Chapter XX: Part 20

Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect, or use thee as they ought!
But all shall give account of every wrong,
Who dare dishonour or defile the _tongue_;
Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,
Or sell their glory at the market price!
_Cowper._

Nor did the pulpit’s oratory fail
To achieve its higher triumph.--Not unfelt
Were its admonishments, nor lightly heard
The awful truths, delivered thence by _tongues_
Endowed with various power to search the soul.
_Wordsworth._

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 loth, Thy trump shall hear,
And every _tongue_ unchained be,
To own no hope, O God, but Thee.
_Keble._

TREASURE.

_Treasures_ of wickedness profit nothing: but righteousness delivereth from death.--Proverbs, x. 2.

Lay not up for yourselves _treasures_ upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:

But lay up for yourselves _treasures_ in heaven:

For where your _treasure_ is, there will your heart be also.--Matthew, vi. 19, 20, 21.

He is a path, if any be misled;
He is a robe, if any naked be;
If any chance to hunger, He is bread;
If any be a bondman, He is free;
If any be but weak, how strong is He!
To dead men life He is, to sick men health;
To blind men sight, and to the needy, wealth--
A pleasure without loss, a _treasure_ without stealth.
_Giles Fletcher._

Not to understand a _treasure’s_ worth
Till time has stolen away the slighted good,
Is cause of half the poverty we feel,
And makes the world the wilderness it is.
_Cowper._

Engage this roving treacherous heart,
Great God! to choose the better part;
To scorn the trifles of a day,
For joys that none can take away.

Then let the wildest storms arise,
Let tempests mingle earth and skies;
No fatal shipwreck shall I fear,
But all my _treasure_ with me bear.

If Thou, my Jesus, still art nigh,
Cheerful I live, and cheerful die;
Secure, when mortal comforts flee,
To find ten thousand worlds in Thee.
_Doddridge._

Think’st thou the man whose mansions hold
The worldling’s pomp, and miser’s gold,
Obtains a richer prize
Than he, who, in his cot at rest,
Finds heavenly peace a willing guest,
And bears the promise in his breast
Of _treasure_ in the skies.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

What are they?--gold and silver,
Or what such ore can buy?
The price of silken luxury--
Rich robes of Tyrian dye?
Guests that come thronging in
With lordly pomp and state?
Or thankless liveried serving men,
To stand about the gate?

Or are they daintiest meats,
Sent up on silver fine?
Or golden cups o’er brimm’d
With rich Falernian wine?
Or parchments, setting forth
Broad lands our fathers held?
Parks for our deer, ponds for our fish,
And woods that may be fell’d?

No, no! they are not these! or else
God help the poor man’s need!
Then, sitting ’mid his little ones,
He would be poor indeed!
They are not these--our household wealth
Belongs not to degree:
It is the love within our souls--
The children at our knee!

My heart o’erfloweth to mine eyes
When I see the poor man stand,
After his daily work is done,
With children by the hand:--
And this he kisseth tenderly,
And that sweet names doth call;
For I know he has no _treasure_
Like those dear children small!

Oh, children young, I bless ye!
Ye keep such love alive!
And the home can ne’er be desolate
Where love has room to thrive!
Oh, precious household _treasures_,
Life’s sweetest, holiest claim--
The Saviour bless’d ye while on earth--
I bless ye in His name!
_Mary Howitt._

TREE.

The _trees_ of the Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon which He hath planted.--Psalm civ. 16.

And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the _trees_: therefore every _tree_ which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.--Matthew, iii. 10.

Every good _tree_ bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt _tree_ bringeth forth evil fruit.--Matthew, xii. 17.

A tree was first the instrument of strife,
When Eve to sin her soul did prostitute;
A _tree_ is now the instrument of life,
Though ill that trunk, and Christ’s fair body suit;
Ah, cursed _tree_! and yet, oh, blessed fruit!
That death to Him, this life to us doth give:
Strange is the cure when things past cure revive,
And the physician dies to make his patient live.
_Giles Fletcher._

Like crowded forest _trees_ we stand,
And some are marked to fall:
The axe shall smite, at God’s command,
And soon shall smite us all.

Green as the bay _tree_, ever green,
With its new foliage on,
The gay, the thoughtless have I seen;
I passed, and they were gone.
_Cowper._

Of all the _trees_ that in earth’s vineyard grow,
And with their clusters tempted man to pull
And eat, one _tree_ alone the true
Celestial manna bore, which filled the soul.
The _tree_ of holiness, of heavenly seed,
A native of the skies, though stunted made,
And dwarfed by time’s cold, damp, ungenial soil,
And chilling winds, yet yielding fruit so pure,
So nourishing and sweet, as on his way
Refreshed the pilgrim; and begot desire
Unquenchable, to climb the arduous path
To where her sister plants, in their own clime,
Around the fount and by the stream of life,
Blooming beneath the sun that never sets,
Bear fruit of perfect relish fully ripe.
_Pollok._

God spake: the hills and plains put on
Their robe of freshest green;
Dark forest in the valleys wave,
And budding _trees_ are seen.
The word of His breath clothes the forest with leaves,
The high gift of beauty the spring-tide receives.
_Krummacher._

I heard the language of the _trees_,
In the noons of the early summer;
As the leaves were moved like rippling seas
By the wind--a constant comer.
It came and it went at its wanton will;
And evermore loved to dally,
With branch and flower, from the cope of the hill
To the warm depths of the valley.
The sunlight glow’d; the water flow’d;
The birds their music chanted,
And the words of the _trees_ on my senses fell--
By a spirit of Beauty haunted:--
Said each to each, in mystic speech:--
“The skies our branches nourish;--
The world is good,--the world is fair,--
Let us enjoy and flourish!”

Again I heard the steadfast _trees_;
The wintry winds were blowing;
There seem’d a roar as of stormy seas,
And of ships to the depths down-going.
And ever a moan through the woods was blown,
As the branches snapp’d asunder,
And the long boughs swung like the frantic arms
Of a crowd in affright and wonder,
Heavily rattled the driving hail;
And storm and flood combining,
Laid bare the roots of mighty oaks
Under the shingle twining.
Said _tree_ to _tree_, “These tempests free
Our sap and strength shall nourish;
Though the world be hard--though the world be cold--
We can endure and flourish.”
_Charles Mackay._

TREMBLING.

Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice with _trembling_.--Psalm ii. 11.

Fear ye not me? saith the Lord: will ye not _tremble_ at my presence?--Jeremiah, v. 22.

Eternal Lord of light and life; the soul
Of nature and the Deity of all,
Whose spirit bending o’er the wondrous whole,
Suffers unwill’d, no flower or bird to fall:
Can the proud eye look upwards to yon dome,
Or view the rich array spread forth below,
And not feel pledges of a dearer home,
That make the bosom leap, the spirit glow,
And stretch its hopes far into eternity,
Till, like the Patriarch’s dove, it rests, great Lord on Thee.

On Thee, its ark of perfect holiness,
With tokens of its everlasting peace,
And certainty of fadeless joy to bless
It in a higher state when time shall cease,
The stars shall burn; those living orbs were fed
With pure effulgence from Thy vital ray,
To light us deep into Thy essence, shed
Abroad through earth and air by night and day:
Fill’d with that glory would my spirit soar,
And, although _trembling_, yet exultingly, adore.
_W. Martin._

Ye _trembling_ souls dismiss your fears,
Be mercy all your theme;
Mercy, which like a river flows,
In one perpetual stream!

Fear not the powers of earth and hell,
God will those powers restrain;
His arm shall all their rage repel
And make their efforts vain!

Fear not that he will e’er forsake,
Or leave His work undone;
He’s faithful to his promises,
And faithful to His Son!
_Beddome._

TRIAL.

Search me, O God, and know my heart: _try_ me, and know my thoughts.--Psalm cxxxix. 23.

The _trial_ of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be _tried_ with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.--I. Peter, i. 7.

Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery _trial_ which is to _try_ you, as though some strange thing happened unto you.--I. Peter, iv. 12.

Lest our _trial_, when least sought,
May find us both perhaps far less prepared.
_Milton._

Within our life these sorrows we contain
Uncertain days, yet full of certain grief;
In number few, yet infinite in pain;
O’ercharged with wants, but naked of relief,
In ruling it our evil parts are chief;
And though our time be not cut short by death,
Old age will creep to stop uncertain breath.

Yet to the much affliction of the mind,
This of the body is a scant compare,
Wherein so many and so much I find,
As would astone my spirits to declare--
_Trial_ can only tell us what we are:
For we whom custom hath with grief acquainted,
By us her sad proportion best is painted.
_Christopher Lever_, 1607.

He bids him glow with unremitting love
To all on earth, and to Himself above
Condemns the injurious deed, the slanderous tongue,
The thought that meditates a brother’s wrong;
Brings not alone the more conspicuous part--
His conduct--to the test, but _tries_ his heart.
_Cowper._

Lord, search my soul, try ev’ry thought;
Though my own heart accuse me not
Of walking in a false disguise,
I beg a _trial_ of Thine eyes.

Doth secret mischief lurk within?
Do I indulge some unknown sin?
O turn my feet whene’er I stray,
And lead me in Thy perfect way.
_Watts._

TRIBULATION.

In the world ye shall have _tribulation_.--John, xvi. 33.

We must through much _tribulation_ enter into the kingdom of God.--Acts, xiv. 22.

Patient in _tribulation_.--Romans, xii. 12.

The wisdom of this world is idiotism;
Strength, a weak reed; health, sickness’ enemy;
(And it at length will have the victory;)
Beauty is but a painting; and long life
Is a long journey in December gone:
Tedious and full of _tribulation_.
_Dekkar._

Begone unbelief, my Saviour is near,
And for my relief will surely appear;
By prayer let me wrestle, and He will perform;
With Christ in the vessel, I smile at the storm.

His love in time past forbids me to think
He’ll leave me at last in trouble to sink;
Each sweet Ebenezer I have in review,
Confirms His good pleasure to help me quite through.

Why should I complain of want or distress,
Temptation or pain? he told me no less!
The heirs of salvation, I know from His word,
Through much _tribulation_ must follow their Lord.
_Newton._

Lo! round the throne, a glorious band,
The saints, in countless myriads, stand;
Of ev’ry tongue, redeem’d to God,
Array’d in garments wash’d in blood!

Through _tribulation_ great they came;
They bore the cross, despis’d the shame;
But now from all their labours rest,
In God’s eternal glory bless’d.
_Duncan._

Thou dost conduct Thy people
Through torrents of temptation
Nor will we fear, while Thou art near,
The fire of _tribulation_.
_De Courcey._

TRIUMPH.

Then sang Moses and the children of Israel this song unto the Lord, and spake, saying, I will sing unto the Lord, for He hath _triumphed_ gloriously: the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.--Exodus, xv. 1.

The _triumphing_ of the wicked is short.--Job, xx. 5.

Thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to _triumph_ in Christ.--II. Corinthians, ii. 14.

Hail, Thou! that on this glorious morn didst burst
The bands of death! all hail, incarnate Lord!
First-born of heaven, what time the barren grave
With wondrous throes gave forth Thy present flesh,
In all its incorruptible array
Of majesty and light. _Triumphant_ Lord,
Who, in Thy rising power, didst captive lead
Captivity, and at Thy chariot wheels
The vanquished hosts of hell didst with Thee bring!
Hail, conquering King! Almighty Prince of Life!
First-fruits of those that sleep, in hope assured
Of that bright morning, when the trumpet’s sound
Shall wake the slumbering dead, when from the tomb
Thy quickened saints shall spring to swell Thy strain,
Clad in immortal bloom. Thy angel bands
Attend Thee up the skies with cheerful notes;
We, too, responsive cry “Our God is gone,
Is upward gone.”
_S. Stennet._

Rejoice, believer, in the Lord,
Who makes your cause His own;
The hope that’s built upon His word,
Can ne’er be overthrown!

As surely as He overcame,
And _triumph’d_ once for you;
So surely you that love His name,
Shall _triumph_ in Him too!
_Newton._

The Lord of Lords has _triumphed_ gloriously.
_H. H. Milman._

Humility o’er self victorious,
Of earthly _triumphs_ the most glorious.
_William Peter._

TROUBLE.

The Lord hear thee in the day of _trouble_.--Psalm xx. 1.

In the day of my _trouble_ I will call upon thee: for thou wilt answer me.--Psalm lxxxvi. 7.

I cried unto the Lord with my voice; with my voice unto the Lord did I make my supplication.

I poured out my complaint before him; I shewed before him my _trouble_.--Psalm cxlii. 1, 2.

From out of the depths of misery I cry
To Thee O Lord, and that most earnestly,
Prayers intermixed with sighs and tears
My soul sends up into Thine ears.
I pour out all my moan
Before Thee, Thee alone,
And for relief
Show Thee my grief.

Lord, when my _troubled_ spirit could not rest
For anguish of my mind, Thou knowest best
What way to help me, and did see
A path through all to set me free.
Thy foes, and mine, do lay
Snares for me, in my way
One did privily
In ambush lie.

I looked on every side, but I could see
None who would know, and much less succour me.
My friends revolted totally,
On whom I used to rely;
All ways to ’scape by flight
Were stopped, and shut up quite,
And none did care
My soul to spare.

Thus _troubled_; laid on wait for; desolate;
Enclosed around; and thus disconsolate;
I cried to Thee, O Lord, and said,
Thou art my hope, my help, my aid,
The rock I build upon;
My lot, my portion,
For this life, and
A better land.
_Joseph Bunyan._

When the heart is sore smitten by sorrow,
And the bosom is darksome and drear,
And when bright hope no longer may borrow
A smile from the future to cheer;
And the eye that would gaze on the morrow,
Is constrain’d to gaze on through a tear--
Even then there’s a hope that can brighten
The soul in its darksome abode,
That can dry up its sorrow, and lighten,
The weight of its wearisome load:
’Tis the hope which no joy can heighten,
That leads it to trust in its God.

Though the world to our griefs may be ever
Disdainful, unkind, and unjust;
And mankind may be eager to sever
The links of our holier trust;
And the mighty may daily endeavour
To tread our torn hearts in the dust,
Still thy presence, Lord, cannot be taken
From those that all faithful will be:
Then why should our spirits be shaken?
And why should we languish to flee?
When we know we are never forsaken,
In the midst of our _troubles_, by Thee.
_W. Martin._

If the nation-feeding corn
Thriveth under iced snow;
If the small bird on the thorn
Useth well its guarded sloe;
Bid thy cares thy comforts double,
Gather fruit from thorns of _trouble_.
_E. Elliot._

In the time of Grief and _trouble_,
Then we call upon the Lord,
And he hears our supplication,
Ever faithful to his word;
But when o’er the _trouble_ passeth,
As a cloud that hid the sun,
We forget the hand that raised us,
Careless of the blessing won.
_Egone._

TRUST.

Some _trust_ in chariots, and some in horses; but we will remember the name of the Lord our God.--Psalm xx. 7.

O my God, I _trust_ in Thee: let me not be ashamed.--Psalm xxv. 2.

Commit thy way unto the Lord; _trust_ also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass.--Psalm xxxvii. 5.

_Trust_ in the Lord with all thine heart: and lean not unto thine own understanding.--Proverbs, iii. 5.

But, O, the soul that never dies
At once it leaves the clay;
Ye thoughts pursue it where it flies,
And track its wondrous way.

Up to the courts where angels dwell,
It mounts triumphant there;
Or devils plunge it down to hell,
In infinite despair.

And must my body faint and die?
And must this soul remove?
O for some guardian angel high,
To bear it safe above!

Jesus, to Thy dear faithful hand,
My naked soul I _trust_;
And my flesh waits for Thy command,
To drop into the dust.
_Watts._

Backsliding Israel, bear the voice
Of thy forgiving God;
Nor force such goodness to exert
The terrors of the rod.

Thus saith the Lord, “My mercy flows,
An unexhausted stream;
And after all its millions saved,
Its sway is still supreme.”

Own but the follies thou hast done,
And mourn thy sins in dust,
And soon thy trembling heart shall learn
To hope, and love, and _trust_.
_Doddridge._

Men safelier _trust_ to Heaven than to themselves
When least themselves, in the mad whirl of crowds,
Where folly is contagious, and, too oft,
Even wise men leave their better sense at home,
To chide and wonder at them when returned.
_Coleridge._

Frail children of dust,
And feeble as frail,
In Thee do we _trust_,
Nor find Thee to fail;
Thy mercies how tender,
How firm to the end!
Our Maker--Defender,
Redeemer, and Friend.

O measureless might!
Ineffable love!
While angels delight
To hymn Thee above,
The humbler creation,
Though feeble their lays,
With true adoration,
Shall lisp to Thy praise.
_Sir R. Grant._

Do good, shun evil: live not thou
As if at death thy being died,
Nor error’s syren voice allow
To draw thy steps from truth aside;
Look to thy journey’s end--the grave!
And _trust_ in Him whose arm can save.
_Moir._

Then shall, gorgeous as a gem,
Shine thy mount, Jerusalem;
Then shall in the desert rise
Fruits of more than Paradise;
Earth by angel feet be trod,
One great garden of her God;
Till are dried the martyr’s tears
Through a glorious thousand years.
Now, in hope of Him, we _trust_
Earth to earth, and dust to dust.
_Croly._

We see no more in Thy pure skies,
How soft, O God! the sunset dies:
How every coloured hill and wood
Seems melting in the golden flood:
Yet, by the precious memories won
From bright hours, now for ever gone,
Father, o’er all Thy works we know
Thou still art shedding beauty’s glow;
Still touching every cloud and tree
With glory, eloquent of Thee;
Still feeding all Thy flowers with light,
Though man hath barred it from our sight.
We know Thou reignest, the unchanging One, All-just!
And bless Thee still, with free and boundless _trust_.
_Mrs. Hemans._

O let my trembling soul be still,
While darkness veils this mortal eye,
And wait Thy wise, Thy holy will:
Wrapp’d yet in fears and mystery,
I cannot, Lord! Thy purpose see!
Yet all is ruled--since ruled by Thee.

When mounted on Thy clouded car,
Thou send’st Thy darker spirits down,
I can discern Thy light afar,
Thy light sweet beaming through Thy frown;
And should I faint a moment--then
I think of Thee--and smile again,

So, _trusting_ in Thy love, I tread
The narrow path of duty on;
What though some cherished joys are fled!
What though some flattering dreams are gone;
Yet purer, brighter joys remain,
Why should my spirit then complain?
_Bowring._

For now in truth I find
My Father all His promises hath kept;
He comforts those who here in sadness wept.
Eyes to the blind
Thou art, O God! Earth I no longer see,
Yet _trustfully_ my spirit looks to Thee.
_Mrs. Neal._

Oh, yet we _trust_ that, somehow, good
Will be the final goal of all,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy’d,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another’s gain.

Behold! we know not anything;
I can but _trust_ that good shall fall
At last, far off, at last to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream:--but what am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light;
And with no language but a cry.
_Tennyson._

In patience, then, possess thy soul,
Stand still!--for while the thunders roll,
Thy Saviour sees thee through the gloom,
And will to thy assistance come;
His love and mercy will be shown
To those who _trust_ in Him alone.
_William Allen._

Some in chariots, some in horses,
We in God Jehovah _trust_;
And, while He our sure resource is,
They are fallen in the dust:
Save Jehovah, save and hear us,
King of glory, King of might;
When we call, be ever near us,--
Even for Thy servants fight.
_Tupper._

Oft, alas! we make our boast
In the strength of armed host:
Creatures frail in whom we _trust_,
What are they but ashes--dust?
_Egone_.

TRUTH.

The _truth_ of the Lord endureth for ever.--Psalm cxvii. 2.

Buy the _truth_, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding.--Proverbs, xxiii. 23.

Speak ye every man the _truth_ to his neighbour.--Zechariah, viii. 16.

Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the _truth_, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.--John, xiv. 6.

When He, the Spirit of _truth_, is come, He will guide you into all _truth_.--John, xvi. 13.

It is the Spirit that beareth witness, because the Spirit is _truth_.--I. John, v. 6.

Dare to be _true_; nothing can need a lie,
A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby.
_Herbert._

_Truth_, in her pure simplicity, wants art
To put a feigned blush on.
_John Ford._

Defend the _truth_; for that who will not die,
A coward is, and gives himself the lie.
_Thomas Randolph._

These furies fell, which turn the world to ruth,
Both Envy, Strife, and Slander, her appear,
In dungeon dark they long enclosed _Truth_,
But time at length did loose his daughter dear,
And sets aloft that sacred lady bright,
Who things long hid reveals and brings to light.

Though Strife wake her, though Envy eat her heart,
The innocent though Slander rend and spoil:
Yet Time will come, and take this lady’s part,
And break her bands and bring her foes to foil.
Despair not then, though _Truth_ be hidden oft,
Because at length, she shall be set aloft.
_Whitney._

God hath how sent His living oracle
Into the world to teach His final will,
And sends His Spirit of _truth_ henceforth to dwell
In pious hearts: and inward oracle
To all _truth_ requisite for men to know.
_Milton._

For error and mistake are infinite,
But _truth_ has but one way to be i’ th’ right:
As numbers may t’ infinity be grown,
But never be reduc’d to less than one.
_Butler._

Marble and recording brass decay,
And like the ’graver’s memory, pass away;
The works of man inherit, as is just,
Their author’s frailty, and return to dust;
But _truth_ divine for ever stands secure,
Its head is guarded, as its base is sure;
Fixed in the rolling flood of endless years,
The pillar of the eternal plan appears;
The raving storm and dashing wave defies,
Built by that Architect who built the skies.
_Cowper._

But what is _Truth_? ’Twas Pilate’s question, put
To _Truth_ itself, that deigned him no reply.
And wherefore? Will not God impart His light
To them that ask it? Freely,--’tis His joy,
His glory, and His nature, to impart.
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere,
Our negligent enquirer, not a spark.
_Cowper._

All _truth_ is precious, if not all divine,
And what dilates the powers must needs refine.
_Cowper._

So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Though one did fling the fire,
Heaven flowed upon the soul in many dreams
Of high desire.

Thus _truth_ was multiplied on _truth_, the world
Like one great garden show’d,
And thro’ the wreaths of floating dark upcurl’d
Rare sunrise flow’d.
_Tennyson._

Dark, dark, yea, irrecoverably dark,
Is the soul’s eye; yet how it strives and battles
Through the impenetrable gloom to fix
That master light, the secret _truth_ of things,
Which is the body of the infinite God.
_Arthur H. Hallam._

Searching the skiey depths all night in vain,
The starry seer hath known this mystery--
That the sky orb, which over half the sky
Hath baulked his chase, and mocked his utmost pain
If (haply while the daylight poured amain
Into the empty concave of the night)
Hath stepped into his glass, as clear to sight
As the one tree that stars a glassy plain,
So is it known that some secretive _Truth_,
Which Thought and Patience strove in vain to find,
Just when Despair and Doubt were swallowing all,
Hath dropped into the heart without a call,
Conspicuous as a Fire, and sweet as Youth,
An everlasting stronghold to the mind.
_Thomas Burbidge._

Not seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the morn;
Not seldom evening, in the west,
Sinks smilingly forsworn.
The smoothest seas will sometimes prove
To the confiding bark _untrue_;
And if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.

The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.
But Thou art _true_, incarnate Lord!
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die,
Thy smile is sure, Thy plighted word
No change can falsify.
_Wordsworth._

That one half creation is to know
Luxurious joy, and others only woe,
And so go down into the common tomb
With none to question their unequal doom?
Shall we give credit to a thought so fond?
Ah! no--the world beyond--the world beyond!
There shall the desolate heart regain its own!
There the oppressed shall stand before God’s throne!
There, when the tangled web is all explained,
Wrong suffered, pain inflicted, grief disdained,
Man’s proud, mistaken judgments and false scorn
Shall melt, like mists before the uprising morn,
And holy _truth_ stand forth, serenely bright,
In the rich flood of God’s eternal light!
_Mrs. Norton._

It is not in the heart of thought
Nor in the breast of care,
That _truth_ its dwelling-place has sought,
For all is sterile there:
Nor is it in the mind where gay
Delusive visions throng,
That chastening _truth_ can find a way
Its glittering dreams among:
Yet as within the desert far,
There are reflections given
Of light, so in the heart there are
Remembrances of Heaven.
_W. Anderson._

Oh! _truth_ abideth with Him everywhere;
And lovely is her brow, albeit too bright
For earthly eye, she veils her aspect fair,
Lest bold vain men be blasted with its light,
Beneath a diverse visage, now austere,
Now lovely, suited to the gazer’s sight.
He who upon her naked face might bear
To look, would know her heavenly and divine,
And Deity itself in her revere--
Thy soul, oh Man! is her especial shrine;
There find her, thou unto thyself shalt wake,
And to thy God; for heaven is her’s and thine:
Seek her in youth, nor yet in age forsake.
_J. A. Heraud._

Immortal _Truth_! by inspiration taught,
Thou spurn’st the servile chains of human art;
In native majesty arrayed, thou shed’st
Thy radiant beams through all this vale below;
Thy piercing voice resounds through distant climes,
By all distinguished, and by all adored.
_Charles Jenner._

_Truth_ is in each flower
As well as in the solemnest things of God.
_Truth_ is the voice of Nature and of Time--
_Truth_ is the startling monitor within us--
Nought is without it, it comes from the stars,
The golden sun, and every breeze that blows--
_Truth_, it is God! and God is everywhere!
_William Thomson Bacon._

UNITY.

Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in _unity_!

It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Aaron’s beard: that went down to the skirts of his garments.--Psalm cxxxiii. 1, 2.

Endeavouring to keep the _unity_ of the Spirit in the bond of peace.--Ephesians, iv. 3.

E’en as the ointment whose sweet odours blended,
From Aaron’s head upon his beard descended,
And, falling thence, with rich perfume ran o’er
The holy garb the prophet wore:
So doth the _unity_ that lives with brothers
Share its best blessings and its joy with others.
_Kamphuyzen._

Behold how good it is that brethren dwell
In _unity_ together. Sweet it is,
As the rich unguent that o’er Aaron fell
From head to beard, and even deigned to kiss
His garment skirts. ’Tis precious as the dew
Distilled on Hermon in fine essences.
Yea, it refreshes Zion’s mountains too;
For there the blessing of eternal life,
The Lord our God shall evermore renew.
_J. A. Heraud._

The glorious universe around,
The heavens with all their train,
Sun, moon, and stars are firmly bound
In one mysterious chain.

In one fraternal bond of love,
One fellowship of mind,
The saints below, the saints above,
Their bliss and glory find.

Here, in their house of pilgrimage,
Thy statutes are their song;
There, through one bright eternal age,
Thy praises they prolong!

Lord, may our _union_ form a part
Of that thrice happy whole,
Derive its pulse from Thee, the heart,
Its life from Thee, the soul.
_J. Montgomery._

VALOUR.

Through God we shall do _valiantly_: for He it is that shall tread down our enemies.--Psalm cviii. 13.

I never saw an angry person _valiant_:
Virtue is never aided by a vice.
_Ben Jonson._

In the good man’s breast,
Justice and piety, with _valour_ reign:
He, though the fabric of the shaken world
Should burst in thundering ruin o’er his head,
Calm and unawed would view the crushing wreck,
Nor shudder at destruction; but to brave
The wrath of Heaven, or rashly to intrude,
Spotted with guilt, into his Maker’s sight;
Or lift for mercy a rebellious hand
Dyed with a brother’s gore, he justly fears;
Yet, in Himself collected, will defy
The taunt of malice, or that groundless right
The weakest, lightest of mankind assume
To brand with infamy his injured name,
And scorn the coward, daring to forgive.
_C. P. Layard._

Who is _valiant_, tell me who?
Is it he who braves all danger,
Foremost ever in the field,
’Mid the clash of sword and shield,
Where there’s bloodiest work to do,
Unto fear a stranger?

Who is _valiant_, tell me who?
He, who where the tempest rages,
’Mid the elemental strife,
Boldly risking limb and life,
With a dauntless heart and true,
In the work engages?

These are _valiant_, but methinks
’Tis a higher, nobler _valour_,
In a cause that just and right,
Bearing scorn, neglect, and slight,
With a soul that never shrinks,
And a cheek that knows no pallor.
_Egone._

VANITY.

Surely God will not hear _vanity_, neither will the Almighty regard it.--Job, xxxv. 13.

Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth: and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether _vanity_.--Psalm xxxix. 5.

Man is like to _vanity_: his days are as a shadow that passeth away.--Psalm cxliv. 4.

_Vanity_ of _vanities_, saith the Preacher, _vanity_ of _vanities_; all is _vanity_.--Ecclesiastes, i. 2.

Cast not thy serious wit on idle things,
Make not thy free-will slave to _vanity_.
_Davies._

What well-devised ear regards
What earth can say?
Thy words are gold, but thy regards
Are painted clay:
Thy cunning can but pack the cards,
Thou canst not play:
Thy game at weakest, still thou vy’st:
If seen and then revy’d, deny’st;
Thou art not what thou seem’st false world, thou ly’st.

Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint
Of new coined treasure:
A paradise that hath no stint,
No change, no measure,
A painted cask, but nothing in it,
Nor wealth, nor pleasure,
_Vain_ earth! that falsely thus comply’st
With man; _vain_ man! that thou rely’st
On earth; _vain_ man, thou dot’st, _vain_ earth, thou ly’st.

What mean dull souls, in this high measure
To haberdash
In earth’s bare wares, whose greatest treasure
Is drop and trash?
The height of whose enchanting pleasure
Is but a flash?
Are these the goods that thou supply’st
Us mortals with? Are these the highest?
Can these bring cordial peace! _vain_ world thou ly’st.
_Francis Quarles._

The pride
And wand’ring _vanity_, when least was safe,
Rejected my forewarning.
_Milton._

The man we celebrate must find a tomb,
And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
Nothing is proof against the general curse
Of _vanity_, that seizes all below.
_Cowper._

How wise a short retreat to steal,
The _vanity_ of life to feel,
And from its cares to fly:
To act one calm, domestic scene,
Earth’s bustle and the grave between,
Retire, and learn to die!
_Hannah More._

Lord, let me know mine end,
My days, how brief their date,
That I may timely comprehend
How frail my best estate.

My life is but a span
Mine age is nought with Thee;
Man, in his highest honour, man
Is dust and _vanity_.
_James Montgomery._

Art thou puffed with _vanity_?
Hear the preacher, what saith he?
Be thy state however great,
Lofty though thy station be,
Like a shadow, o’er a meadow
Swiftly that is seen to flee:
Like a morning flower that soon
Withers in the eye of noon;
Like a gleam, upon a stream,
That we but a moment see;--
Such thou art, oh, haughty man,
And thy days are but a span;
And thy works, however strong,
May not have endurance long;
And thy thoughts, however high,
What are they but _vanity_?
_Egone._

VAPOUR.

Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He in heaven, and in earth, in the seas, and all deep places.

He causeth the _vapours_ to ascend from the ends of the earth.--Psalm cxxxv. 6, 7.

What is your life? It is even a _vapour_, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.--James, iv. 14.

Great is the Lord, exalted high,
Above all pow’rs and ev’ry throne;
Whate’er He please in earth and sea,
Or heav’n, or hell, His hand hath done.

At His command the _vapours_ rise,
The lightnings flash, the thunders roar;
He pours the rain, He brings the wind
And tempests from His airy store.
_Watts._

Life is a span, a fleeting hour!
How soon the _vapour_ flies!
Man is a tender transient flower,
That e’en in blooming dies.
_Steele._

How gloriously ’neath yon cerulean arch,
The _vapoury_ legions hold their stately march;
Onward they press, with banners all unroll’d,
Like gleaming cohorts, clad in steel and gold;
The space they cover is of vast extent,
And afar off rise tower and battlement,
As of some city bright, with jasper walls,
Enclosing, as we deem, wide stately halls,
And spacious streets, and temples all inlaid
With precious stones, and fit for worship made.
’T is but a dream! behold, comes on the night;
The heavens grow black, and blotted from the sight
Are those fair shapes, and such the airy schemes
Of human pride, all unsubstantial dreams.
_Vapour_ and mist enwrap our senses here,
Only about God’s throne is all serene and clear.
_Egone._

VENGEANCE.

O Lord God, to whom _vengeance_ belongeth; O God, to whom _vengeance_ belongeth, shew Thyself.--Psalm xciv. 1.

Say to them that are of a fearful heart, be strong; fear not: behold, your God will come with _vengeance_, even God with a recompense.--Isaiah, xxxv. 4.

Dearly beloved, _avenge_ not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, _Vengeance_ is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.--Romans, xii. 19.

From Sinai’s top Jehovah gave the law,
Life for obedience, death for every flaw.
When the great Sovereign would His will express,
He gives a perfect rule, what can He less?
And guards it with a sanction as severe
As _vengeance_ can inflict, or sinners fear:
Else His own glorious rights He would disclaim,
And man might safely trifle with His name.
_Cowper._

Speak not of _vengeance_! ’t is the right of God.
“_Vengeance_ is His.” Who shall usurp the bolt
And launch it for Omnipotence? shall man
Assume the right of judgment, or prescribe
How far the line of mercy shall extend,
Or punishment shall stretch its iron rod?
In thine own cause to judge, who gave thee right,
Presumptuous man!
_C. P. Layard._

Some deluded minds,
Harrowed by penal terrors, in the gulf
Of black despair are whelmed. No ray of hope
Dispels the involving gloom; a Deity,
With all the thunder of dread _vengeance_ round Him,
Is ever present to their tortured thoughts.
_Samuel Hayes._

To _vengeance_ horrible aroused,
And clad in tenfold fierceness, shalt thou stand
Beside the atheist’s bed; by his who oft,
With wit profane, and poignant blasphemy,
And specious show of argument, hath scoffed
Each awful truth, and ridiculed his God.
_William Gibson._

VICTORY.

O sing unto the Lord a new song; for he hath done marvellous things: his right hand, and his holy arm, hath gotten him the _victory_.--Psalm xcviii. 1.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy _victory_?

Thanks be to God, which giveth us the _victory_, through our Lord Jesus Christ.--I. Corinthians, xv. 55, 57.

This is the _victory_ that overcometh the world, even our faith.--I. John, v. 4.

Ye dead! where can your dwelling be?
--The house of all the living;--come and see.
O life! what is thy breath?
--A vapour lost in death.
O death! how ends thy strife?
--In everlasting life.
O grave! where is thy _victory_?
--Ask Him who rose again from me.
_J. Montgomery._

Look, ye saints, the sight is glorious,
See the “Man of Sorrows” now;
From the fight returned _victorious_,
Every knee to Him shall bow!
Crown Him! crown Him!
Crowns become the _victor’s_ brow.

Sinners in derision crown’d Him,
Mocking thus the Saviour’s claim;
Saints and angels crowd around Him,
Own His title, praise His name:
Crown Him! crown Him!
Spread abroad the _victor’s_ fame!
_Kelly._

Millions now before the throne,
Lay their trophied offerings down;
Clad in robes of purity,
Now they sing of _victory_.

Millions more still onward go,
Militant while here below;
Soon the shield and sword shall be
Laid aside for _victory_.
_W. J. Brock._

Beauty;--may that of holiness be mine;
May power be given me to o’ercome the world;
For pleasure, may I have a hand to pour
The oil and wine upon another’s wound!
For honour, may I bear my Saviour’s cross;
For splendour, light that from His follower beams;
And be my glory His approving smile;
My fame, the world’s reproaches for His sake;
My wealth, a conscience where no rust corrodes--
One that may look into a coming world,
As nature shall dissolve, and feel secure;
With these to aid me in the mortal strife,
May I, the palm of _victory_ o’er the grave,
Make my immortal prize!
_Hannah F. Gould._

Waft not to me the blast of fame,
That swells the trump of _victory_;
For to my ear it gives the name
Of slaughter and of misery.

Boast not so much of honour’s sword,
Wave not so high the _victor’s_ plume;
They point me to the bosom gor’d,
They point me to the blood-stained tomb.

The boastful shout, the revel loud,
That strive to drown the voice of pain;
What are they but the fickle crowd,
Rejoicing o’er their brethren slain?

And oh, through glory’s fading blaze,
I see the cottage taper, pale,
Which sheds its faint and feeble rays,
Where unprotected orphans wail.

Where the sad widow weeping stands,
As if her day of hope was done;
Where the wild mother clasps her hands,
And asks the _victor_ for her son.

Where, midst that desolated land,
The sire lamenting o’er his son,
Extends his pale and powerless hand,
And finds its only prop is gone.

See, how the bands of war and woe
Have rifled sweet domestic bliss;
And tell me if your laurels grow,
And flourish in a soil like this.
_Sigourney._

Up to the strife with care,
Be thine an oaken heart,
Life’s daily contest nobly share,
Nor act a craven part;
Give murmurs to the coward throng,
Be thine the joyous notes of song.

If thrown upon the field,
Up to the task once more,
’T is worse than infamy to yield,
’T is childish to deplore;
Look stern misfortune in the eye,
And breast the billow manfully.

Close in with every foe,
As thickly on they come,
They can but lay thy body low,
And send thy spirit home;
Yet may’st thou stand it out and view
What giant energy can do.

Soon shall the combat cease,
The struggle fierce and long,
And thine be true, unbroken peace,
And thine the _victor’s_ song;
Beyond the clouds will wait for thee.
The wreath of immortality.
_(Rev.) E. C. Jones._

Who shall wear the _victor’s_ wreath
In the realms of deathless glory?
Those who reaped the fields of death,
Heroes of an earthly story?
Nay not these, nor such as these,
They have won rewards and prizes,
Shadowy unrealities,
Which the humble saint despises.
He the _victor’s_ wreath shall wear,
Meekly who the cross could bear.
_Egone._

VINE.

Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and behold and visit this _vine_;

And the _vineyard_ which thy right hand hath planted, and the branch that thou madest so strong for thyself.--Psalm lxxx. 14, 15.

I am the true _vine_, and my Father is the husbandman.--John, xv. 1.

Thanks to Thy sovereign grace, O God, if I
Am graffed in that true _vine_ a living shoot,
Whose arms embrace the world, and in whose root,
Planted by faith, our life must hidden lie.
But Thou beholdest how I fade and dry!
Choked with a waste of leaf, and void of fruit,
Unless Thy spring perennial shall recruit
My sapless branch, still wanting fresh supply.

O cleanse me, then, and make me to abide
Wholly in Thee, to drink Thy heavenly dew,
And, watered daily with my tears to grow.
Thou art the truth, thy promise is my guide;
Prepare me when Thou comest, Lord, to show
Fruits answering to the stock on which I grow.
_From the Italian of Vittoria Colonna._

Hast Thou not planted with Thy hands
A lovely _vine_ in heathen lands?
Did not Thy pow’r defend it round,
And heav’nly dews enrich the ground?

How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with the fruit!
But now, dear Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning _vine_, that lovely tree.

Why is its beauty thus defac’d?
Why hast Thou laid her fences waste?
Strangers and foes against her join,
And ev’ry beast devours the _vine_.

Return, Almighty God, return:
Nor let Thy bleeding _vineyard_ mourn;
Turn us to Thee, Thy love restore;
We shall be sav’d and sigh no more.
_Watts._

VIOLENCE.

_Violence_ shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders.--Isaiah, lx. 18.

Thus saith the Lord, do no wrong, do no _violence_ to the stranger, the fatherless, nor the widow.--Jeremiah, xxii. 3.

And the soldiers likewise demanded of him, saying, and what shall we do? And he said unto them, Do _violence_ to no man.--Luke, iii. 14.

All the elements
At least had gone to wreck, disturbed and torn
With _violence_ of this conflict, had not soon
Th’ Eternal hung his golden scales.
_Milton._

Grieved at heart, when looking down He saw
The whole earth filled with _violence_; and all flesh
Corrupting each their way.
_Milton._

The grief of mind is that intestine war
That stirs sedition in the state of man;
Where, when our passions once commanding are,
Our peaceful days are desperate, for then
The stir’s more hot than when it first began;
For heady passion ’s like an untamed beast,
That riots most when we desire it least.

This _violence_ exceeds his virtuous mien,
Like swelling tides that overcome their shore,
Leaving the awful current of their stream,
And break their banks that bounded them before;
Yet grief in his great _violence_ is more;
For if that reason bound not grief with laws,
In our destruction grief will be the cause.
_Christopher Lever._

First Envy, eldest born of hell, imbrued
Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of men
To make a death which Nature never made,
And God abhorred; with _violence_ rude to break
The thread of life ere half its length was run,
And rob a wretched brother of his being.
_Bishop Porteus._

VIRTUE.

Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any _virtue_, and if there be any praise, think on these things.--Philippians, iv. 8.

Giving all diligence add to your faith _virtue_; and to _virtue_ knowledge.--II. Peter, i. 5.

Heaven doth with us as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves: for if our _virtues_
Did not go forth of us, ’t were all alike
As if we had them not.
_Shakspere._

Tell faith it’s fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood, shakes of pity;
Tell _virtue_, least preferreth;
And if they do reply
Spare not to give the lie.
_Sir W. Raleigh._

--Walls of brass resist not
A noble undertaking--nor can vice
Raise any bulwark to make good a place
Where _virtue_ seeks to enter.
_Fletcher._

Eternal Spirit! Thou who think’st not scorn
To make thyself a lowly habitant
In the mean cottage of the human breast
When purity has been thy harbinger:
Come then, and lead the _virtues_ in Thy train;
Allot to each her office; ceaseless guard
Still let them bold around this earth-born heart,
And watch, with closest glance, its languid pulse.
_John Hey._

_Virtue_’s no _virtue_ whiles it lives secure;
When difficulty waits on ’t, then ’t is pure.
_John Quarles._

Yet sometimes nations will decline so low
From _virtue_, which is reason, that no wrong
But justice, and some fatal course annexed,
Deprives them of their outward liberty,
Their inward lost.
_Milton._

Life swarms with ills; the boldest are afraid;
Where, then, is safety for a tender maid?
Unfit for conflict, round beset with woes,
And man, whom least she fears, her worst of foes;
When kind, most cruel; when oblig’d the most,
The least obliging; and by favours lost.
Cruel by nature, they for kindness hate,
And scorn you for those ills themselves create:
If on your frame our sex a blot has thrown,
’Twill ever stick, through malice of your own.
Most hard! in pleasing your chief glory lies;
And yet from pleasing your chief dangers rise:
Then please the best; and know, for men of sense,
Your strongest charms are native innocence;
Arts on the mind, like paint upon the face,
Fright him that’s worth your love from your embrace,
In simple manners, all the secret lies;
Be kind and _virtuous_, you’ll be blest and wise.
_Young._

Our hearts ne’er bow but to superior worth,
Nor ever fail of their allegiance there;
Fools, indeed, drop the man in their account,
And vote the mantle into majesty.
Shall man be proud to wear his livery,
And souls in ermine scorn a soul without?
Can place or lessen us, or aggrandise?
Pigmies are pigmies still, though perched on hills,
And pyramids are pyramids in vales;
Each man makes his own stature, builds himself:
_Virtue_ alone outlives the pyramids;
Her monuments shall last when Egypt’s fall.
_Young._

I saw the _virtuous_ man contend
With life’s unnumbered woes;
And he was poor--without a friend,
Press’d by a thousand foes.

I saw the passion’s pliant slave
In gallant trim, and gay;
His course was pleasure’s placid wave,
His life a summer’s day.

And I was caught in folly’s snare,
And join’d her giddy train,
But found her soon the nurse of care
And punishment, and pain.

There surely is some guiding pow’r
Which rightly suffers wrong,
Gives vice to bloom its little hour,
But _virtue_ late and long.
_Camoens._

O Thou! by whose almighty nod the scale
Of empire rises, or alternate falls,
Send forth the saving _virtues_ round the land
In bright patrol: white peace and social love;
The tender-looking charity, intent
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles;
Undaunted truth, and dignity of mind:
Courage composed and keen; sound temperance,
Healthful in heart and look; clear chastity,
With blushes reddening as she moves along,
Disordered at the deep regard she draws;
Rough industry; activity untired,
With copious life informed, and all awake.
_Thomson._

_Virtue_ with peculiar charms appears
Crowned with the garland of life’s blooming years.
_Cowper._

While _virtue_ lends a zest to joy,
And bliss to rapture warms,
Our very tears she turns to smiles,
And every pang disarms.

But vice her foul circean cup
May medicate in vain:
E’en in her mirth some sorrow lurks,
In all her pleasures, pain.

Since this, with voice from heav’n, proclaims
That He that rules above,
Doth on the side of _virtue_ stand,
Let fear be lost in love.
_C. C. Colton._

Know thou this truth, (enough for man to know,)
_Virtue_ alone is happiness below.
_Pope._

_Virtue_, the strength and beauty of the soul,
Is the best gift of heaven: a happiness
That e’en above the smiles and frowns of fate
Exalts great nature’s favourites; a wealth
That ne’er encumbers, nor can be transferred.
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earned,
Or dealt by chance to shield a lucky knave;
Or throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.
But for one end, one much neglected use,
Are riches worth your care: for nature’s wants
Are few, and without opulence supplied.
This noble end is to produce the soul;
To show the _virtues_ in their fairest light;
To make humanity the minister
Of bounteous Providence; and lend the breast
That generous luxury the Gods enjoy.
_Dr. Armstrong._

_Virtue_ in itself commands its happiness,
Of every outward object independent.
_Francis._

_Virtue_
Stands like the sun, and all which rolls around
Drinks life, and light, and glory, from her aspect.
_Byron._

The discipline of slavery is unknown
Among us,--hence the more do we require
The discipline of _virtue_; order else
Cannot subsist, nor confidence, nor peace--
Thus duties rising out of good possest,
And prudent caution needful to avert
Impending evil, equally require,
That the whole people should be taught and trained.
So shall licentiousness and black resolve
Be rooted out, and _virtuous_ habits take
Their place; and genuine piety descend
Like an inheritance, from age to age.
_Wordsworth._

VISIONS.

And God spake unto Israel in the _visions_ of the night.--Genesis, xlvi. 2.

Now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a little thereof.

In thoughts from the _visions_ of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men.--Job, iv. 12, 13.

Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this _vision_,
The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded
Leave not a rack behind!
_Shakspere._

_Visions_ and inspirations some expect
Their course here to direct.
Like senseless chemists, their own wealth destroy,
Imaginary gold to enjoy.
So stars appear to drop to us from the sky,
And gild the passage as they fly;
But when they fall, and meet the opposing ground,
What but a sordid slime is found!
_Cowley._

The days of old, in _vision_,
Bring vanish’d bliss to view,
The years of lost fruition
Their joys in pangs renew:
Remember’d songs of gladness,
Through night’s lone silence brought
Strike notes of deeper sadness
And stir desponding thought.
_J. Montgomery._

Such castles we build too, on life’s ocean rising
Frail phantoms of wishes the future disguising--
They meet us at eve when vague fancies are flowing,
But melt in thin air when the daylight is glowing,
Alas! could such _visions_ indeed be our own,
When approached and possessed, they would cease to delight--
But so long as they skirt the horizon’s dim zone,
They e’er seem enticing, empurpled, and bright!
_W. H. Leatham._

VOICE.

The _voice_ of the Lord is upon the waters, the God of glory thundereth.

The _voice_ of the Lord is powerful: the _voice_ of the Lord is full of majesty.--Psalm xxix. 3, 4.

A fool’s _voice_ is known by multitude of words.--Ecclesiastes, v. 3.