Chapter XXI: Part 21

The Lord shall cause his glorious _voice_ to be heard.--Isaiah, xxx. 30.

Let me Thy _voice_ betimes i’ the morning hear!
Call, and I’ll come; say Thou the when and where:
Draw me but first, and after Thee I’ll run,
And halt not once until my race be done.
_Herrick._

There seems a _voice_ in every gale,
A tongue in every opening flower,
Which tells, O God, the wondrous tale
Of Thy indulgence, love, and power:
The birds, that rise on quivering wing,
Appear to hymn their Maker’s praise,
And all the mingling sounds of Spring
To Thee a general anthem raise.
_Mrs. Opie._

There is a tongue in every leaf,--
A _voice_ in every rill;--
A _voice_ that speaketh everywhere,
In flood and fire, through earth and air!
A tongue that’s never still!

’Tis the Great Spirit, wide diffused
Through every thing we see,
That with our spirits communeth,
Of things mysterious--life and death,
Time and eternity.
_Miss Bowles._

The _voice_ of the Lord on the ocean is known,
The God of eternity thundereth abroad;
The _voice_ of the Lord from the depth of his throne
Is terror and power;--all nature is awed.

The _voice_ of the Lord through the calm of the wood
Awakens its echoes, strikes light through its caves;
The Lord sitteth King on the turbulent flood,
The winds are his servants, his servants the waves.
_J. Montgomery._

WAITING.

Lead me in thy truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee do I _wait_ all the day.--Psalm xxv. 5.

_Wait_ on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: _wait_, I say, on the Lord.--Psalm xxvii. 14.

The Lord is a God of judgment: blessed are all they that _wait_ for him.--Isaiah, xxx. 18.

The Lord direct your heart into the love of God, and into the patient _waiting_ for Christ.--II. Thessalonians, iii. 5.

They also serve who only stand and _wait_.
_Milton._

How difficult the task to _wait_
For promises to be fulfilled,
To stand, and watch, and hope, though late
The coming glory be revealed.

To feel and know the sun will rise,
And patiently endure the night,
With eye of faith, through gloomy skies,
To see afar the dawning light.

Full many a fiery soul would dare
The scorn of man, the martyr’s stake,
Whose eager spirit could not bear,
Humbly to _wait_ for Jesu’s sake.

We ask for some great thing to do,
Some mighty, herculean task,
And always doubt that God is true,
Because he grants not what we ask.

We sow, and look to see the grain
Bend with its weight the golden ears;
We pray, and deem our prayers are vain,
Because in heaven no sign appears.

Oh, give to me the christian’s mind,
Neither depressed, nor yet elate,
If active service be assigned,
Or patiently to watch and _wait_,
And still a patient joy to find,
Whatever be my earthly state.
_Egone._

WALKING.

Enoch _walked_ with God.--Genesis, v. 24.

I will _walk_ before God in the land of the living.--Psalm cxvi. 9.

He that _walketh_ uprightly _walketh_ surely: but he that perverteth his ways shall be known.--Proverbs, x. 9.

Can two _walk_ together, except they be agreed!--Amos, iii. 3.

O for a closer _walk_ with God,
A calm and heavenly frame,
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb.

Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus and his word?

Return, O holy Dove! return,
Sweet messenger of rest!
I hate the sins that made thee mourn,
And drove thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,
Whate’er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee.

So shall my _walk_ be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road
That leads me to the Lamb.
_Cowper._

Delightful record! Enoch _walked_ with God:
How great his happiness sublime and pure!
Here all is excellence--all solid bliss,
And all of heaven that can be found below.
O, while I dwell a sojourner on earth,
With steadfast purpose may I _walk_ with God!
And though I cannot shun the gates of death,
I soon shall triumph in immortal peace.
_Joseph Jones._

WANDER.

Thou tellest my _wanderings_: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?--Psalm lvi. 8.

Thus saith the Lord unto this people, Thus have they loved to _wander_, they have not refrained their feet, therefore the Lord doth not accept them.--Jeremiah, xiv. 10.

The rolling planets, and the glorious sun,
Still keep that order which they first begun;
They their first lesson constantly repeat,
Which their Creator, as a law, did set,
Above, below, exactly all obey:
But wretched men have found another way.
Knowledge of good and evil as at first
(That vain persuasion) keeps them still accurst.
The sacred word refusing as a guide,
Slaves they become to luxury and pride,
As clocks remaining in the skilful hand
Of some great master, at the figure stand,
But, when abroad, neglected they do go,
At random strike, and the false hour do show;
So from our Maker _wandering_ we stray,
Like birds that know not to their nests the way.
In Him we dwelt before our exile here,
And may, returning, find contentment there,
True joy may find, perfection of delight,
Behold His face, and shun eternal night.
_Waller._

O Lord, my God, I _wandered_ have
As one that runs astray,
And have in thought, and word, and deed,
In idleness and play,
Offended sore Thy Majesty
In heaping sin to sin,
And yet Thy mercy hath me spared,
So gracious hast Thou been!
O Lord, my faults I now confess,
And sorry am therefore;
But not so much as fain I would:
O Lord, what wilt Thou more?
_Wm. Hunnis._

WANT.

For _want_ and famine they were solitary.--Job, xxx. 3.

That which is _wanting_ cannot be numbered.--Ecclesiastes, i. 15.

Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found _wanting_.--Daniel, v. 27.

_Want_ is a bitter and hateful good,
Because its virtues are not understood.
Yet many things, impossible to thought,
Have been, by need, to full perfection brought.
Sharpness of wit, and active diligence;
Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives,
And, if in patience taken, mends our lives;
For even that indigence that brings me low,
Makes me myself, and Him above, to know.
_Dryden._

Lord, grant, oh grant me thy compassion,
For I in thee my trust have placed;
Display thy wings for my salvation,
Until my griefs are overpast.
To thee I sue, oh God most high,
To thee that canst all _want_ supply.
_George Wither._

On God for all events depend;
You cannot _want_ when God’s your friend.
Weigh well your part, and do your best;
Leave to your Maker all the rest.
The hand which formed thee in the womb,
Guides from the cradle to the tomb.
_Cotton._

Father, ’tis thine each day to yield
Thy children’s _wants_ a fresh supply;
Thou cloth’st the lilies of the field,
And hearest the young ravens cry;
On thee we cast our care, we live
Through thee, who know’st our every need,
O feed us with thy grace, and give
Our souls this day the living bread!
_J. Wesley._

WAR.

Come behold the works of the Lord:

He maketh _wars_ to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire.--Psalm xlvi. 8, 9.

They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn _war_ any more.--Isaiah, ii. 4.

From whence come _wars_ and fightings among you? come they not hence, even of your lusts that _war_ in your members?--James, iv. 1.

O _war_, thou son of hell,
Whom angry heavens do make their minister!
_Shakspere._

O, shame to men, devil with devil damned
Firm concord holds, men only disagree
Of creatures rational, though under hope
Of heavenly grace, and God proclaiming peace,
Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife
Among themselves, and levy cruel _wars_,
Wasting the earth, each other to destroy;
As if, (which might induce us to accord,)
Man had not hellish foes enough besides,
That day and night for his destruction wait.
_Milton._

Rash, fruitless _war_, from wanton glory wag’d
Is only splendid murder.
_Thomson._

O _war_!--what, what art thou?
At once the proof and scourge of man’s fall’n state?
After the brightest conquest, what appears
Of all thy glories? for the vanquish’d chains!
For the proud victors, what? alas! to reign
O’er desolated nations!
_Hannah More._

_War_, horrid _war_! oh! would ye understand
That direful word--that scourge of every land,
Oh! then peruse the well-known leaves that time
Himself hath traced in characters sublime:
Consult the archives of many a vast domain
Where pomp, and power, and crime once held their reign,
And view with retrospective eye
Th’ Imperial States whose awful destiny
It was to fade, decay, and disappear,
With scarce a trace to say “We once were here!”
Yet _wars_ and battles mark’d their passing day
With strife tumultuous, and wild affray.
_Count Frederick Von Erlach._

The Son of God goes forth to _war_,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood red banner streams afar,--
Who follows in his train?

Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain;
Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in his train.

The martyr first, whose eagle eye
Could pierce beyond the grave;
Who saw his Master in the sky,
And called on Him to save.

Like him, with pardon on his tongue,
In midst of mortal pain,
He prayed for them who did the wrong,--
Who follows in his train?

A glorious band, the chosen few
On whom the Spirit came!
Twelve valiant saints, their hopes they knew,
And mocked the cross and flame.

They met the tyrant’s brandished steel,
The lion’s gory mane;
They bow’d their necks the death to feel,--
Who follows in their train?

A noble army--men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around their Saviour’s throne rejoice,
In robes of light array’d,

They climbed the steep ascent of Heaven,
Through peril, toil, and pain;
O God, to us may grace be given,
To follow in their train!
_Bishop Heber._

Secure from actual _warfare_, we have loved
To swell the _war_-whoop, passionate for _war_!
Alas! for ages ignorant of all
Its ghastlier workings, famine, or blue plague,
Battle or siege, or flight through wintry snows!
We, this whole people, have been clamorous
For _war_ and bloodshed; animating sports,
The which we pay for as a thing to talk of;
Spectators and not combatants! No guess
Anticipative of a wrong unfelt,
No speculation or contingency,
However dim and vague, too vague and dim
To yield a justifying cause; and forth,
Stuffed out with big preamble, holy names
And adjurations of the God in heaven,
We send our mandates for the certain death
Of thousands and ten thousands! Boys and girls,
And women that would groan to see a child
Pull off an insect’s leg, all read of _war_,
The best amusement for our morning’s meal!
The poor wretch who has learnt his only prayer
From curses, who knows scarcely words enough
To ask a blessing from his heavenly Father,
Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute
And technical in victories and defeats,
And all our dainty terms for fratricide;
Terms which we trundle smoothly o’er our tongues
Like mere abstractions, empty sounds, to which
We join no feeling, and attach no form!
As if the soldier died without a wound;
As if the fibres of this godlike frame
Were gored without a pang; as if the wretch
Who fell in battle, doing bloody deeds,
Passed off to heaven, translated, and not killed;
As though he had no wife to pine for him,
No God to judge him.
_Coleridge._

Of all the murderous trades by mortals plied,
’Tis _war_ alone that never violates
The hallowed day by simulate respect--
By hypocritic rest; no, no, the work proceeds,
From sacred pinnacles are hung the flags
That give the sign to slip the leash for slaughter,
The bells whose knoll a holy calmness poured
Into the good man’s breast, whose sound consoled
The sick, the poor, the old--perversion dire!
Pealing with sulphurous tongue, speak death-fraught words.
From morn to eve destruction revels frenzied,
Till at the hour when peaceful vesper chimes
Were wont to sooth the ear, the trumpet sounds
Pursuit, and flight altern; and for the song
Of larks descending to their grass-bowered homes,
The croak of flesh-gorged ravens, as they slake
Their thirst in hoof-prints filled with gore, disturbs
The stupor of the dying man; while death
Triumphantly sails down the ensanguined stream,
On corses, throned and crowned with shivered boughs,
That erst hung imaged in the crystal tide.
_Grahame._

When _war_ the demon lifts his banner high
And loud artillery rends the affrighted sky;
Swords clash with swords, on horses horses rush,
Man tramples man, and nations nations crush,
Death his vast scythe with sweep enormous wields;
And shuddering pity quits the ensanguined fields.
_Dr. Darwin._

How like a fiend may man be made,
Plying the foul and monstrous trade
Whose harvest-field is human life,
Whose sickle is the reeking sword!
Quenching, with reckless hands in blood,
Sparks kindled by the breath of God.
_J. G. Whittier._

Such is _war_!
O heavens! when will the spiritual Sun arise,
And with His beams effulgent, drive away
The mists of error that so long have hung
Their dark, unnatural drapery o’er the mind,
That broods o’er human carnage! when will man
Turn from the path of Cain, and learn to see
A brother without hating?
_Rufus Dawes._

WATCHING.

_Watch_ and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.--Matthew, xxvi. 41.

What I say unto you I say unto all, _Watch_.--Mark, xiii. 37.

If therefore thou shalt not _watch_, I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee.--Rev. iii. 3.

The towers of heaven are filled
With armed _watch_, that render all access
Impregnable.
_Milton._

Faithful soul, pray always; pray,
And still in God confide;
He thy feeble step shall stay,
Nor suffer thee to slide;
Lean on thy Redeemer’s breast;
He thy quiet spirit keeps,
Rest in him, securely rest;
Thy _Watchman_ never sleeps.

Neither sin, nor earth, nor hell,
Thy keeper can surprise;
Careless slumbers cannot steal
On his all-seeing eyes;
He is Israel’s sure defence;
Israel all his care shall prove,
Kept by _watchful_ providence,
And ever-wakeful love.
_C. Wesley._

_Watch_ o’er my lips, and guard them, Lord,
From ev’ry rash and heedless word;
Nor let my feet incline to tread
The guilty path where sinners lead.
_Watts._

In time of tribulation,
Hear, Lord, my feeble cries;
With humble supplication,
To thee my spirit flies;
My heart with grief is breaking,
Scarce can my voice complain:
Mine eyes, with tears kept waking,
Still _watch_ and weep in vain.
_J. Montgomery._

WATER.

He hath compassed the _waters_ with bounds, until the day and night come to an end.--Job, xxvi. 10.

Thus saith the Lord, when thou passest through the _waters_, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.--Isaiah, xliii. 1, 2.

Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the _waters_.--Isaiah, lv. 1.

Ho! every one that thirsts, draw nigh,
(’Tis God invites a fallen race;)
Mercy and free salvation buy;
Buy wine, and milk, and gospel grace.

Come to the living _waters_, come!
Sinners, obey your Maker’s call;
Return, ye weary wanderers home,
And find my grace is free for all.

See from the Rock a fountain rise,
For you, in healing streams, it rolls;
Money ye need not bring, nor price,
Ye labouring, burden’d, sin-sick souls.
_C. Wesley._

Come hither ye that thirst,
Come to the _waters_ free,
With a blithesome bound and a joyful burst,
Like a bird in its liberty.

Drink at this holy spring,
That flows for ever bright,
Oh, hasten in faith! make wing, make wing,
’Tis a well of sweet delight.

This living _water_ flows
Not heedlessly, nor vain;
Drink, it a fountain of life bestows,
Ye never can thirst again.

Man’s heart, that barren place,
Shall blossom like the rose,
Grow fertile in love, and abound in grace,
Wherever that _water_ flows.

And every plant shall show
Clusters of goodly fruit,
While all who gaze, in delight may know,
That Christ is at its root.

What fruit each plant may bring,
Is his, and only his;
For He the lovely and constant spring
Of living _water_ is.
_W. Martin._

Come let me view the wonder! Let me look
On nature in her grandeur and her power;
Reading the fairer portions of her book,
I may have missed her in her solemn hour,
Searching fresh beauty in each wildling flower,
And melody in every woodland song;
I have not seen her when her features lower,
Or known the terrors that to God belong,
Not viewing, in his might, the terrible, the strong!

Come, let me look into the vast abyss,
See the great rush, the whirlwind and the storms;
Hear the “vast hell” where oceans “howl” and “hiss,”
And fell destruction loveliness deforms.
Where is the horror which so much alarms,
At which alike timid and strong turn back?
I hear no howls. I see no horrid forms;
Nor dream of nations or of nature’s wrack,
I see a mighty, but a lovely cataract.

No terrors sit upon its smiling brow,
There sunshine plays upon the _waters_ clear;
And as it pours its mighty flood below,
Sunshine and glory make their dwelling there:
I wonder and admire, but cannot fear,
All is so lovely and so beautiful.
See! the blessed bow of many tints is here,
A seven-fold bow of promised safety full,
Spanning the glorious whole, each rising fear to lull.

Pour on for ever, thou mighty flood,
Thy stream of goodness thus. For ever flow,
Unchanging emblem of infinitude,
Nor deem thy bounty needs a course more slow,
Unmeasured fountains pour their wealth below,
Where diamond wells in deep concealment lie;
And constant streams that never ebb can know,
For ever flowing, bring their rich supply,
Fed by eternal streams--springs which can never dry.
_W. F. Rock._

WAVES.

Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud _waves_ be stayed.--Job, xxxviii. 11.

Fear ye not me? saith the Lord: will ye not tremble at my presence, which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it: and though the _waves_ thereof toss themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they not pass over it?--Jeremiah, v. 22.

Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime?
O, what are all the notes that ever rung
From war’s vain trumpet, by thy thundering side!
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him
Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains?--a light _wave_,
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker’s might.
_J. G. C. Brainard._

Thou, Thou alone, with whom, enthroned on high,
Sits co-essential wisdom, bad’st subside
The valleys, and the mountains, from amidst
Th’ o’erwhelming moisture, heave their brow sublime.
The liquid troops, obedient to Thy voice,
Fled to the appointed station. Thou a bound
Hast set, they cannot pass; nor ever spread
Their flowing mantle o’er th’ invested earth:
Thou to the sea sayest,--Hitherto advance,
And here thy proud licentious _waves_ be stayed.
_George Bally._

How oft the ruddy cheek will pale
To leave the earth behind!
How oft the glowing heart will quail
Before the tempest wind!
We fear the billow’s dash, but why?
There’s One to guard and save;
There’s One whose wide and watchful eye
Sleeps not above the _wave_.
_Eliza Cook._

WAY.

Show me thy _ways_, O Lord; teach me thy paths.--Psalm xxv. 4.

Jesus saith I am the _way_, the truth, and the life.--John, xiv. 6.

The _way_ of the wicked is an abomination unto the Lord.--Proverbs, xv. 9.

Thou canst accomplish all things, Lord of might!
And every thought is naked to Thy sight.
But O, Thy _ways_ are wonderful, and lie
Beyond the deepest reach of mortal eye.
_Young._

To me, O Lord, be Thou “The _Way_,”
To me be Thou “The Truth;”
To me, my Saviour, be “The Life,”
Thou Guardian of my youth!

So shall that _Way_ be my delight,
That Truth shall make me free;
That Life shall raise me from the dead,
And then I’ll live to thee.
_Leigh Richmond._

Thou art the _Way_, the Truth, the Life--
And hearts that, with presumption rife,
Would seek through other means to gain
Light, Truth, and Life, but toil in vain:
Thy hand alone controls our _way_,
Thy Truth bids darkness turn to day;
And they Eternal Life have gained
Whose names are written on Thy Hand.
_S. D. Patterson._

Know well, my soul, God’s hand controls
Whate’er thou fearest;
Round Him, in calmest music, rolls
Whate’er thou hearest.

What to thee is shadow, to Him is day,
And the end He knoweth;
And not on a blind and aimless _way_
The Spirit goeth.
_J. G. Whittier._

WEAKNESS.

It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor anything whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made _weak_.--Romans, xiv. 21.

Comfort the feeble-minded, support the _weak_.--I. Thessalonians, v. 14.

What _weaker_ breast,
Since Adam’s armour failed, dares warrant his?
That, made by God of all his creatures best,
Straight made himself the worst of all the rest:
If any strength we have, it is to ill;
But all the good is God’s, both power and will;
The dead man cannot rise, though he himself may kill.
_Giles Fletcher._

Ah! what are we, but lumps of walking clay?
Why should we swell? Whence should our spirits rise?
Are not the beasts as strong, and birds as gay,
Trees longer lived, and creeping things as wise?
Only our souls were left an inward light,
To feel our _weakness_, and confess Thy might.
_Sir H. Wotton._

Still let us, Lord, with grace be blest,
Who in thy guardian mercy rest,
Extend thy mercy’s arms to me,
The _weakest_ soul that trusts in Thee;
And never let me lose thy love,
’Till I, even I, am crowned above.
_Dryden._

Oft have I heard of Thine Almighty power,
But never saw thee till this dreadful hour.
O’erwhelmed with shame, the Lord of life I see,
Abhor myself, and give my soul to Thee.
Nor shall my _weakness_ tempt Thine anger more:
Man was not made to question, but adore.
_Young._

And though sometimes Thou seem’st Thy face to hide,
As one that had withdrawn his love from me,
’Tis that my faith may to the full be tried,
And that I may thereby the better see
How _weak_ I am, when not upheld by Thee!
_Thomas Ellwood._

WEALTH.

Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord, _Wealth_ and riches shall be in his house.--Psalm cxii. 1, 3.

_Wealth_ gotten by vanity shall be diminished: but he that gathereth by labour shall increase.--Proverbs, xiii. 11.

Let no man seek his own, but every man another’s _wealth_.--I. Corinthians, x. 24.

I have no guide those honours to obtain,
Which men might heretofore by virtue gain;
Nor have I wit if _wealth_ were given me,
To think bought place or title honoured me;
I yet have no belief that they are wise,
Who for base ends can basely temporize;
Or that it will at length be all for me,
That I lived poor to keep my spirit free.

* * * * *

I should on God alone so much depend,
That I should need nor _wealth_ nor other friend.
_Wither._

Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined,
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;
For gold, his sword the hireling ruffian draws;
For gold, the hireling judge distorts the laws;
_Wealth_ heaped on _wealth_, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.
_Dr. Johnson._

Glittering stones, and golden things,
_Wealth_ and honours that have wings,
Ever fluttering to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lose;
But the treasures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line,
When I view my spacious soul,
And survey myself a whole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I’m a kingdom of my own.
_Watts._

WEARINESS.

The people shall _weary_ themselves for very vanity.--Habakkuk, ii. 13.

Consider him that endureth such contradiction of sinners against himself, lest ye be _wearied_ and faint in your minds.--Hebrews, xii. 3.

Let us not be _weary_ in well doing.--Galatians, vi. 9.

Poor worldling! stay thy vain pursuit of peace
In empty vanities: no good can live
In all the gilded charms that mock thee: cease
Thy hold on these; loose every cord, and hear
The word of God: “Come ye that _weary_ are!
Ye heavy-laden, come, and I will give
You rest.” O, heed that call! in holy fear,
In deep humility, bow down: the star
Of hope shall rise, and joy shall speak thy soul’s release.
_Isaac F. Shepard._

O, I am _weary_ of this sinful life!
_Weary_ of error, and yet erring still,
Knowing, yet doing not Thy holy will,
O, I am _weary_ of this endless strife!

I ask not that Thou take me from the earth,
But keep me from its evils--guide my feet,
And give me strength its many cares to meet--
To act all worthy of my heavenly birth.
_Mary J. Reed._

_Weariness_ will follow those
Who touch upon their journey’s close
But as the sun, though setting, burns
Still brightly, and to glory turns
The very clouds that round him roll;
So, even so, do thou my soul,
With in-born radiance, more and more,
Illume the shades of Sixty-four.

Nay, let a yet diviner power
Glorify thy latter hour:
Too long faithless and forlorn
Earthly image thou hast borne;
Now that heavenly impress seek,
Which, when flesh is frail and weak,
Gives the soul new power to soar
Eagle-winged, at Sixty-four.
_Bernard Barton._

WEEPING.

Thou shalt _weep_ no more.--Isaiah, xxx. 19.

Blessed are ye that _weep_ now: for ye shall laugh.--Luke, vi. 21.

Jesus _wept_.--John, xi. 35.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and _weep_ with them that _weep_.--Romans, xii. 15.

Though woe to joy! And though, at morn thou _weep_,
And though the midnight find thee _weeping_ still,
Good cheer! good cheer! The Shepherd loves his sheep--
Resign thee to the watchful Father’s will.
_Rosegarten._

Oh! glorious miracle of heavenly love!
Oh! wondrous spectacle of saving grace!
Oh! sympathy divine with human woe!
He who had conquered death did condescend
To _weep_ over a grave where others _wept_!
How deep the lesson--and how marvellous
The meaning of such sorrow!

Said it not;
Thy grief offends me not, if it be meek,
Trustful, and humble. I forbid not tears,
When they flow patiently. I would not close
The springs of sympathy. I made ye thus
To cling one to the other, and to feel
Each for his neighbour, both in joy and woe;
Yet teach your sorrow reverence; and believe
That he who smites you is the Lord your God.
_Miss Pardoe._

Thou who hearest plaintive music,
Or sweet songs of other days;
Heaven-revealing organs pealing,
Or clear voices hymning praise,
And would’st _weep_, thou know’st not wherefore,
Though thy soul is steeped in joy;
And the world looks kindly on thee;
And thy bliss hath no alloy--
_Weep_, nor seek for consolation,
Let the heaven-sent droplets flow,
They are hints of mighty secrets;
We are wiser than we know.
_Charles Mackay._

WELL.

Men will praise thee, when thou doest _well_ to thyself.--Psalm xlix. 18.

Say ye to the righteous, that it shall be _well_ with him.--Isaiah, iii. 10.

If when ye do _well_, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God.--I. Peter, ii. 20.

Such music!
Before was never made,
But when of old the sons of morning sung
Whilst the Creator great
His constellations set,
And the _well_-balanced world on hinges hung.
_Milton._

To pray, without devotion, is to prate;
And hearing is but half our exercise:
We ought not, therefore, to regard alone
How often, but how _well_, the work be done.
_George Wither._

Circles are prais’d, not that abound
In largeness, but th’ exalted round:
So life we praise that does excel
Not in much time, but acting _well_.
_Waller._

Am I doing _well_ or ill?
Soul, a solemn question this!
Am I seeking to fulfil
God’s most high and holy will,
Bending all mine efforts still
To attain eternal bliss?

Am I doing _well_ or ill?
Ask the world, and it will say--
_Well_, for gold thy coffers fill;
Thou hast learning, thou hast skill,
Thou hast climbed up fortune’s hill,
And helped others on the way.

Am I doing _well_ or ill?
Still recurs the solemn quest;
Worldly wealth, and men’s good will,
Cannot satisfy, nor still
Anxious doubts, and fears that fill
Thee with sadness and unrest.
_Egone._

WIFE.

Whoso findeth a _wife_ findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord.--Proverbs, xviii. 22.

A prudent _wife_ is from the Lord.--Proverbs, xix. 14.

Seek a good _wife_ of thy God, for she is the best gift of His
Providence;
Yet ask not in bold confidence that which He hath not promised:
Thou knowest not His good will:--be thy prayer then submissive
thereunto.
And leave thy petition to His mercy, assured that He will deal
well with thee.
If thou art to have a _wife_ of thy youth, she is now living on
the earth,
Therefore think of her, and pray for her weal; yea, though thou
hast not seen her.
They that love early become like-minded, and the tempter toucheth
them not:
They grow up leaning on each other, as the olive and the vine.
_Martin F. Tupper._

True _wife_! fond _wife_! let us together lean,
Like trees with intertwining boughs, that so
Brave angry skies, whatever winds may blow:
And, though there interpose a cloudy screen,
Lift up their heads towards the blue serene
From whence the sunbeams, and the rain-drops flow,
By which they gather strength, and taller grow,
And keep their shoots and saplings fresh and green.
True _wife_! fond _wife_! we have together stood,
Through years of trial, each supporting each,
Ever unto the infinite and good,
Thy thoughts than mine have higher, wider reached;
And I have felt how true the wise one’s word;
Thou art indeed a gift, a favour from the Lord!
_Egone._

My _wife_! how fondly shall thy memory
Be shrined within the chamber of my heart!
Thy virtuous worth was only known to me,
And I can feel how hard it is to part.
_C. L. Chester._

WILL--WILLING.

Teach me to do thy _will_; for thou art my God.--Psalm cxliii. 10.

Thy _will_ be done in earth, as it is in heaven.--Matthew, vi. 10.

The world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the _will_ of God abideth for ever.--I. John, ii. 17.

“Thy _will_ be done.” And is’t not ever done?
But, as in heaven, it must be made our own.
His _will_ must all our inclinations sway,
Whom nature, and the universe obey.
Happy the man, whose longings are confined
To what has been eternally designed;
Referring all to His paternal care,
To whom more dear than to ourselves we are!
_Waller._

Half mankind maintain a churlish strife
With Him, the Donor of eternal life,
Because the deed, by which His love confirms
The largess He bestows, prescribes the terms.
Compliance with His _will_ your lot ensures,
Accept it only, and the boon is yours.
And sure it is as kind to smile and give,
As with a frown to say, Do this and live.
_Cowper._

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,
Because they are Thy _Will_!
Then all I want, (O, do Thou grant
This one request of mine,)
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
_Burns._

Lord, I submit. Complete Thy gracious _will_,
For, if Thou slay me, I will trust Thee still.
O, be my _will_ so swallowed up in Thine,
That I may do Thy _will_, in doing mine?
_Hannah More._

Subdued and instructed, I bow to Thy _will_;
My hopes and my longings to Thee I resign;
O give me the heart that can wait and be still,
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine!
_Sir R. Grant._

My God and Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life’s rough way,
O teach me from the heart to say,
“Thy _will_ be done!”

If thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne’er was mine;
I only yield Thee what was Thine;
“Thy _will_ be done!”

Renew my _will_ from day to day,
Blend it with thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
“Thy _will_ be done!”

Then, when on earth, I breathe no more
The prayer, oft mix’d with tears before,
I’ll sing upon a happier shore,
“Thy _will_ be done!”
_Elliott._

“O Father! not my _will_, but Thine be done!”
So spake the Son.
Be this our charm, mellowing earth’s ruder noise
Of griefs and joys--
That we may cling for ever to Thy breast,
In perfect rest!
_Keble._

But now, see where He lies
On the cold ground, exposed to thick, dank air,
And all the fury of the maddening skies!
See how each nerve and vein
Trembles and throbs with torture! how His eyes
Start from their seat with anguish and despair!
What drops of sanguine sweat roll down amain
From His fair limbs! “O Father, O remove,
If possible, this cup, yet not My _will_,
But Thine be done!” O agonizing love!
_James Scott._

Perchance he gives his thousands to the poor--
He well may give what he can use no more.
What _willing_ charity! gives, dares he say?
He gives, but not till Heaven has snatched away.
_Thomas Ward._

He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,
Alike they’re needful to the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! Thy _will_, not mine be done.

Oh, ne’er _will_ I at life repine,
Enough that Thou hast made it mine.
Where falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! Thy _will_, not mine be done.
_Sarah Flower Adams._

It is a short and simple prayer,
But ’tis the Christian’s stay
Through every varied scene of care,
Until his dying day.
As through the wilderness of life
Calmly he wanders on,
His prayer in every time of strife
Is still “Thy _will_ be done!”
_Mary Anne Brown._

By scale and method works the _Will_ Supreme,
Nor clouds, nor waves, without a limit stream;
And all the floods that daylight never saw,
The rayless tide of ruin, owns a law.

O’er all confusions marring earth and air,
O’er all the shuddering hours of man’s despair,
Still reigns one fixed decree of peace and love,
And still, though dim below, ’tis bright above.
_John Sterling._

Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness,
His own, thy _will_;
And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness
Life’s task fulfil;

And that cloud itself, which now before thee
Lies dark in view,
Shall, with beams of light, for the inner glory,
Be stricken through.
_J. G. Whittier._

WIND.

Stormy _wind_ fulfilling His word.--Psalm cxlviii. 8.

The _wind_ goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north, it whirleth about continually, and the _wind_ returneth again according to his circuits.--Ecclesiastes, i. 6.

He that createth the _wind_, the Lord, the God of Hosts is His name.--Amos, iv. 13.

The _wind_ bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the spirit.--John, iii. 8.

Winds, whence and whither do ye blow?
--Ye must be born again to know.
_J. Montgomery._

God of the chainless _winds_ that wildly wreck,
The moaning forest, and the ancient oak
Rend like a sapling spray,--and sweep the sand
O’er the lost caravan,--that trod with pride
Of tinkling bells, and camel’s arching neck,
The burning desert,--a dense host at morn,
At eve, a bubble, on the trackless waste.
God of the _winds_!--canst Thou not rule the heart,
And gather back its passions, when Thou wilt,
Bidding them, “Peace--be still!”
_Mrs. Sigourney._

We come! we come! and ye feel our might,
And we’re hastening on in our boundless flight,
And over the mountains, and over the deep
Our broad invisible pinions sweep,
Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free!
And ye look on our works, and own ’tis we,
Ye call us the _winds_; but can ye tell
Whither we go, or where we dwell?

Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forest, or fan the flower,
When the harebell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower’s o’erthrown, and the oak is rent,
As we waft the bark o’er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave:
And ye say it is we! but can ye trace
The wandering _winds_ to their secret place?

And whether our breath be loud and high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh,
Our threatenings fill the soul with fear,
Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear,
With music aerial, still ’tis we.
And ye list, and ye look; but what do ye see?
Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease?

Our dwelling is in the Almighty’s hand;
We come and we go at His command:
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back:
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away
Or win us in gentlest air to play,
Then lift up your hearts to Him who binds,
Or frees as he will, the obedient _winds_.
_Miss Gould._

Ye viewless minstrels of the sky!
I marvel not on times gone by
That ye were deified:
For even on this later day,
To me oft has your power or play,
Unearthly thoughts supplied.

Ye restless, homeless, shapeless things!
Who mock all our imaginings,
Like spirits in a dream;
What epithet can words supply,
Unto the bard, who takes so high
Unmanageable theme?

But one:--to me, when fancy stirs
My thoughts, ye seem heaven’s messengers,
Who leave no path untrod;
And when, as now, at midnight hour,
I hear your voice in all its power,
It seems the voice of God.
_Bernard Barton._

The _wind_ breathes low, the withering leaf
Scarce whispers from the tree;
So gently flows the parting breath
When good men cease to be.
_W. P. O. Peabody._

WISDOM.

The fear of the Lord that is _wisdom_.--Job, xxviii. 28.

So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto _wisdom_.--Psalm xc. 12.

_Wisdom_ is the principal thing; therefore get _wisdom_.--Proverbs, iv. 7.

How much better is it to get _wisdom_ than gold.--Proverbs, xvi. 16.

If any of you lack _wisdom_, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not: and it shall be given him.--James, i. 5.

The _wise_, I here observe,
Are _wise_ towards God, in whose great service still,
More than in that of kings, themselves they serve.
_Sir W. Davenant._

He that is of reason’s skill bereft,
And wants the staff of _wisdom_ him to stay,
Is like a ship in midst of tempest left,
Withouten helm or pilot her to sway;
Full sad and dreadful is that ship’s event:
So is the man that wants intendiment.
_Spenser._

_Wisdom_, the antidote of sad despair,
Makes sharp afflictions seem not as they are,
Through patient sufferance; and doth apprehend,
Not as they seeming are, but as they end.
_Francis Quarles._

_Wisdom’s_ self
Oft seeks so sweet, retired solitude;
Where, with her best nurse--contemplation--
She plumes her feathers, and lets go her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all too muffled, and sometimes impaired.
_Milton._

All is best, though we oft doubt
What the unsearchable dispose
Of highest _wisdom_ brings about;
And ever best found in the close.
_Milton._

So teach us, Lord, to count our days,
And eye their constant race,
To measure what we want in time,
By _wisdom_ and by grace.
_Christopher Pitt._

_Wisdom_ smiles when humble mortals weep.
When sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the glebe,
And hearts obdurate feel the softening shower,
Her seeds celestial then glad _wisdom_ sows,
Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil.
_Young._

The weak have remedies, the _wise_ have joys:
Superior _wisdom_ is superior bliss.
_Young._

When knowledge, at her Father’s dread command,
Resigned to Israel’s king her golden key,
O, to have joined the frequent auditors
In wonder and delight, that whilom heard
Great Solomon descanting on the brutes;
O, how sublimely glorious to apply
To God’s own honour, and good-will to man,
That _wisdom_ he alone, of man, possessed
In plenitude so rich, and cope so rare.
_Smart._

Knowledge and _wisdom_, far from being one,
Have oft-times no connexion, knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
_Wisdom_ in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which _wisdom_ builds,
Till smooth’d and squared, and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems t’ enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn’d so much,
_Wisdom_ is humble that he knows no more.
_Cowper._

Thus _wisdom’s_ words discover
Thy glory and Thy grace,
Thou everlasting Lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye surveyed us
Ere stars were seen above;
In _wisdom_ Thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.
_Cowper._

When did _wisdom_ covet length of days?
Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise?
No:--_wisdom_ views with an indifferent eye
All finite things, as blessings born to die.
_Hannah More._

_Wisdom_ is humble, said the voice of God,
’Tis proud, the world replied. _Wisdom_, said God,
Forgives, forbears, and suffers, not for fear
Of man, but God. _Wisdom_ revenges, said
The world; is quick and deadly of resentment,
Thrusts at the very shadow of affront,
And hastes, by death, to wipe its honour clean.
_Wisdom_, said God, loves enemies, entreats,
Solicits, begs for peace. _Wisdom_, replied,
The world, hates enemies, will not ask peace,
Conditions spurns, and triumphs in their fall.
_Wisdom_ mistrusts itself, and leans on Heaven,
Said God. It trusts and leans upon itself,
The world replied. _Wisdom_ retires, said God,
And counts it bravery to bear reproach,
And shame, and lowly poverty, upright;
And weeps with all who have just cause to weep.
_Wisdom_, replied the world, struts forth to gaze,
Treads the broad stage with clamorous foot,
Attracts all praises, counts it bravery
Alone to wield the sword, and rush on death;
And never weeps, but for its own disgrace.
_Wisdom_, said God, is highest, when it stoops
Lowest before the Holy Throne; throws down
Its crown, abased; forgets itself, admires,
And breathes adoring praise. There _wisdom_ stoops
Indeed, the world replied; there stoops, because
It must, but stoops with dignity; and thinks
And meditates, the while, of inward worth.
_Pollok._

Come to my aid, celestial _Wisdom_, come;
From my dark soul dispel the doubtful gloom;
My passions still, my purer breast inflame,
To sing that God from whom existence came.
_Boyse._

See! full of hope, thou trustest to the earth
The golden seed, and waitest till the Spring
Summons the buried to a happier birth;
But, in Time’s furrow duly scattering,
Think’st thou how deeds, by _wisdom_ sown, may be
Silently ripen’d for eternity?
_Schiller._

Up! ’tis no dreaming time! Awake! Awake!
For He who sits on the high Judge’s seat,
Doth in His record mark each wasted hour,
Each idle word. Take heed thy shrinking soul
Find not their weight too heavy, when it stands
At that dread bar from whence is no appeal.
Lo, while ye trifle, the light sand steals on,
Leaving the hour-glass empty, and thy life
Glideth away;--stamp _wisdom_ on its hours.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

Few and precious are the words which the lips of _wisdom_ utter;
To what shall their rarity be likened? what price shall count
their worth?
Perfect and much to be desired, and giving joy with riches,
No lovely thing on earth can picture all their beauty.
They be chance pearls, flung among the rocks by the sullen waters
of oblivion,
Which diligence loveth to gather, and hang round the neck of
memory;
They be white-winged seeds of happiness, wafted from the islands of
the blessed,
Which thought carefully tendeth, in the kindly garden of the heart;
They be sproutings of an harvest for eternity, bursting through the
tilth of time,
Green promise of the golden wheat, that yieldeth angel’s food;
They be drops of the crystal dew, which the wings of seraphs
scatter,
When on some brighter sabbath, their plumes quiver most with
delight:
Such, and so precious, are the words which the lips of _wisdom_
utter.
_Martin F. Tupper._

Faith and hope
Will teach me how to bear my lot!
To think Almighty _Wisdom_ best,
To bow my head, and murmur not.
The chast’ning hand of One above
Falls heavy, but I kiss the rod,
He gives the wound, and I must trust
Its healing to the self-same God.
_Eliza Cook._

WITNESS.

A faithful _witness_ will not lie: but a false _witness_ will utter lies.--Proverbs, xiv. 5.

If we receive the _witness_ of men, the _witness_ of God is greater: for this is the _witness_ of God which he hath testified of his Son.

He that believeth on the Son of God hath the _witness_ in himself.--I. John, v. 9, 10.

In ocean’s wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,
Like skeletons in chains
With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
No more to sink or rise.

There the black slave-ship swims
Freighted with human forms,
Those fettered, fleshless limbs
Are not the sport of storms.

These are the bones of slaves:
They gleam from the abyss;
They cry from yawning waves,
“We are the _Witnesses_!”

Within earth’s wide domains
Are markets for men’s lives;
Their necks are galled with chains,
Their wrists are cramped with gyves.

Dead bodies, that the kite
In deserts makes its prey;
Murders, that with affright
Scare school-boys from their play.

All evil thoughts and deeds;
Anger, and lust, and pride;
The foulest, rankest weeds,
That choke life’s groaning tide!

These are the woes of slaves;
They glare from the abyss;
They cry, from unknown graves--
“We are the _Witnesses_!”
_Longfellow._

WOE.

_Woe_ unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink; that continue until night, till wine inflame them. --Isaiah, v. 11.

_Woe_ unto us, that we have sinned.--Lamentations, v. 16.

Venomous thornes that are so sharpe and kene,
Bear flowers we see full fresh and fayre of hue,
Poyson is also put in medicine,
And unto man his health doth oft renew.
The fire that all things eke consumeth clene
May hurt and heale; then if this be true,
I trust sometime my harm may be my healthe,
Since every _woe_ is joined with some wealth!
_Wyatt._

Though life seem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face despair;
Yet, gay this scene, and light this load of _woe_,
Compared with thy hereafter.
_Bishop Porteus._

But, God be thanked! there are moments, when
Man, subdued by nature’s mightiest powers,
Thinks even his purer self the sport of waves.
In such like moments ’tis the Godhead shows us
The distance ’twixt itself and us,--chastises
Man’s vain audacity to equal it,
And casts him back to nothingness and _woe_.
In such like moments, even the wisest sinks
Unto the dust: he, too, is formed of dust;
But soon again he rises purified
By Fate’s worst blast, and thus the Eternal’s will
Declares and proves its own omnipotence.
_Herder._

But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has driven
To censure fate, and pious hope forego:
Like yonder blasted boughs, by lightning riven,
Perfection, beauty, life, they never know,
But frown on all that pass, a monument of _woe_.
_Beattie._

_Woe_ unto those that with the morning sun
Rise to drink wine, and set till he have done
His weary course; not ceasing, until night
Have quenched their understanding with the light.
_Bishop King._

The Son of God, in doing good,
Was fain to look to Heaven, and sigh;
And shall the heirs of sinful blood
Seek joy unmixed in charity?
God will not let love’s work impart
Full solace, lest it steal the heart;
Be thou content in tears to sow,
Blessing, like Jesus, in thy _woe_.
_Keble._

_Væ vobis_, ye whose lip doth lave
So deeply in the sparkling wine,
Regardless though that passion wave
Shut from the soul heaven’s light divine;
_Væ vobis!_--heed the trumpet blast,
Fly ere the leprous taint is deep,
Fly!--ere the hour of hope be past,
And pitying angels cease to weep.

_Væ vobis_, ye who fail to read,
That name which glows where’er ye tread,
The Alpha of an infant creed,
The Omega of the sainted dead;
’Tis written where the pencill’d flowers
Their tablet to the desert show,
And where the mountain’s rocky towers
Frown darkly on the vale below;

Where roll the wondrous orbs on high,
In glorious order strong and fair,
In every letter of the sky
That midnight graves--’tis there--’tis there!
It gleams on ocean’s wrinkled brow,
And in the shell that gems its shore,
And where the solemn forests bow
_Væ vobis_, ye, who scorn the lore.
_L. H. Sigourney._

WOMAN.

Who can find a virtuous _woman_? for her price is far above rubies.

A _woman_ that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.--Proverbs, xxxi. 10, 30.

Nevertheless, neither is the man without the _woman_, neither the _woman_ without the man in the Lord.--I. Corinthians, xi. 11.

Well I understand, in the prime end
Of nature, her th’ inferior in the mind
And inward faculties, which most excel
In outward; also her resembling less
His image who made both, and less expressing
The character of that dominion given
O’er other creatures; yet, when I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems,
And in herself complete; so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best;
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded! wisdom in discourse with her
Loses, discount’nanc’d, and like folly shows.
Authority and reason on her wait,
As one intended first, not after made
Occasionally; and to consummate all.
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat
Build in her, loveliest, and create an awe
About her, as a guard angelic placed.
_Milton._

So _woman_, born to dignify retreat
Unknown to flourish, and unseen be great,
To give domestic life its sweetest charm,
With softness polish, and with virtue warm:
Fearful of fame, unwilling to be known,
Should seek but Heaven’s applauses and her own;
Should dread no blame but that which crimes impart,
The censures of a self-condemning heart.
_Hannah More._

For _woman_ is not undevelopt man,
But diverse: could we make her as the man,
Sweet love were slain, whose dearest bond is this
Not like to like, but like in difference:
Yet in the long years liker must they grow;
The man be more of _woman_, she of man;
He gain in sweetness and in moral height,
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world;
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care:
More as the double-natured Poet, each:
Till at the last she set herself to man,
Like perfect music unto noble words;
And so these twain upon the skirts of Time,
Sit side by side, full-summ’d in all their powers,
Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be,
Self-reverent each, and reverencing each,
Distinct in individualities,
But like each other ev’n as those we love.
Then comes the statelier Eden back to men,
Then reign the world’s great bridals, chaste and calm;
Then springs the crowning race of humankind!
_Tennyson._

What highest prize hath _woman_ won
In science or in art?
What mightiest work by _woman_ done,
Boasts city, field, or mart?
“She hath no Raphael,” Painting saith;
“No Newton,” Learning cries;
Show us her Steam-ship! her Macbeth,
Her thought-won victories!

Hail boastful man! though worthy are
Thy deeds when thou art true,
Things worthier still and holier far,
Our sister yet will do;
For this the worth of _woman_ shows,
On every peopled shore,
That still as man in wisdom grows,
He honours her the more.

Oh! not for wealth, or fame, or pow’r,
Hath man’s weak angel striven,
But silent as the growing flower,
To make of earth a heav’n!
And in her garden of the sun,
Heaven’s brightest rose shall bloom;
For _woman’s_ best is unbegun!
Her advent yet to come.
_Ebenezer Elliot._

WORD.

Thy _word_ is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.--Psalm cxix. 105.

For there is not a _word_ in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, Thou knowest it altogether.--Psalm cxxxix. 4.