge, and passions foul with lust;
Allied to heaven, yet parleying oft with hell.
_Pollok._

Consider well. The _heart_ is a deceiver,
O, paltering with it, in some double sense,
Thou’st shunned, perhaps, the word that would condemn thee,
E’en while thy will was partner in the crime.
_Schiller._

Thou too, my _heart_, whom He, and He alone,
Who all things knows, can know, with love replete,
Regenerate and pure, pour all thyself
A living sacrifice before His throne!
_Christopher Smart._

Walk in the light! and sin, abhorred,
Shall ne’er defile again;
The blood of Jesus Christ, the Lord,
Shall cleanse from every stain.
Walk in the light! and thou shalt find
Thy _heart_ made truly His,
Who dwells in cloudless light enshrined,
In whom no darkness is.
_Bernard Barton._

All our actions take
Their hues from the complexion of the _heart_,
As landscapes their variety from light.
_William Thompson Bacon._

Would’st thou the life of souls discern?
Nor human wisdom nor divine
Helps thee by aught beside to learn;
Love is life’s only sign.
The spring of the regenerate _heart_,
The pulse, the glow of every part,
Is the true love of Christ our Lord,
As man embraced, as God adored.
_Keble._

HEAVEN--HEAVENS.

The _heavens_ declare the glory of God.--Psalm xix. 1.

All the host of _heaven_ shall be dissolved, and the _heavens_ shall be rolled together as a scroll: and all their host shall fall down, as the leaf falleth off from the vine, and as a falling fig from the fig tree.--Isaiah, xxxiv. 4.

Lay up for yourselves treasures in _heaven_, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal;

For where your treasure is there will your heart be also.--Matthew, vi. 20, 21.

For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the _heavens_.--II. Corinthians, v. 1.

An inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in _heaven_.--I. Peter, i. 4.

We, according to His promise, look for new _heavens_ and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.--II. Peter, iii. 13.

In having all things, and not Thee, what have I?
Not having Thee, what have my labours got?
Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I?
And having Thee alone, what have I not?
I wish not sea nor land; nor would I be
Possessed of _Heaven_, _Heaven_ unpossessed of Thee.
_Quarles._

Shall we serve _heaven_
With less respect than we do minister
To our gross selves?
_Shakspere._

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy seven-fold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
Whose power does _heaven_ and earth command.
_Dryden._

Inquirer cease, petitions yet remain,
Which _heaven_ may hear, nor deem religion vain.

* * * * *

Still raise for good the supplicated voice,
But leave to _heaven_ the measure and the choice.
_Dr. Johnson._

_Heaven_’s the perfection of all that can
Be said or thought, riches, delight, or harmony,
Health, beauty; and all these not subject to
The waste of time, but in their height eternal.
_Shirley._

_Heav’n_ is a great way off, and I shall be
Ten thousand years in travel, yet ’twere happy
If I may find a lodging there at last,
Though my poor soul get thither upon crutches.
_Shirley._

I sat, one day, upon a stone,
’Rapt in a musing fit, alone,
And resting on my hand my head,
Thus to myself, in thought, I said--
“How in these times of care and strife,
Shall I direct my fleeting life?
Three precious jewels I require
To satisfy my heart’s desire:
The first is honour, bright and clear;
The next is wealth; but (far more dear!)
The third is _Heaven’s_ approving smile.”
Then, after I had mused awhile,
I saw that it was vain to pine
For these three pearls in one small shrine;
To find within one heart a place
For honour, wealth, and _heavenly_ grace,
For how can one, in days like these,
_Heaven_ and the world together please?
_Gostick, from Walter Von Der Vogelweide._

As through the artist’s intervening glass
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow
That more remains unseen than art can show:
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above,)
High as we may we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirmed by Hope:
Yet we are able only to survey
Dawnings of beams, and promises of day.
_Heaven’s_ fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light:
But soon the ’mediate clouds shall be dispelled;
The sun shall then be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.
_Prior._

Friends, even in _Heaven_, one happiness would miss,
Should they not know each other when in bliss.
_Bishop Ken._

All hail! all hail! resplendent vault, so wondrously display’d,
Abyss, where the Eternal’s hand the scattered scene array’d;
He gave them light; His mighty hand suspended them alone;
And ever from the chilling north, to India’s sultry zone,
In every region of the west, and isle of southern sea,
All raise, Oh! glorious firmament, their suppliant glance to thee!

Vast sea of air, with countless gems, I love on thee to gaze!
Oh empyreal space! Oh stars! I love your softened rays;
Mysterious torches; ye have made the universe so bright!
Yet from this temple far above, ye bring your borrowed light!
What rapture fills thy spirit, borne on contemplation’s wing,
What charms, oh, beauteous canopy! thy varied aspects bring.
_From the French of Anna H. P. Le Chatelain._

This world is all a fleeting show,
For man’s illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,
There’s nothing true but _heaven_.

And false the light on glory’s plume,
As fading hues of even,
And love, and hope, and beauty’s bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb:
There’s nothing bright but _heaven_.
_Moore._

To live in darkness--in despair to die--
Is this indeed the boon to mortals given?
Is there no port--no rock of refuge nigh?
There is--to those who fix their anchor-hope in _heaven_.

Turn then, O man! and cast all else aside;
Direct thy wandering thoughts to things above--
Low at the cross bow down--in that confide,
Till doubt be lost in faith, and bliss secured in love.
_C. C. Colton._

The world, in all its boasted grandeur proud,
In all its stores of dazzling splendour bright,
Is but a transient, unsubstantial cloud,
Which the sun skirts with momentary light:
Anon, the assailing winds impetuous rise,
Black lowers the tempest in the sullen sky;
Before the driving blast the vision dies,
And all the vivid tints of splendour fly:
Pass but a moment, every ray is gone:
Nor e’en a vestige left where the bright glories shone.

And shall we, for this visionary gleam,
Degenerate, swerve from _Heaven’s_ immortal plan?
Give up, for vanity’s light airy dream,
The nobler heritage reserved for man?
Though rocks their cragged heads in ambush hide,
Though storms and tempests sweep the angry main,
While Hope’s fair star shines forth, auspicious guide,
E’en tempests, storms, and rocks oppose in vain.
Safe, ’mid the ocean’s iterated force,
The sacred vessel shapes her _Heaven_-directed course.
_Samuel Hayes._

There is an hour of peaceful rest,
To mourning wanderers given;
There is a tear for souls distrest,
A balm for every wounded breast,
’Tis found above--in _heaven_!

There is a soft, a downy bed,
’Tis fair as breath of even;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest their aching head,
And find repose in _heaven_!
_Anon._

HELL.

The wicked shall be turned into _hell_, and all the nations that forget God.--Psalm ix. 17.

I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into _hell_.--Luke, xii. 5.

God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to _hell_, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment.--II. Peter, ii. 4.

Divines and dying men may talk of _hell_,
But in my heart her several torments dwell.
_Shakspere._

_Hell_, their fit habitation, fraught with fire
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.
_Milton._

Which way shall I fly,
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is _hell_; myself am _hell_;
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide,
To which the _hell_ I suffer seems a heaven.
_Milton._

_Hell_ hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self place; but where we are is _hell_;
And where _hell_ is, there must we ever be;
And, to be short, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified,
All places shall be _hell_ that are not heaven.
_Marlowe._

Will without power, the element of _hell_,
Abortive all its acts returning still
Upon itself; ... oh! anguish terrible!
Meet guerdon of self-love, its proper ill!
Malice would scowl upon the foe he fears;
And he with lip of scorn would seek to kill;
But neither sees the other, neither hears--
For darkness each in his own dungeon bars,
Lust pines for dearth, and grief drinks its own tears--
Each in its solitude apart. Hate wars
Against himself, and feeds upon his chain,
Whose iron penetrates the soul it scars,
A dreadful solitude each mind insane,
Each its own place, its prison all alone,
And finds no sympathy to soften pain.
_J. A. Heraud._

I’ll tell thee what is _hell_--thy memory
Still mountained up with records of the past,
Heap over heap, all accents and all forms,
Telling the tale of joy and innocence,
And hope, and peace, and love; recording, too,
With stern fidelity, the thousand wrongs
Worked upon weakness and defencelessness;
The blest occasions trifled o’er or spurned;
All that hath been that ought not to have been,
That might have been so different, that now
Cannot but be irrevocably past!
Thy gangrened heart,
Stripped of its self-worn mask, and spread at last
Bare, in its horrible anatomy,
Before thine own excruciated gaze!
_D. P. Starkey._

The day
Will come, when virtue from the cloud shall burst,
That long obscured her beams; when sin shall fly
Back to her native _hell_; there sink eclipsed
In penal darkness, where nor star shall rise,
Nor ever sunshine pierce the impervious gloom.
_Glynn._

In the human breast there dwell
Warring passions fierce and dark,
Making of their home a _hell_,
Of the soul a driving bark
On a wild tempestuous sea,
Till too oft ’tis wrecked and driven
Far away, far away!
Hear the pitying angels say--
Soul so lost, and tempest-tost,
Upon _hell_ and death’s bleak coast,
Far away from heaven!
_Egone._

HELP.

And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone: I will make him an _help_ meet for him.--Genesis, ii. 18.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present _help_ in trouble.--Psalm xlvi. 1.

Give us _help_ from trouble: for vain is the _help_ of man.--Psalm lx. 11.

Our _help_ is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.--Psalm cxxiv. 8.

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene?
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms?
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between:
Some gleams of sunshine ’mid renewing storms.
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms?
Or death’s unlovely, dreary, dark abode?
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms:
I tremble to approach an angry God,
And justly smart beneath His sin-avenging rod.

Fain would I say, “Forgive my foul offence!”
Fain promise never more to disobey;
But should my Author health again dispense,
Again I might desert from virtue’s way:
Again in folly’s path might go astray;
Again exalt the brute and sink the man;
Then how should I for Heav’nly mercy pray,
Who act so counter Heav’nly mercy’s plan?
Who sin so oft have mourn’d: yet to temptation ran.

O thou great governor of all below!
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow,
Or still the tumult of the raging sea;
With that controlling power assist ev’n me,
Those headlong furious passions to confine,
For all unfit I feel my powers to be,
To rule their torrent in th’ allowed line;
O, aid me with Thy _help_, Omnipotence Divine!
_Burns._

God, my supporter and my hope,
My _help_ for ever near,
Thine arm of mercy held me up,
When sinking in despair.
_Watts._

HILLS.

The chief things of the ancient mountains, and for the precious things of the lasting _hills_.--Deuteronomy, xxxiii. 15.

The _hills_ melted like wax at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the Lord of the whole earth.--Psalm xcvii. 5.

For the mountains shall depart, and the _hills_ be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.--Isaiah, liv. 10.

Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the _hills_, cover us.--Luke, xxiii. 30.

Oh! my heart panteth to be far away,
Amid the _hills_--the everlasting _hills_;
For in my dreams last night a thousand rills
And mountain torrents held resistless sway
O’er my hush’d spirit; and the silent play
Of golden lights and gleamy shadowings
Chequer’d my veiled eyes, like seraphs’ wings,
That fan the crimson light of fading day.
I woke: the hum of traffic, and the din
Of mercenary crowds, fill’d the calm air:
I heard the voice of mendicant despair
Echo the hollow laugh of reckless sin;
And love was not, nor peace. Oh! let me win
The _hills_, the eternal _hills_--for peace dwells there!
_R. F. Housman._

Oh! ye time-honoured _hills_,
The ancient, the immortal is it not
A high-born privilege ne’er to be forgot,
To feel none of earth’s ills?

Sublime are ye as heaven!
Though bleak, not barren; silent, yet not dumb,
From outgone shadows health and music come,
And thronging thoughts are given!

Not worthless is your aim,
To stand from age to age, from hour to hour,
The Almighty’s temple, token of his power,
And record of His name.
_W. Anderson._

For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God!
Thou hast made the children mighty,
By the touch of the mountain sod.
Thou hast fix’d our arch of refuge
Where the spoilers foot ne’er trod;
For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God.

We are watchers of a beacon
Whose lights must never die;
We are guardians of an altar
’Midst the silence of the sky;
The rocks yield founts of courage,
Struck forth as by thy rod;
For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God.

For the dark resounding heavens,
Where thy still small voice is heard,
For the strong pines of the forests,
That by thy breath are stirr’d;
For the storms on whose free pinions
Thy spirit walks abroad;
For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God.

The royal eagle darteth
On his quarry from the heights,
And the stag that knows no master
Seeks there his wild delights;
But we for thy communion
Have sought the mountain sod;
For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God!
_Mrs. Hemans._

Look up, my soul, toward the eternal _hills_;
Those heavens are fairer than they seem,
There pleasures all sincere glide in its crystal rills,
There not a dreg of guilt defiles,
Nor guilt disturbs the stream:
There is no cursed soil, no tainted spring,
No roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.
_Watts._

HOLINESS.

Thou art _holy_, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.--Psalm xxii. 3.

_Holiness_ becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever.--Psalm xciii. 5.

Follow peace with all men, and _holiness_, without which no man shall see the Lord.--Hebrews, xii. 14.

_Holy, holy, holy_, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come.--Revelations, iv. 8.

Thrice _holy_ fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire.
_Dryden._

Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine,
The sun of _Holiness_ shall shine.
_H. K. White._

Lord, be it mine, like Thine elect, to choose
The better part; like them to use
The means Thy love hath given;
Be _holiness_ my aim on earth;
That death be welcom’d as a birth
To life and bliss in heaven.
_Bishop Mant._

Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds
Reflect such glory on the eye supreme,
As the meek virtues of one _holy_ man;
For ever doth his angel, from the face
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw;
And in his prayer, what privilege adored!
Mounting the heavens, and claiming audience there;
Yes! there, amid a high, immortal host
Of seraphs, hymning in eternal choir,
A lip of clay its orisons can send,
In temple, or in solitude outbreathed.
_R. Montgomery._

Ascribe ye _holiness_ unto the Lord;
Not unto man, for he is never _holy_:
The best of men, who walketh in the light
Of a clear conscience, may not claim that title--
That high distinction, only fit for those
Who dwell with Him--the fount of _holiness_!
_Egone._

HOME.

Man goeth to his long _home_, and the mourners go about the streets.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 5.

And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at _home_ at my house.--Luke, ix. 61.

Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at _home_ in the body, we are absent from the Lord.--II. Corinthians, v. 6.

Death is, no doubt, in every place the same;
Yet nature casts a look towards _home_, and most,
Who have it in their power, choose to expire
Where first they drew their breath.
_Lillo._

’Twas early day, and sunlight streamed
Soft through a quiet room,
That hushed, but not forsaken seemed,
Still, but with nought of gloom.

For there, secure in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
A father communed with the page
Of heaven-recorded love.

Pure fell the beam and meekly bright
On his gray holy hair,
And touched the book with tenderest light,
As if its shrine were there.

But, oh, that patriarch’s aspect shone
With something lovelier far;
A radiance all the spirit’s own,
Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e’en then had met
His calm benignant eye,
Some ancient promise breathing yet
Of immortality.

Some heart’s deep language, where the glow
Of quenchless faith survives;
For every feature said, “I know
That my Redeemer lives.”

And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity
Of thoughts o’ersweeping death.

Silent, yet did not each young heart
With love and reverence melt;
Oh blest be those fair girls, and blest
That _home_ where God is felt.
_Mrs. Hemans._

Sweet is the smile of _home_; the mutual look
When hearts are of each other sure;
Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,
The haunt of all affections pure;
Yet in the world even these abide, and we
Above the world, our calling boast:
Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free;
Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost.
_Keble._

Yes, let the future smile or mourn,
To us a glorious place is given,
With the great church of the first-born,
Whose names are registered in heaven.

Beyond the bounds of time’s expansion,
Where change and sorrow cannot come,
We’re journeying to the promised mansion,
Made ready in our Father’s _home_.

Friends, kindred, loving and beloved,
That wont on earth our lot to cheer,
Thither are, one by one removed,
And we shall find them settled there.

Enough! though sin, and pain, and death,
This transitory world infest,
They who attain to Abraham’s faith,
Shall be with faithful Abraham blest.
_Hankinson._

Our God, to call us _homeward_,
His only Son sent down;
And now, still more to tempt our hearts,
Has taken up our own.
_Thomas Ward._

How sweetly flowed the gospel’s sound,
From lips of gentleness and grace,
When listening thousands gathered round,
And joy and reverence filled the place.

From heaven He came--of heaven He spoke,
To heaven He led his followers’ way;
Dark clouds of gloomy night He broke,
Unveiling an immortal day.

“Come wanderers to my Father’s _home_,
Come, all ye weary ones, and rest!”
Yes, sacred Teacher.--we will come--
Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.
_Bowring._

_Home_ of the Christian! when Messiah comes
A scene of Heaven in miniature art thou,
Where all is redolent of charms divine,
Temper renewed, and souls of grave becalmed.
Thy quiet precincts of a purer world
Breathe to the heart of faith, and, when compared
With what the worldling in his home enjoys.--
E’en like the vexing hum of some large street,
Where all is haste and hurry, tramp and strife,
In contrast with the unpolluted calm
Of some cathedral, when a spirit’s hush
Hath brooded--seems that worldlings’ noisy hour.
_R. Montgomery._

How sweet, bow consoling, when seasons of gloom
Roll over the soul like the billowy spray,
To view in the mansions of Heaven a _home_,
Where sorrow and sighing shall vanish away.
_W. J. Brock._

And in our _home_ above there is a friend,
More tender, true, more loving and sincere,
Who knows each want, and every help will lend
Our souls, through this world’s misery to steer;
In danger’s path is present, ever near,
Allures to brighter worlds, hath cleared the way,
Will wipe from every cheek the sinner’s tear,
Deigns in our hearts to claim a peaceful sway,
And leads us to our _homes_ in realms of endless day.
_Stuart Farquharson._

HONESTY.

Let us walk _honestly_, as in the day.--Romans, xiii. 13.

Study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you;

That ye may walk _honestly_ toward them that are without, and that ye may have lack of nothing.--I. Thessalonians, iv. 11, 12.

Pray for us: for we trust we have a good conscience, in all things willing to live _honestly_.--Hebrews, xiii. 18.

_Honesty!_
A name scarce echo to a sound--_honesty_!
Attend the stately chambers of the great--
It dwells not there, nor in the trading world;
Speaks it in councils? No, the sophist knows
To laugh it thence.
_Havard._

I ask not for his lineage,
I ask not for his name--
If manliness be in his heart,
He noble birth may claim.
I care not though of world’s wealth
But slender be his part;
If yes you answer, when I ask--
Hath he a true man’s heart?

I ask not from what land he came,
Nor where his youth was nursed--
If pure the stream, it matters not
The spot from whence it burst:
The palace or the hovel,
Where first his life began,
I seek not of: but answer this--
Is he an _honest_ man?

Nay, blush not now--what matters it
Where first he drew his breath?
A manger was the cradle-bed
Of Him of Nazareth!
Be nought, be any, every thing--
I care not what you be--
If yes you answer, when I ask--
Art thou pure, true, and free?
_R. Nicoll._

HONOUR.

Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands:

Sing forth the _honour_ of his name: make his praise glorious.--Psalm lxvi. 1, 2.

I receive not _honour_ from men.--John, v. 41.

Jesus answered, If I _honour_ myself, my _honour_ is nothing; it is my Father that _honoureth_ me; of whom ye say, that he is your God.--John, viii. 54.

Render therefore to all their dues; tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; _honour_ to whom _honour_.--Romans, xiii. 7.

The voice of nature, yea, the voice of God
Commands to _honour_ those that gave us birth,--
Even her, from whose supporting bosom flowed
By far the sweetest stream that flows on earth;
Whose tongue of kindness never knew a dearth
Of soothing words that could our griefs allay--
Even him who listened to our prattling mirth,
Who early taught our infant lips to pray,
And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom’s way:

A parent is indeed a tender friend,
And, if once lost, we never more shall find
A bosom that so tremblingly can blend
Its feelings with our own congenial mind;
Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind
That hurries heedlessly and wildly by--
Our hearts, to lonely agony consigned,
May thirst without relief--for no reply
Comes from their mouldering breasts, that in their graves lie.

And then we pause to think--alas! how late!
Of deeds that wrung a parent’s heart with pain;
And oh! could we but open death’s dark gate,
And lead them back into the world again--
Oh! but once more to see their face!--’tis vain!
Once more to hear their voice!--’tis sweetly driven
Across our fancy, and expires,--and then
We wish ourselves away--away to heaven,
To weep upon their breast, and there to be forgiven.
_Knox._

_Honour_’s a sacred tie--the law of kings,
The noble mind’s distinguishing perfection,
That aids and strengthens virtue when it meets her,
And imitates her actions where she is not.
_Addison._

_Honour_ demands my song. Forget the ground
My generous muse, and sit among the stars!
There sing the soul that, conscious of her birth,
Lives like a native of the vital world
Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state
Just to herself: how nobly she maintains
Her character, superior to the flesh,
She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows
The brutal powers were born but to obey.
_Watts._

This deity, whose altars reek with blood,
Though millions bend the prostituted knee
Before the radiant shrine, though millions own
His power vindictive just, and call him _Honour_,
All cannot sanctify what public good
What nature’s moral dictates disavow,
And Heaven’s almighty mandate impious deems.
_Samuel Hayes._

_Honour_--in blood congealed to take a life,
Which had been murder in the heat of strife!
_Honour_--when its result we dare not tell!
_Honour_--to plunge a fellow’s soul to hell!
_Honour_--to stand to be a murderer’s mark,
And hurl defiance e’en with life’s last spark;
To dare that law which has for ages stood--
“He dies by man who sheds a brother’s blood!”
Oh, in that moment when we all shall stand
Waiting the judgment of the Almighty hand,
Will then thy _honour_ palliate the crime,
And Heaven’s high monarch hear the plea of time?
Stript of those robes which make it _honour_ here,
Before that throne the murder will appear,
Disrobed of ornament the sin is there;
The crime is Cain’s; why not his judgment share--
An outcast on the earth, and in the Heaven,
O God! can crimes like these be e’er forgiven?
_Anon._

HOPE.

Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose _hope_ is in the Lord his God.--Psalm cxlvi. 5.

The Lord is my portion, saith my soul, therefore will I _hope_ in Him.--Lamentations, iii. 24.

It is good that a man should both _hope_ and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.--Lamentations, iii. 26.

If in this life only we have _hope_ in Christ, we are of all men the most miserable.--I. Corinthians, xv. 19.

Which _hope_ we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast, and which entereth into that within the veil.--Hebrews, vi. 19.

Upon her arm a silver anchor lay,
Whereon she leaned ever, as befel:
And ever up to Heaven as she did pray,
Her steadfast eyes were bent, not swerved otherway.
_Spenser._

_Hope_, eager _hope_, the assassin of our joy,
All present blessings treading under foot,
Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair.
With no past toils content, still planning new,
_Hope_ turns us o’er to death alone for ease.
Possession why more tasteless than pursuit?
Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss?
Because in the great future buried deep,
Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
And He who made him, bent him to the right.
_Young._

Rich _Hope_ of boundless bliss!
Bliss, past man’s power to paint it; time’s to close!
This _Hope_ is earth’s most estimable prize:
This is man’s portion while no more than man:
_Hope_, of all passions, most befriends us here;
Passions of prouder name befriend us less.
Joy has her tears, and transport has her death;
_Hope_, like a cordial, innocent, though strong,
Man’s heart at once inspirits and serenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
’Tis all our present state can safely bear,
Health to the frame, and vigour to the mind!
A joy attempered! A chastised delight!
Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet,
’Tis man’s full cup, his paradise below.
_Young._

_Hope_, with uplifted foot, set free from earth,
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth;
On steady wings, sails through the immense abyss,
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss,
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here,
With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear.
_Hope_, as an anchor, firm and sure, holds fast
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast.
_Cowper._

Reflected on the lake, I love
To see the stars of evening glow;
So tranquil in the heavens above,
So restless in the wave below.

Thus heavenly _hope_ is all serene,
But earthly _hope_, how bright soe’er,
Still flutters o’er this changeful scene,
As false, as fleeting as ’tis fair.
_Bishop Heber._

Whose was that voice, that whispering sweet,
Promised methought long days of bliss sincere;
Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,
Most like soft music that might sometimes cheat
Thoughts dark and drooping! ’twas the voice of _hope_.
Of love and social scenes it seem’d to speak:
Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek;
That hand in hand along life’s downward slope,
Might walk with peace and cheer the tranquil hours:
Ah me! the prospect sadden’d as she sung,
Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung:
Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers
She built, while pointing to yon breathless clay,
She cried, “No peace be thine, away, away!”
_W. L. Bowles._

Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o’er--the pangs of nature close,
And life’s last rapture triumph’s o’er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallow’d anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem’s shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush’d his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill!
Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
Doom’d on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doom’d, like thee, to travel and return.
_Campbell._

A Heaven as bright, as blue, as mild, as calm,
As thine own eye; the sun hath passed away,
But left his mantle of transparent light
To deck the gorgeous west, amid whose bright
And purple depths I see a floating speck
Of purest white, and now ’tis fixed, and now
Swells into clearest beauty--’tis a star,
Whose trembling orb seems shrinking from the light,
Like a rebuked seraph’s eye, when drooped
’Neath the chastising glance; a bright ray shoots
Up from its centre; gradual the star
Severs before that ray, it parts--it spreads--
And from its heart comes forth a gliding form,
Surpassing all my mortal thought of beauty:--

* * * * *

’Tis _Hope_! the enduring angel he has deigned
To send upon the earth, that she may be
Your comforter, that when despair comes down
Upon your spirit, ye may flee to her,
And in her cradling arms of safest rest
Lay down your wearied heads upon her heart,
Till your own souls have caught the light of hers;
’Tis she, whose fervent voice, and star-like eye,
Shall string you to your toil of wrestling with
The care of being; blessed be the name
Of Him, whose mercy hath thus given ye
A beacon to your path!
_Constantia Louisa Reddell._

All _hope_ on earth for ever fled,
A higher _hope_ remaineth;
For while His wrath is o’er me shed,
I know my Saviour reigneth.
The worm may waste the withering clay,
When flesh and spirit sever;
My soul shall see eternal day,
And dwell with God for ever!
_T. Dale._

She lights our gloom, she soothes our care,
She bids our fears depart,
Transmutes to gems each grief-fraught tear,
And binds the broken heart!

She glances o’er us from above,
The brightest star that’s given,
And guides us still, through faith and love,
To endless peace, in Heaven.
_Anna Peyre Dinnies._

The night is mother of the day,
The winter of the spring,
And ever, upon old decay,
The greenest mosses cling.
Behind the cloud the star-light lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all His works,
Hath left His _Hope_ with all.
_J. G. Whittier._

The world may change from old to new,
From new to old again;
Yet _Hope_ and Heaven, for ever true,
Within man’s heart remain.

The dreams that bless the weary soul,
The struggles of the strong,
Are steps towards some happy goal,
The story of _Hope’s_ song.
_Sarah Flowers Adams._

HOUSE.

I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the _house_ of the Lord.--Psalm cxxii. 1.

Except the Lord build the _house_, they labour in vain that build it.--Psalm cxxvii. 1.

It is better to go to the _house_ of mourning, than to go to the _house_ of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 2.

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

In my Father’s _house_ are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.--John, xiv. 1, 2.

It is the Sabbath bell, which calls to pray’r,
Ev’n to the _house_ of God, the hallow’d dome,
Where He who claims it bids His people come
To bow before His throne, and serve him there
With pray’rs, and thanks, and praises: some there are
Who bold it meet to linger now at home,
And some o’er fields and the wide hills to roam,
And worship in the temple of the air!
For me, not heedless of the lone address,
Nor slack to greet my maker on the height,
By wood, or living stream; yet not the less
Seek I His presence in each social rite
Of His own temple: that He deigns to bless,
There still He dwells, and there is His delight.
_Bishop Mant._

If in the family thou art the best,
Pray oft, and be the mouth unto the rest;
Whom God hath made the heads of families,
He hath made priests to offer sacrifice.
Daily let part of Holy Writ be read,
Let as the body, so the soul have bread;
For look, how many souls in thy _house_ be,
With just as many souls God trusteth thee.
_Anonymous._ (1600.)

If to the _house_ of God below
Thou go’st with faith and holy love;
Thy soul, released, may hope to go
And dwell in God’s own _house_ above.
_Egone._

HUMILITY.

The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom: and before honour is _humility_.--Proverbs, xv. 33.

Better is it to be of an _humble_ spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.--Proverbs, xvi. 19.

By _humility_, and the fear of the Lord, are riches, and honour, and life.--Proverbs, xxii. 4.

A man’s pride shall bring him low: but honour shall uphold the _humble_ in spirit.--Proverbs, xxix. 23.

Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased: and he that shall _humble_ himself shall be exalted.--Matthew, xxiii. 12.

All of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with _humility_: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the _humble_.--I. Peter, v. 5.

He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.
In Haman’s pomp poor Mardocheous wept,
Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe:
The Lazar pined while Dives’ feast was kept,
Yet he to Heaven, to hell did Dives go.
We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May,
Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away.
_Robert Southwell._

_Humble_ we must be, if to Heaven we go;
High is the roof there, but the gate is low:
Whene’er thou speak’st look with a lowly eye--
Grace is increased by _humility_.
_Robert Herrick._

He that is down need fear no fall;
He that is low, no pride;
He that is _humble_ ever shall
Have God to be his guide.
_Bunyan._

_Humility_ is the softening shadow before the statue of
excellence,
And lieth lowly on the ground beloved and lovely as the violet:
_Humility_ is the fair-haired maid that calleth worth her
brother,
The gentle, silent nurse, that fostereth infant virtues:
As when the blind man is nigh unto a rose its sweetness is herald
of its beauty,
So, when thou savourest _humility_, be sure thou art nigh unto
merit.
_Tupper._

When Mary chose the “better part,”
She meekly sat at Jesus’ feet!
And Lydia’s gently-opened heart,
Was made for God’s own temple meet:
Fairest and best adorned is she,
Whose clothing is _humility_.

The saint that wears heaven’s brightest crown,
In deepest adoration bends;
The weight of glory bows him down,
Then most, when most the soul ascends:
Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of _humility_.
_James Montgomery._

Pride, with haughty port, defies in vain
The force of rough adversity, which rends
With double violence the stubborn heart.
But, like a tender plant, _Humility_
Bends low before the threat’ning blast unhurt,
Eludes its rage, and lives through all the storm.
Pride is the livery of the prince of darkness,
Worn by his slaves, who glory in their shame;
A gaudy dress, but tarnish’d, rent and foul,
And loathsome to the holy eye of heaven.
But sweet _humility_, a shining robe,
Bestowed by heaven upon its favourite sons;
The robe which God approves and angels wear--
Fair semblance of the glorious Prince of Light,
Who stoop’d to dwell (divine _humility_!)
With sinful worms, and poverty, and scorn.
Pride leads her wretched votaries to contempt,
To certain ruin, infamy, and death.
But sweet _humility_ points out the way
To happiness, and life, and lasting honours.
_Humility_ how glorious! how divine!
Thus clothed, and thus enrich’d, O may I shine;
Be mine this treasure, this celestial robe,
And let the sons of pride possess the globe.
_Mrs. Steele._

HYMN.

And when they had sung an _hymn_, they went out into the Mount of Olives.--Matthew, xxvi. 30.

Whose business was to serve their Lord,
High up in heav’n with songs to _hymn_ His throne.

* * * * *

They touched their golden harps, and _hymning_ praised
God and His works.
_Milton._

Then, kneeling down, to Heaven’s Eternal King
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear;
Together _hymning_ their Creator’s praise,
In such society yet still more dear,
When circling time moves round, in an eternal sphere.
_Burns._

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps “Dundee’s” wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive “Martyrs,” worthy of the name;
Or noble “Elgin” feeds the heav’n-ward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays:
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise.
_Burns._

There is no gloom on earth, for God above
Chastens in love;
Transmuting sorrow into golden joy,
Free from alloy.
His dearest attribute is still to bless,
And man’s most welcome _hymn_ is grateful cheerfulness.
_Horace Smith._

Celestial voices
_Hymn_ it unto our souls.
_R. H. Dana._

HYPOCRISY.

The _hypocrite’s_ hope shall perish.--Job, viii. 13.

The triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the _hypocrite_ but for a moment.--Job, xx. 5.

For the vile person will speak villany, and his heart will work iniquity, to practise _hypocrisy_, and to utter error against the Lord.--Isaiah, xxxii. 6.

When thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee as the _hypocrites_ do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men.

When thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the _hypocrites_ are; for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.--Matthew, vi. 2, 5.

So smooth he daubed his life with show of virtue,
He lived from all attainder of suspect.
_Shakspere._

_Hypocrisy_, detest her as we may,
(And no man’s hatred ever wronged her yet)
May claim this merit still, that she admits
The worth of what she mimics with such care,
And thus gives virtue indirect applause.
_Cowper._

Great day of revelation! in the grave
The _hypocrite_ had left his mask, and stood
In naked ugliness. He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of heaven
To serve the devil in; in virtue’s guise,
Devoured the widow’s house and orphan’s bread;
In holy phrase, transacted villanies
That common sinners durst not meddle with;
At sacred feast, he sat among the saints,
And with his guilty hands touched holiest things;
And none of sin lamented more, or sighed
More deeply, or with graver countenance,
Or longer prayer, wept o’er the dying man
Whose infant children, at the moment, he
Planned how to rob.
Seest thou the man,
A serpent with an angel’s voice! a grave
With flowers bestrewed!
_Pollok._

I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl,
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture
Tell them--that God bids us do good for evil.
And thus I clothe my naked villany,
With old, odd ends, stol’n forth of Holy Writ.
_Shakspere._

Wo to ye _Hypocrites_! ye insincere,
Who shut the gates of heaven against mankind,
And yet yourselves will never enter there--
Wo to ye _Hypocrites_! your hearts are blind;
The houses of the widow ye devour,
And make long prayers, devotion ill-designed.
The matters of the Law of gravest power--
Omit ye;--Judgment--Mercy--Faith! and dole
The petty tithe of your external dower:
Not those omit,--nor these; but pay the whole!
As righteous men ye do without appear,
Within iniquity usurps the soul:
Ye are e’en like a whited Sepulchre,
Beautiful outward, hiding dead men’s bones;
Uncleanness and corruption, everywhere.
_J. A. Heraud._

Like the detested tribe
Of ancient Pharisees, beneath the mask
Of clamorous piety, what numbers veil
Contaminated, vicious hearts! How many
In the devoted temple of their God,
With _hypocritic_ eye, from which the tear
Of penitential anguish seems to flow,
Pour forth their vows, and by affected zeal
Pre-eminent devotion boast; while vice
Within the guilty breast, rankles unseen.
_Samuel Hayes._

These are they
That prey upon the widow, and devour
The orphan’s portion, mocking Heaven with prayers
Ceaseless, and fasts, which will but more incense
His anger, and bring down worse chastisement.
_Charles Peers._

IDOLATRY.

Rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and _idolatry_.--I. Samuel, xv. 23.

What agreement hath the temple of God with _idols_?--II. Corinthians, vi. 16.

Covetousness, which is _idolatry_.--Colossians, iii. 5.

The sparkling flames, that burn in beaten gold,
And, like the stars of heav’n in midst of night,
Black Egypt, as her mirrors doth behold;
Are but the dens where _idol_ snakes delight
Again to cover Satan from their sight:
Yet these are all their gods; with whom they vie,
The crocodile, the cock, the rat, the fly:
Fit gods indeed, for such men to be served by.
_Giles Fletcher._