Thou art "the life"-thine be the praise! Thou art "the way"—for thou alone Thou art "the truth, the life, the way." WISDOM. Mrs. H. More. AH! when did Wisdom covet length of days, A spark that upward tends by nature's force, DELIGHT IN THE WORKS OF CREATION. T. D. Hull. DEAR is the joy each warm heart knows, The thrill of mutual love sincere ; And see almighty love in all things manifest. Who has not joy'd to see the sun, From ocean burst on wings of light, While birds, their morning hymn begun, Who has not joy'd, as jewell'd night Her tent high o'er the world hath spread, To view the grand, the unbounded sight— Nor thought, while he the scene survey'd, How infinite that Power which spake, and all was made? Oh! for the hour, the ecstatic hour, Comes bounding in the breath of spring! When flowers beneath the sun expand, And songs through all the ether ring What heart the impulse can withstand, Nor inly bless the God who hath such blessings plann'd ?" GOD'S PROVIDENCE THE HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE. Beaumont. O MAN, thou image of thy Maker's good, What canst thou fear when breathed into thy blood His Spirit is that built thee? what dull sense Makes thee suspect, in need, that Providence, Who made the morning, and who placed the light, Guide to thy labours?—who call'd up the night, And bid her fall upon thee like sweet showers HUMANITY AT HOME. Bowring. I HONOUR and I love the mind, Whose warm and generous thoughts embrace The common interests of our kind, Through time's long track and earth's wide space; And, like the glorious god of day, I watch with throbbing heart the zeal, Can teach a million souls to feel For all that's man's-for all that's Man; And every human title blend In those of Brother and of Friend. I've travelled many a country far, Through Finland's wild, on Afric's strand,— A star whose light, where'er I trod, But sometimes sadness came, and dwelt That misery dwelt unheeded there : I would not check the nobly good, Who, joy diffusing, widely roam ; But I would whisper, if I could, Look round, for there are wrongs at home; And voices, though but feeble, call On heaven-on thee-on me-on all! Dost thou not hear their cry? to thee, |