Chapter XIX: Part 19

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm;
Tho’ round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal _sunshine_ settles on its head.
_Goldsmith._

Doth thy great Maker, _Sun!_ forbid the thought,
That of his glory, thou one ray hast caught;
When thou go’st measuring the boundless skies,
Art thou not _Sun_! the brightness of his eyes?
Ah! if I’ve sometimes in misfortune’s days
Blasphem’d the _sun’s_ vexation-causing rays;
And if I’ve cursed the gifts, receiv’d from thee,
My God! who readest hearts--O pardon me!
_Pulling, from Lamartine._

I marvel not, O _sun_, that unto thee
In adoration man should bow the knee,
And pour the prayer of mingled awe and love;
For like a God thou art, and on thy way
Of glory sheddest, with benignant ray,
Beauty and life and joyance from above.
_Southey._

Source of light! thou mak’st the _sun_
On his burning axles run:
The stars like dust around him fly,
And strew the area of the sky:
He drives so swift his race above,
Mortals can’t perceive him move;
To smooth his course oblique or straight,
Olympus shakes not with his weight.
As the queen of solemn night,
Fills at his vase her orb of light,
Imparted lustre, thus we see
The solar virtues shine by thee!
Phœbus borrows from thy beams
His radiant locks, and golden streams!
Whence thy warmth and light disperse,
To cheer the grateful universe.
_Samuel Wesley._

Cold and obscure, in vain the king and sage
Gave law and learning to the darkened age.
There was no present faith, no future hope,
Earth bounded then the earth-drawn horoscope;
Till to the east there rose the promised star--
Till rose the _Sun_ of Righteousness afar--
Till on a world redeemed the Saviour shone,
Earth for His footstool,--Heaven for His throne.
_Miss Landon._

_Sun_ of the firmament! planet of wonderment!
Now thy far journey of day it is done;
Still thou art parting bright, shedding immortal light
Down on the throne of night--hail! setting _sun_!

Slow thou depart’st away, far from the realms of day,
Ling’ring in pity on summer’s loved bowers;
Thy last ray is streaming, thy farewell tint beaming,
Yet soon thou’lt return to refreshen the flowers.

Thy parting brings sadness, yet nations in gladness
Are waiting to worship thee--fountain of light!
Where’er thy footsteps be, there do we beauty see,
Thou kindlest day in the dwellings of night.

Where sleeps the thunder--there dost thou wander,
Down ’neath the ocean deep, there dost thou stray,
Kissing the stars at morn, high on the air upborne,
Skirting creation’s far verge on thy way.

Grandeur and glory, they travel before thee,
Brightness and majesty walk in thy train!
Darkness it flies from thee, clouds may not rise to thee
When thou awak’st from the ocean again.

All own thy influence, kindly thou dost dispense
Blessings o’er nature where’er its bounds be;
Afric’s lone desert, it blooms at thy presence;
And Lapland is turn’d into summer by thee.

Time cannot conquer thee, age cannot alter thee,
Years have no power to limit thy sway;
Strength and sublimity, still they attend on thee,
Pilgrim of ages, but not of decay.

_Sun_ of the firmament! planet of wonderment!
Now thy far journey of day it is done;
Still thou art parting bright, shedding immortal light
Down on the throne of night--hail! setting _sun_!
_Robert Gilfillan._

O _Sun_! what makes thy beams so bright?
--The word that said “Let there be light!”
_J. Montgomery._

SUPERSTITION.

Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars’ hill, and said, Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too _superstitious_.--Acts, xvii. 22.

’Tis _Superstition_! that
Dread bolt that seems to him and thee the home
Of torture, is the earth, the beauteous earth,
Created by thy God, a perfect thing,
All loveliness, and life, and light, to be
The dwelling-place of thee and thine--but this,
This ignorant, besotted fool, sees but
In that beneficent gift, where all is formed
For happiness, a scene of punishment
And death; turns every joy to bitterness,
Reproaches God with never-ending fears,
And, like a thankless wretch, dashes aside
The cup of happiness the Almighty hand
Gives to his lips, when he might know his praise,
And gratitude can but be shown by free
And innocent enjoyment; not content
That his own soul must suffer misery,
He would crush down his fellow-beings with
The weight of his own gloom. His voice shall fill
The earth with one loud cry; at his command,
The homes of thousands shall be desolate;
At his command, fathers shall give their sons
To be devoured by lingering fire, or stretched
Upon a wheel, whose racking torture tears
The victim limb-meal, and then lift their hands,
Their impious hands, to heaven, and call the deed
Of blasphemy a holy act. Weak fools!
To think it pleaseth Him who made them in
His image--that that image should be torn,
Defaced, and blotted.
_Constantia Louisa Riddell._

But hence, far hence be ostentatious pomp,
And _superstition’s_ tinsel.
_Samuel Hayes._

Fell _Superstition_ leads
Her horrid train, engendered in the womb
Of her own mad imaginings.
_A. Alexander._

SUPPER, THE LORD’S.

Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day.

For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.--John, vi. 54, 55.

The Lord Jesus, the same night in which He was betrayed, took bread.

And when He had given thanks, He brake it, and said, Take eat; this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.

After the same manner also He took the cup, when He had supped, saying, This cup is the New Testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.

For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show the Lord’s death till He come.--I. Corinthians, xi. 23, 24, 25, 26.

Him first to love, great right and reason is,
Who first to us our life and being gave,
And after, when we fared had amiss,
Us wretches from the second death did save;
And last, the Food of Life, which now we have,
Even He Himself, in His dear Sacrament,
To feed our hungry souls, unto us lent.
Then next to love our brethren, that were made
Of that self-mould, and that self-Maker’s hand.
_Spenser._

I love to mingle there
In sympathy of praise and prayer,
And listen to that Living Word,
Which breathes the Spirit of the Lord:
Or, at the mystic table placed,
Those eloquent mementoes taste
Of Thee, Thou suffering Lamb divine,
Thy soul-refreshing bread and wine;
Sweet viands, given us to assuage
The faintness of the pilgrimage.
_Thomas Grinfield._

And oft your willing steps renew, around the sacred board,
And break the bread, and pour the wine, in memory of your Lord:
To drink with me the grape’s first juice, to you shall yet be
given,
Fresh from the deathless vine that blooms in blest abodes of
Heaven.
_Thomas Dale._

Bread of Heaven, on Thee we feed,
For Thy flesh is meat indeed;
Ever let our souls be fed
With this true and Living Bread.

Vine of Heaven, Thy blood supplies
This blest cup of sacrifice;
Lord, Thy wounds our healing give;
To Thy cross we look and live.

Day by day, with strength supplied,
Through the life of Him who died,
Lord of life, O’ let us be
Rooted, grafted, built on Thee!
_Conder._

Bow thee to earth, and from thee cast
All stubbornness of human will;
Then dare to drink the Sacred Cup
Thy God and Saviour died to fill.

Come with thy guilt new-washed in tears,
Thy spirit raised in faith above;
Then drink, and so thy soul shall live,
Thy Saviour’s blood,--thy Saviour’s love.
_Miss Landon._

Break to us each, this day, our daily bread,
Nor let earth’s fading food alone be given;
Feed us upon THY WORD,--in Christ our Head,
To find Thy Peace, the living Bread from Heaven.
_H. H. Weld._

For say, can fancy, fond to weave the tale
Of bliss ideal, feign more genuine joy
Than thine, Believer, when the man of God
Gives to thy hand the consecrated cup,
Blessed memorial of a Saviour’s love!
Glowing with zeal, the humble penitent
Approacheth: Faith her fostering radiance points
Full on his contrite heart: Hope cheers his steps,
And Charity, the fairest in the train
Of Christian virtues, swells his heaving breast
With love unbounded.
_Thomas Zouch._

So is it with true Christian hearts;
Their mutual share in Jesus’ blood
An everlasting bond imparts
Of holiest brotherhood:
Oh! might we all our lineage prove,
Give and forgive, do good and love,
By soft endearments in kind strife
Lightening the load of daily life!
_Keble._

Thou who didst taste
Of man’s infirmities, yet bar his sins
From thine unspotted soul, forsake us not
In our temptations, but so guide our feet,
That our Last _Supper_ in this world may lead
To that immortal banquet by thy side,
Where there is no betrayer.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

By chain yet stronger must the soul be tied:
One duty more, last stage of this ascent,
Brings to thy food, memorial Sacrament,
The offspring, haply at the parents’ side;
But not till they, with all that do abide
In Heaven, have lifted up their hearts to laud
And magnify the glorious name of God,
Fountain of Grace, whose Son for sinners died,
Here must my song in timid reverence pause;
But shrink not, ye, whom to the saving rite
The Altar calls; come early, under laws
That can secure for you a path of light
Through gloomiest shade; put on, nor dread its weight,
Armour divine, and conquer in your cause.
_Wordsworth._

Here He led
From the Last _Supper_, when the hymn was sung,
His few grieved followers out, in that drear night,
When, in the garden, on the mountain’s slope,
His agony wrung forth the crimson drops!
While these sad pictures hang upon thy sides,
Thou consecrated height, dissolve the heart
In pious sorrow!
_Hannah F. Gould._

SUPPLICATION.

I cried to Thee, O Lord; and unto the Lord I made _supplication_.--Psalm xxx. 8.

Let my _supplication_ come before Thee: deliver me according to Thy word.--Psalm cxix. 170.

O my God incline Thine ear, and hear: for we do not present our _supplications_ before Thee for our righteousnesses, but for Thy great mercies.--Daniel, ix. 18.

Oh, when Thy last frown shall proclaim
The flocks of goats to folds of flame;
And all Thy lost sheep found shall be,
Let “Come, ye blessed” then call me.

Oh, hear a _suppliant_ heart all crush’d
And crumbled into contrite dust;
My Hope, my Fear, my Judge, my Friend,
Take charge of me, and of my end.
_Crashaw._

Like the low murmur of the secret stream,
Which through dark alders winds its shaded way,
My _suppliant_ voice is heard. Ah, do not deem
That on vain toys I throw my hours away.

In the recesses of the forest vale,
On the wild mountains, on the verdant sod,
When the fresh breezes of the morn prevail,
I wander lone, communing with my God.
_Beckford._

From lowest depths of woe
To God I send my cry;
Lord bear my _supplicating_ voice,
And graciously reply!

My soul with patience waits
For Thee, the living Lord;
My hopes are on Thy promise built,
Thy never-failing word!

Let Israel trust in God;
No bounds His mercy knows;
The plenteous source and spring from whence
Eternal succour flows.
_Brady and Tate._

TEACHING.

Blessed is the man whom Thou chastenest, O Lord, and _teachest_ him out of Thy law.--Psalm xciv. 12.

There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus:

The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto Him, Rabbi, we know that Thou art a _teacher_ come from God.--John, iii. 1, 2.

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; _teaching_ and admonishing one another.--Colossians, iii. 16.

The azure vault, the crystal circles bright,
The gleaming, fiery torches powdered there,
The changing round, the shining, beamy light,
The sad and bearded fires, the monsters fair,
And prodigies appearing in the air;
The rending thunders, and the blust’ring winds,
The birds in hue, and shape, and nature rare;
The pretty notes of winged musicians fine;
Of earth the saucy flowers, the metalled mine,
The wholesome herbs, the healthful, pleasant trees,
The silver streams, the beasts of sundry kinds;
The bounding waves and fishes of the seas:
All these for _teaching_ man the Lord did frame,
To do His will whose glory shines in flame.
_King James I._

If man sleeps on, _untaught_ by what he sees,
Can he prove infidel to what he feels?
_Young._

Father of light and life! Thou good Supreme!
O _teach_ me what is good! _Teach_ me Thyself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit.
_Thomson._

Spirit of Light! do Thou impart
Majestic truths, and _teach_ my heart;
_Teach_ me to know how weak I am,
How vain my powers, how poor my frame;
_Teach_ me celestial paths untrod,
The ways of glory and of God.
_Crabbe._

Lord, grant our hearts be so inclined,
Thy work to seek, Thy will to do;
And while we _teach_ the youthful mind,
Our own be _taught_ Thy lessons too.
_Miss Landon._

Chief of the household Gods
Which hallow Scotland’s lowly Scottish homes!
While looking at thy signs
Which speak, though dumb, deep thought upon me comes--
With sad yet solemn dreams my heart is stirred,
Like childhood when it hears the carol of a bird!

The mountains old and hoar--
The chainless winds--the streams so pure and free--
The God-enamelled flowers--
The waving forest--the eternal sea--
The eagle floating o’er the mountain’s brow--
Are _teachers_ all; but oh! they are not such as thou!
_Robert Nicoll._

To conquer hate,
And in its place to cherish love unfeigned,
Forgiveness and forgetfulness of wrongs,
No precepts but the perfect law of Christ,
No _teacher_ but the blessed Son of God,
Could e’er instruct mankind.
_C. P. Layard._

Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie,
Life’s lingering languors o’er, its labours done;
Where waving boughs, between the earth and sky,
Admit the farewell radiance of the sun.

And here the impressive stone, engraved with words
Which grief sententious gives to marble pale,
Shall _teach_ the heart; while waters, leaves, and birds
Make cheerful music in the passing gale.
_Willis G. Clark._

Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous _teachers_,
From loneliest nook.

Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining,
Far from the voice of _teachers_ and divines,
My soul would find in flowers of Thy ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines.
_Horace Smith._

TEARS.

My _tears_ have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?--Psalm xlii. 3.

The Lord God will wipe away _tears_ from off all faces.--Isaiah, xxv. 8.

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.

For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all _tears_ from their eyes.--Revelation, vii. 16, 17.

Not when the earth revives with genial heat,
To fresh and blooming flowers, the bee applies
With such delight, and bears on loaded thighs
The fragrant treasure to her loaded seat;
Not young and timorous hind with course so fleet,
Escaped to trackless forest from the cries
Of fell pursuit, now unsuspected flies,
Panting to reach the cooling waters sweet,
As I in those hot _tears_ exult, which shower
From my relenting eyes, when up to God,
With love or kindling zeal my heart ascends.
“How great,” in transport thus my soul I pour,
“Must be their glory in the blest abode,
Whose joy the pleasure of my grief transcends!”
_From the Italian of Gabriel Fiamma._

No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear;
From every face He wipes off every _tear_.
_Pope._

To hurry at thy mandate, matchless King!
The orbs of night have cars of sapphire dyes;
To reach Thee th’ eagle hath at least his wing,
And nought have we except our sighs!

May thy saints’ voice ascend and calm thy wrath,
Terrestrial incense is the just man’s prayer;
But pass we sinners, nought the sinner hath,
Unto thy shrine, but _tears_ to bear.
_Lamartine._

Raise it to Heaven when thine eye fills with _tears_,
For only in a watery sky appears
The bow of light; and from th’ invisible skies
Hope’s glory shines not, save through weeping eyes.
_Frances Ann Kemble._

Thou hast wept mournfully, O, human love!
E’en on this greensward; night hath heard thy cry,
Heart-stricken one! thy precious dust above,
Night, and the hills, which sent forth no reply
Unto thine agony!
But he who wept like thee, thy Lord, thy guide,
Christ, hath arisen, O love! thy _tears_ shall all be dried.
_Mrs. Hemans._

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving! lighter none befel,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
_Tears!_ what are _tears_? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing: at her marriage bell
The bride weeps: and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot
That moisture on his cheeks. Commend the grace,
Mourners who weep! Albeit, as some have done,
Ye grope, _tear_-blinded, in a desert place,
And touch but tombs,--look up! Those _tears_ will run,
Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear, for stars and sun.
_Miss Barrett._

O, turn, and be thou turned! The selfish _tear_,
In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun,
Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear,
The turbid waters brightening as they run.

Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart
In penitential drops have ebbed away;
Then fearless, turn where Heaven hath set thy part,
Nor shudder at the eye that saw thee stray.

O, lost and found! All gentle souls below
Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove
Such joy o’er thee as raptured seraphs know,
Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love.
_Keble._

What sadder scene can angels view
Than self-deceiving _tears_,
Poured idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
A record of to-day engage,
A woe for future years?
_Keble._

For Spring, and flowers of Spring,
Blossoms and what they bring,
Be our thanks given;
Thanks for the maiden’s bloom,
For the sad prison’s gloom;
And for the sadder tomb,
E’en as for heaven!

Great God thy will be done,
When the soul’s rivers run
Down the worn cheeks,
Done when the righteous bleed,
When the wrong’d vainly plead,
Done in the mended deed,
When the heart breaks.

Lo! how the dutiful
Snows clothe in beautiful
Life, the dead earth!
Lo! bow the clouds distil
Riches o’er vale and hill,
While the storm’s evil will
Dies in its birth!

Bless’d is the unpeopled down,
Bless’d is the crowded town,
Where the tir’d groan:
Pain but appears to be;
What are man’s fears to Thee,
God! if all _tears_ shall be
Gems on Thy throne.
_E. Elliot._

And _tears_ once filled His eye
Beside a mortal’s grave,
Who left His throne on high
The lost to seek and save.
And fresh, from age to age,
Their memory shall be kept,
While man shall bless the page
Which tells that Jesus wept!
_Bernard Barton._

Alas! who hath not _tears_ on earth,
Perchance though often wept unseen?
On every soil they have their birth,
In hearts where blithest smiles have been.

_Tears_ are the blessings of the heart,
When nature oft would fain rebel,
Yet bends beneath the rending dart,
And _tears_ her deepest anguish tell.

_Tears_ are the heir-loom of our race,
From sire to son profusely given;
Bright dew-drops on the mourner’s face,--
Bright only in the light of Heaven.

In that pure light the mother sees
Through her fast _tears_ the cloud grow bright;
Hope gilded with sweet promises,
Smiling upon the brow of night.

Faith draws the distant vision nigh,
Where basks her child in thornless bowers;
While cherub hands suppress each sigh,
And wreath her heart with fadeless flowers.

In that bright world no _tears_ are seen,
For God hath wiped all _tears_ away;
Earth’s last deep groan of anguish keen
Ne’er mingles with Redemption’s lay.

Washed in the Saviour’s cleansing blood,
The white-robed saints in glory stand,
Hailing Earth’s lingerers o’er the flood
To the full bliss of Canaan’s land.

Oh, blest re-union! No more _tears_
Shall dim the sun-blaze of the soul,
But smiles shall be the chroniclers
Of joys that own not death’s control.
_W. J. Brock._

The sage’s and the poet’s theme,
In every clime, in every age;
Thou charm’st in Fancy’s idle dream,
In Reason’s philosophic page.

That very law which moulds a _tear_,
And bids it trickle from its source;
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.
_Rogers._

TEMPERANCE.

Every man that striveth for the mastery is _temperate_ in all things. Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible.--I. Corinthians, ix. 25.

If all the world
Should, in a pet of _Temperance_, feed on pulse,
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,
Th’ All-Giver would be unthank’d, would be unprais’d,
Not half His riches known, and yet despis’d;
And we should serve Him as a grudging master,
And a penurious niggard of His wealth.
_Milton._

Nature, good cateress,
Means her provision only to the good,
That live according to her sober laws,
And holy dictates of spare _Temperance_.
_Milton._

Rarely shall that path be trod,
Which without horror leads to death’s abode.
Some few, by _temperance_ taught, approaching slow,
To distant fate by easy journeys go;
Gently they lay them down, as evening sheep
On their own woolly fleeces softly sleep.
_Dryden._

Grateful and salutary spring the plants
Which crown our numerous gardens, and
Invite to health and _temperance_, in the simple meal
Unpoisoned with rich sauces, to provoke
Th’ unwilling appetite to gluttony.
For this the bulbous esculents their roots
With sweetness fill; for this with cooling juice
The green herb spreads its leaves; and opening buds,
And flowers, and seeds, with various flavours.
_Dodsley._

He who can guard ’gainst the low baits of sense,
Will find Temptation’s arrows hurtless strike
Against the brazen shield of _Temperance_.
For ’tis the inferior appetites enthral
The man, and quench the immortal light within him;
The senses take the soul an easy prey,
And sink the imprison’d spirit into brute.
_H. More._

TEMPLE.

The Lord is in His holy _temple_, the Lord’s throne is in heaven.--Psalm xi. 4.

One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His _temple_.--Psalm xxvii. 4.

And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven.

And I saw no _temple_ therein; for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the _temple_ of it.--Revelation, xxi. 2, 22.

Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy towering head, and lift thine eyes!
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons, and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks, on every side arise,
Discarding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy _temple_ bend.
_Pope._

’Twas thee
The almighty chose among the sons of men,
To dedicate a _temple_ to His name,
Where He whose awful presence fills the vast
Immensity of space, who makes the clouds
His chariot, rides sublime the whirlwind’s wing,
And guides the raging storm, would deign to dwell,
And make His presence known. The exalted task
Thy wisdom worthily performed.
_William Hodson._

The groves were God’s first _temples_. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the root above them,--ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication.
_W. C. Bryant._

O Thou, to whom, in ancient time,
The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung,
Whom kings adored in songs sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue.

Not now, on Zion’s height alone,
The favoured worshipper may dwell,
Nor where, at sultry noon, Thy Son
Sat, weary, by the Patriarch’s well.

From every place below the skies,
The grateful song, the fervent prayer--
The incense of the heart--may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.

In this Thy house, whose doors we now
For social worship first unfold,
To Thee the suppliant throng shall bow,
While circling years on years are roll’d.

To Thee shall age, with snowy hair,
And strength and beauty, bend the knee,
And childhood lisp, with reverend air,
Its praises and its prayers to Thee.

O Thou, to whom in ancient time,
The lyre of prophet bards was strung,
To Thee, at last, in every clime,
Shall _temples_ rise, and praise be sung.
_Pierpont._

And now the assembled Hosts advance, and glow
Into a hymn as they ascend the hill,
In numbers without number, singing so.
“Glad was I when they said to me, we will
Go up into the _Temple_ of the Lord;
Lo, we shall dwell in Salem.”
Thus, until
They reached the sacred gates, did they record
Their raptures in no mortal verse; their strain
Of higher mood they raised and bolder word.
_J. A. Heraud._

In a _temple_ fair to see,
Gracious Lord, we worship Thee:
Meet it is that we should come
Duly to the hallowed dome;
Kneel, and pray, our sins confessing,
Asking--hoping for Thy blessing.
_Egone._

TEMPTATION.

Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be _tempted_ of the devil.--Matthew, iv. 1.

Lead us not into _temptation_.--Matthew, vi. 13.

Watch and pray, that ye enter not into _temptation_.--Matthew, xxvi. 41.

There hath no _temptation_ taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be _tempted_ above that ye are able; but will with the _temptation_ also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.--I. Corinthians, x. 13.

Not thou mistrust, but tender love enjoins,
That I should mind thee oft, and mind thou me
Firm we subsist yet possibly to swerve,
Since reason not impossibly may meet
Some specious object by the foe suborned,
And fall into deception unaware,
Not keeping strictest watch as she was warned.
Seek not _temptation_ then; which to avoid
Were better! * * * trial will come unsought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve
First thy obedience: th’ other who can know,
Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?
But if thou think, trial unsought may find
Us both securer that thus warned thou seem’st,
Go, for thy stay not free absents thee more,
Go, in thy native innocence, rely
On what thou hast of virtue, summon all,
For God towards thee hath done his part; do thine.
_Milton._

When gath’ring clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who not in vain,
Experienced every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

If aught should _tempt_ my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom’s narrow way,
To flee the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do,
Still He, who felt _temptation’s_ power
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
_Grant._

And now came on _temptation’s_ demon hour
To crush the Saviour! By the Holy Ghost
Constrained, within a desert’s trackless wild
Alone He wandered, unperceived by eyes
Of mortal; there to fathom time and truth,
Redemption and the vast designs of Love.

* * * * *

Thus forty days of dire _temptation_ leagued
Their might hell-born, with hunger, thirst, and pain.
Meanwhile, in thankless calm the world reposed,
Life went her rounds, and busy hearts maintain’d
Their wonted purpose: still uprose the parent orb,
And all the dewy ravishment of flowers
Enkindled; day and ocean mingled smiles,
And then, meek night with starr’d enchantment rose,
While moonlight wander’d o’er the palmy hills
Of green-hair’d Palestine: and thus unmark’d
By aught portentous, save demonian wiles,
His fasting period in the desert gloom
Messiah braved.
_Robert Montgomery._

The _Tempter_ to my soul hath said,
“There is no help in God for thee:”
Lord, lift thou up thy servant’s head,
My glory, shield, and solace be.

Thus to the Lord I made my cry;
He heard me from his holy hill;
At his command the waves roll’d by;
He beckon’d and the winds were still.
_J. Montgomery._

O trembling, learn
That Peter, too, was chosen by his Lord,
Admonished, and forewarned, and resolute,
And sworn to persevere in righteousness;
Yet in the hour of trial, Peter fell.
Into _temptation_ lead us not, O God!
But with Thy hand deliver us from ill!
_Cockburn._

He who sends _temptation_, giveth
Strength to meet and overcome the foe,
If but to Him we pray,
And in Him put our trust.
_Egone._

THANKFULNESS.

O Lord my God, I will give _thanks_ unto thee for ever.--Psalm xxx. 12.

Enter into his gates with _thanksgiving_, and into his courts with praise: be _thankful_ unto him, and bless his name.--Psalm c. 4.

In every thing give _thanks_; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.--I. Thessalonians, v. 18.

A thankful heart hath earned me favour twice,
But he that is ungrateful wants no vice.
_Quarles._

God is much displeased
That you take with _unthankfulness_ His doing;
In common, worldly things, ’tis called ungrateful,
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with Heaven,
For it requires the debt it lent you.
_Shakspere._

When all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I’m lost
In wonder, love, and praise.

Unnumber’d blessings on my head
Thy tender care bestow’d,
Before my infant heart conceived
From whom those blessings flow’d.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily _thanks_ employ;
Nor is the least a grateful heart,
To taste those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I’ll pursue;
And, after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
_Addison._

Break forth into _thanksgiving_,
Ye banded instruments of wind and chords!
Unite, to praise the Ever-living,
Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words,
Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead,
Nor mute the forest hum of noon:
Thou too be heard lone eagle! freed
From snowy peak and cloud, attune
Thy hungry barkings to the hymn
Of joy, that from her utmost walls
The six days work, by flaming Seraphim
Transmits to Heaven! as deep to deep
Shouting through one valley rolls;
All worlds, all nature, mood and measure keep
For praise and ceaseless gratulation poured
Into the ear of God--their Lord.
_Wordsworth._

Is there any smile of prophecy upon the world’s wide face?
Among the striving millions there, say who shall win the race?
’Mid fallen towers, and falling thrones, and glories that decay,
Will any kingdom rise to shine in everlasting day?

One spirit powers His riches o’er all the earth abroad,
And all these changing pictures shew the glory of our God.
But, would you know the meaning and the virtue of the whole,
Descend to yonder vale, where dwells one happy human soul.

There sitting in the sunshine, the grey-haired labourer see,
He smiles upon his grandson there, who plays besides the tree;
Where, when a child, he played himself, and soon its bough shall
wave,
When he rests from all his labours, above his quiet grave!

Oh yes; there is a meaning and a rest for every heart,
Not in gazing on the whole, but in doing well a part;
Where rests in peace and _thankfulness_, one reasonable soul,--
There centres all the happiness, the wisdom of the whole!
_J. Gostick._

THOUGHT.

O Lord, how great are thy works? and thy _thoughts_ are very deep.--Psalm xcii. 5.

I hate vain _thoughts_; but thy law do I love.--Psalm cxix. 113.

The _thoughts_ of the wicked are an abomination to the Lord.--Proverbs, xv. 26.

Which of you by taking _thought_ can add one cubit unto his stature.--Matthew, vi. 27.

My words fly up, my _thoughts_ remain below;
Words without _thoughts_ never to Heaven go.
_Shakspere._

Rise, O my soul, with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, where time’s eternity is given,
And let vain _thoughts_ no more thy _thoughts_ abuse;
But sown in darkness let them lie;
So live the better, let the worst _thoughts_ die!
_Sir Walter Raleigh._

_Think_ that is just; ’tis not enough to do,
Unless thy very _thoughts_ are upright too.
_Thomas Randolph._

His pure _thoughts_ were borne
Like fumes of sacred incense o’er the clouds,
And wafted thence on angels’ wings, through ways
Of light to the bright Source of all.
_Congreve._

Companion none is like
Unto the mind alone,
For many have been harmed by speech,--
Through _thinking_, few, or none.
Fear oftentimes restraineth words,
But makes not _thoughts_ to cease;
And he speaks best, that hath the skill
When for to hold his peace.

Our wealth leaves us at death,
Our kinsmen at the grave,
But virtues of the mind unto
The heavens with us we have;
Wherefore, for virtue’s sake,
I can be well content,
The sweetest time of all my life
To deem in _thinking_ spent.
_Lord Vaux._

_Thoughts_ uncontrolled and unimpressed, the births
Of pure election, arbitrary range,
Not to the limits of one world confined.
_Young._

O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,
Who flowery fields in endless view survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day;
O yet while Fate delays th’ impending blow,
Be roused to _thought_, anticipate the woe;
Lest, like the lightning’s glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill.
_Beattie._

O reader, had you in your mind,
Such stores as silent _thought_ can bring,
O gentle reader, you would find
A tale in everything.
_Wordsworth._

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain,
Our _thoughts_ are linked by many a hidden chain.
Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise!
Each stamps its image as the other flies!
Each, as the various avenues of sense,
Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense,
Frightens or fades; yet all, with magic art,
Control the latent fibres of the heart.
_Rogers._

God is great and right!
He crowned man’s brow with radiant orbs of light--
Light which inspires all abstracts, and prints
On each twin lens all images and tints.
To contract, brings the world beyond our span,
And makes the farthest star converse with man;
To read His works, God thus illumed the head,
But made man’s breast no window to be read.
Glory to God; though given to King and Pope,
To seal our eyes, our bosoms none can ope;
There still shall freedom one asylum find:
Go to, make creeds and laws to scourge mankind;
Enthral them, hand and foot, and sight and speech,
_Thought_ only, _thought_ is barred beyond your reach;
What racks can bind? or what research unveil
The soul, with flesh encompassed as a mail
Of proof, impervious, save to God alone,
Defies her labours, and resumes her own.
Whether she break communion with the tongue
And bid it mock you with the lie you wrung,
Or scorning such degenerate use of breath,
Escape with truth, and leave you dust and death.
_Nicholas Thorning Moile._

_Think’st_ thou to be concealed, thou little _thought_,
That in the curtained chamber of the soul
Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do
A secret work? Look to the hues that roll
O’er the changed brow--the moving lips behold--
Linking thee unto speech--the feet that run
Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp
Thy lineage plain before the noon-day sun;
Look to the pen that writes thy history down
In those tremendous books that ne’er unclose
Until the day of doom, and blush to see
How vain thy trust in darkness to repose,
Where all things tend to judgment. So beware,
O, erring human heart! what _thought_ thou lodgest there.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

_Methought_ I heard a reverend old man speak;
Grey were his locks, his eyes were calmly bright,
The rosiness of youth was on his cheek,
And, as he spoke, a heaven of truth and light
Open’d itself upon my inner sight;
While, banish’d by his accents soft and meek,
Dissolve itself in holy harmony.
Then to the old man, doubtfully, I said,
“Yet in the world these evils are not dead!”
But, confidently, thus he gave reply--
“As in my _thoughts_, so in the world they lie.”--
And with these words he rais’d his drooping head.
_J. Gostick._

Free from guile, and free from sin,
May the _thoughts_ my breast within,
Gracious God, Thy favour win!
_Egone._

TIDINGS.

Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord.

He shall not be afraid of evil _tidings_: his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord.--Psalm cxii. 1, 7.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold I bring you good _tidings_ of great joy, which shall be to all people.--Luke, ii. 8, 10.

The _tidings_ which that infant brings,
Are not for conquerors, or for kings:
Not for the sceptre or the brand,
For crowned head, or red right hand.
But to the contrite and the meek,
The sinful, sorrowful, and weak:
Or those who, with a hope sublime,
Are waiting for the Lord’s good time.
Only for those the angels sing,
“All glory to our new-born King,
And peace and good-will unto men,
Hosanna to our God! Amen!”
_Miss Landon._

Sent from the ark, the dove, with timid flight,
Strove through the storms, yet found not where to light;
Pursued by winds o’er restless ocean’s roar,
Back to the flood-tossed crew no leaf she bore:
So through the past man’s tempest-driven mind,
Sent fancy forth some resting-place to find;
O’er bush, tree, hill, she winged her trackless way,
Nor foothold found her weary flight to stay;
Back o’er the sea on terror-haunted air,
She flew, to tell the _tidings_ of despair;
Again she flies for fairer forms to seek,
And lo! the olive borne upon her beak!
Hear her glad news,--she rested on the tomb,
Saw the dawn break, and flit the ancient gloom!
Through night she swept, and heard the gentle fall
Of angel footsteps in its silent hall;
Upborne from earth, in strong and joyous flight,
Fearless she sought the empyrean height,
Gazed on the source whence pours the living ray,
On earth’s time-shadows, God’s eternal day.
_John Brooks Fellon._

TIME.

O Lord, Thou art my God: my _times_ are in Thy hand.--Psalm xxxi. 14, 15.

It is _time_ to seek the Lord.--Hosea, x. 12.

It shall come to pass that at evening _time_ it shall be light.--Zechariah, xiv. 7.

But this I say, brethren, the _time_ is short.--I. Corinthians, vii. 29.

Behold, now is the accepted _time_: behold, now is the day of salvation.--II. Corinthians, vi. 2.

And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the earth, lifted up his hand to heaven,

And sware by him that liveth for ever and ever, that there should be _time_ no longer.--Revelation, x. 5, 6.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight,
And _time_ that gave, doth now his gift confound.
_Time_ doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
_Shakspere._

Misshapen _time_, copesmate of ugly night;
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care;
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin’s pack-horse, virtue’s snare:
Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are.
_Shakspere._

_Time’s_ glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light;
To stamp the seal of _time_ on aged things,
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger, till he render right.
_Shakspere._

_Time_ is so swift that none can match his course,--
_Time_ is so strong that none can match his force:
Like to a thiefe _Time_ stealingly doth haste;
No man can call _Time_ backe when _Time_ is past.

* * * * *

_Time_ is as swift as thought--the swift’st-wing’d swallow
Cannot endure the flight of _Time_ to follow:
_Time_ is of the Ubiquitaries’ race,--
_Time_’s here, _Time_’s there, _Time_ is in every place;
_Time_ is divided in a three-fold sum,
_Time_ past, _Time_ present, and the _Time_ to come.
A present _Time_ I presently intreat,
For therein lies the sum of my conceit,
For _Time_ (once past) can never be recall’d.
And therefore _Time_ is figured to be bald.
_Peter Small._

Fly, envious _Time_, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace,
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is our gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d,
And last of all thy greedy self consum’d,
Then long eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And joy shall overtake us as a flood,
And perfectly divine,
With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine,
About the supreme throne
Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb,
Then all this earthly grossness quit,
Attir’d with stars, we shall for ever sit
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O _Time_!
_Milton._

Throw years away!
Throw empires, and be blameless. Moments seize
Heavens on their wing: a moment we may wish,
When worlds want wealth to buy.
_Young._

O _Time_! than gold more sacred; more a load
Than lead to fools, and fools reputed wise.
What moment granted man without account?
What years are squandered, wisdom’s debt unpaid!
Our wealth in days all due to that discharge.
_Young._

_Time_ as he passes us, has a dove’s wing,
Unroil’d and swift, and of a silken sound;
But the World’s _Time_, is _Time_ in masquerade!
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged,
With motley plumes; and where the peacock shews
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red
With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
_Cowper._

“Why sits thou by that ruin’d hall,
Thou aged carle so stern and grey?
Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it pass’d away?”

“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried,
“So long enjoyed, so oft misused--
Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
Desired, neglected, and accused?

Before my breath, like smoking flax,
Man and his marvels pass away,
And changing empires wane and wax,
Are founded, flourish, and decay.

Redeem mine hours--the space is brief
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,
And measureless thy joy or grief,
When _time_ and thou shalt part for ever!”
_Sir Walter Scott._

_Time_ speeds away--away--away:
Another hour--another day--
Another month--another year--
Drop from us like the leaflet sear;
Drop like the life-blood from our hearts;
The rose-bloom from the cheek departs,
The tresses from the temples fall,
The eye grows dim and strange to all.

_Time_ speeds away--away--away,
Like torrent in a stormy day;
He undermines the stately tower,
Uproots the tree, and snaps the flower;
And sweeps from our distracted breast
The friends that loved--the friends that blest;
And leaves us weeping on the shore,
To which they can return no more.

_Time_ speeds away--away--away:
No eagle through the skies of day,
No wind along the hills can flee
So swiftly or so smooth as he.
Like fiery steed--from stage to stage,
He bears us on from youth to age;
Then plunges in the fearful sea
Of fathomless eternity.
_Knox._

_Time_, as he courses onwards, still unrolls
The volume of concealment. In the future,
As in the optician’s glassy cylinder,
The undistinguishable blots and colours
Of the dim past collect and shape themselves,
Upstarting in their own completed image
To scare, or to reward.
_Coleridge._

And who is he, the vast, the awful form,
Girt with the whirlwind, sandalled with the storm?
A western cloud around his limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a sun his head,
To highest Heaven he lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land;
And hark! His voice amid the thunder’s roar,
His dreadful voice--that _time_ shall be no more!
_Bishop Heber._

I ask’d an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs;
“_Time_ is the warp of life,” he said, “Oh, tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!”
I ask’d the ancient, venerable dead,
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled;
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow’d,
“_Time_ sow’d the seed we reap in this abode!”
I ask’d a dying sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins.--“_Time!_” he replied;
“I’ve lost it! ah, the treasure!” and he died.
I ask’d the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years;
They answered, “_Time_ is but a meteor glare,”
And bade us for Eternity prepare.
I ask’d the Seasons, in their annual round,
Which beautify or desolate the ground;
And they replied, (no oracle more wise,)
“’Tis folly’s blank, and wisdom’s highest prize!”
I ask’d a spirit lost, but oh, the shriek
That pierc’d my soul! I shudder while I speak!
It cried, “a particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite!”
Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply--
“_Time_ is the season fair of living well,
The path of glory, or the path of hell!”
I ask’d my Bible, and methinks it said,
“_Time_ is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any living being rose or set!”
I ask’d old Father _Time_ himself at last;
But in a moment he flew swiftly past:--
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
I ask’d a mighty angel, who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land:
“By Heaven,” he cried, “I swear the mystery’s o’er;
_Time_ was,” he cried, “but _Time_ shall be no more!”
_Joshua Marsden._

O _Time_! the fatal wreck of mortal things,
That draws oblivion’s curtains over kings.
Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not,
Their names without a record, are forgot,
Their parts, their ports, their pomp’s all laid i’ the dust,
Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings, ’scape _Time’s_ rust;
But he whose name is ’graved in the white stone,
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.
_Mrs. Anne Bradstreet._

Be silent and still, for his end draweth near,
And watch with a quivering breath;
No mortal eye beheld his birth,
But all shall behold his death,
For the nations from every land and clime
Shall gather to gaze on the close of _Time_.

The Moon shall look down with a tearful eye,
And the Sun shall withhold his fire,
And the hoary Earth, all parched and dry,
Shall flame for his funeral pyre,
When the Angel, that standeth on earth and shore,
Proclaimeth that “_Time_ shall be no more!”
_Edward Pollok._

O, God of _times_, and yet, in _time_ a man!
Before all _times_ thy _time_ of being was;
And yet in _time_ thy human birth began,
Lest we should fade, _untimely_, like the grass,--
Thou that hast said thy word should never pass,
And thou that dost all _times_ begin and end,--
Vouchsafe thy comfort to my sad soul send.
_G. Ellis._

A moment is a mighty thing,
Beyond the soul’s imagining,
For in it, though we trace it not,
How much there crowds of varied lot!
How much of life, life cannot see,
Darts onward to eternity!
While vacant hours of beauty roll
Their magic o’er some yielded soul,
Ah! little do the happy guess
The sum of human wretchedness;
Or dream, amid the soft farewell
That _time_ of them is taking,
How frequent mourns the funeral knell,
What noble heart is breaking,
While myriads to their tombs descend
Without a mourner, creed, or friend!
_R. Montgomery._

TO-DAY--TO-MORROW.

Boast not thyself of _to-morrow_, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.--Proverbs, xxvii. 1.

Ye know not what shall be on the _morrow_.--James, iv. 14.

To-day is yesterday returned; returned
Full-powered to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn,
And reinstate us on the rock of peace.
Let it not share its predecessors’ fate;
Nor, like its elder sisters, die a fool.
_Young._

At thirty man suspects himself a fool,
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve.
In all the magnanimity of thought
Resolves and re-resolves, then dies the same.
In human hearts what bolder thought can rise
Than man’s presumption on _to-morrow’s_ dawn.
Where is _to-morrow_? in another world.
And yet on this perhaps, this peradventure,
(Infamous for lies) as on a rock of adamant
We build our mountain hopes, spin our eternal schemes,
And big with life’s futurities expire.
_Young._

_To-morrow_ you will live, you always cry,
In what far country does this _morrow_ lie,
That ’tis so mighty long ere it arrive?
Beyond the Indies does this _morrow_ live?
’Tis so far fetch’d this _morrow_, that I fear
’Twill be both very old and very dear.
_To-morrow_ I will live, the fool does say;
_To-day_ itself’s too late, the wise lived yesterday.
_Cowley._

_To-morrow!_
That fatal mistress of the young, the lazy,
The coward and the fool, condemned to lose
An useless life in waiting for _to-morrow_,
Till interposing death destroys the prospect:
Strange! that this general fraud, from day to day,
Should fill the world with wretches undetected.
_Dr. Johnson._

_To-morrow_ then begins the task, you say:
Alas! you’ll act _to-morrow_ as _to-day_:
What? is one day, (you cry,) too much to ask?
Trust me _to-morrow_ shall commence the task.
But think, ere yet _to-morrow’s_ dawn come on,
Our yesterday’s _to-morrow_ will be gone.
Thus, while the present from the future borrows,
_To-morrows_ slowly creep upon _to-morrows_,
Till months and years behold the task undone,
Which, still beginning, never is begun.
Just as the hinder of two chariot wheels
Still presses closely on its fellow’s heels;
So flies _to-morrow_, while you fly so fast,
For ever following, and for ever last.
_Howes, from Persius._

_To-morrow_, didst thou say?
Methought I heard Horatio say, _To-morrow_.
Go to--I will not hear of it--_To-morrow_!
’Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury
Against thy plenty--who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots--injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!--_To-morrow!_
It is a period nowhere to be found
In all the hoary registers of Time,
Unless perchance in the fool’s calender.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
’Tis Fancy’s child, and folly is its father;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.
_Cotton._

As Time glides on in silent flow,
_To-day_ yields to _to-morrow_;
_To-morrow’s_ expectations grow
_To-day’s_ own bliss or sorrow.

Still, as _to-morrow’s_ sun appears,
It shines upon _to-day_;
So, realized, our hopes and fears
For ever melt away.
_Anon._

TONGUE.

The _tongue_ of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools poureth out foolishness.

A wholesome _tongue_ is a tree of life: but perverseness therein is a breach in the spirit.--Proverbs, xv. 2, 4.

The _tongue_ is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!

And the _tongue_ is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the _tongue_ among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.

The _tongue_ can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.

Therewith bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God.

Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be.--James, iii. 5, 6, 8, 9, 10.

The man
In whom this spirit entered, was undone.
His _tongue_ was set on fire of hell, his heart
Was black as death, his legs were faint with haste
To propagate the lie his soul had framed.
_Pollok._