How many rued the brightness of To barbarous gods was given thy thy face! O dangerous serpent, with thy murderous smile, How many trusting hearts didst thou beguile! Alas! for thee how many thousands fell! For thee rang out how many a solemn knell ! For thee a noble Roman hero bled; Struck with despair, thou thine own blood didst shed. From gods descended, in his strength and pride, A hero, raised by mortals to their side, tender life; No pity knows the heathen's murderous knife. From this I turn to wiser, brighter days, Another hero's deeds must claim my praise. In judgment sent to people sunk in crime, To desolate the fairest Eastern clime; God's temple fain would spare the In vain! 'twas razed by desolating conqueror's ire, fire. A poet and divine of English birth, When death did claim him from his With heart and mind of more than deeds below, common worth, The crown of gods was placed upon Night's silent hours gave forth his his brow. A Grecian hero of a later age, Conquest aloné did all his heart engage; Ever with victory were his footsteps crowned, Nor recked he of the slain he strewed around; Insatiate still, though lord of every land, He wept for power no mortal can command. A nobler hero he whose country's cause, Pleading with patriot fire, true to the laws Of honour, gave to the foe his breath, And gained a never-dying fame in death. A woman next, noble and fair and Yet shall its praise from myriad young, Whose tragic fate a noble poet sung, voices rise In never-ending music in the skies. Come where the sunbeams dance Thro' the shady wild-wood. Come where the violets blue Come when the placid wave Glows in sunset glory; Come when the dewy eve Veils the mountain hoary; Come when the rustic hearth Gathers youth and beauty; Come, and with gentle mirth Sweeten toil and duty. THREE hours later Mrs. Clayton and Mary were slowly mounting-for they were very tired the steep road leading to the church. The appearance of the intended servant had made a favourable impression. The strongly built figure bespoke ability to work, and willingness seemed beaming in her round goodhumoured face and pleasant blue eyes. The mother's appearance also pleased: still Mrs. Clayton thought it well to make inquiries before receiving Jane into her family. "Mamma," said Carrie, who had quickly gained the top of the hill, BIBLE CLASS MAGAZINE.] K and waited impatiently for her mother and sister-"mamma, the churchyard gate is open, I'm so glad;" and away she darted to the gate. She stayed her step directly she had entered, and stood on the gravel path, with the green grass and gravestones on either side, and her mamma was very quiet as they passed through the church door to the coolness and silence within. Their tread on the stone pavement, and their voices, though they trod softly and spoke low, echoed from the walls and arched roof as they walked up the aisle. A ceiling of [AUGUST, 1866. wood, faded now, once richly painted | wish it: certainly the poem is well and gilded, adorned the eastern end, worth trying to recall. and a screen of open masonry and carved woodwork enclosed a marble monument, —a knight recumbent, dressed in armour; the helmet and coat of mail he had worn in life, with spear and tattered pennon hanging against the wall. A slanting ray of evening light falls In oblique shadows on the walls. were new, They had seated themselves on an antique bench of oak, feeling the How many a cloudless day, quietness all around very pleasant To rob the velvet of its hue, after the fatigues and hurry of the Has come and passed away! day. Suddenly the bell tolled over- How many a setting sun hath made head, deep-toned and solemn, vibrat-That curious lattice-work of shade ! ing long, and sinking slowly into Crumbled beneath the hillock silence. "What is that, mamma?" whispered Mary. "The knell for some villager just departed. Death visits the quiet country as well as the crowded city,' said Mrs. Clayton, as another toll sounded, to die tremulously away. "Mamma," said Carrie, after they had sat some time motionless and without speaking, "how wormeaten this seat is!" and she laid her finger curiously upon its arm. "said "Yes," said her mother,'The worm has done her part In mimicking the chisel's art.' "That is poetry, mamma, Mary; "where did it come from?" "From a poem by Jane Taylor, my dear, 'The Squire's Pew.'" "Please, mamma," "repeat it to us." green The aiming hand must be, ween, Acorn, and fleur-de-lis ; And now the worm hath done her part In mimicking the chisel's art. 'In days of yore (that now we call), When the first James was king, 'On damask cushions, set in fringe, In ancient English spelt, "Do, mamma, if you please," said Mary. "I fear I should not be able, it is so very long since I have thought of it, but this old country church brought it to my mind." "Try, mamma," suggested Carrie. "Well, I will try, dears, if you The sunbeam long and lone Of their inscription stone; GATHERED PEARLS. Long-visaged, clad in armour, he,- By saying endless prayers on stone. 'Those mellow days are past and But generations new, 'And now the polished modern And his gay train appear, Who duly to the hall retire, A season, every year, 171 And fill the seat with belle and beau, tolling of the bell, inclined them As 'twas so many years ago. 'Perchance, all thoughtless as they The hollow-sounding floor Which shall as heretofore In turn receive to silent rest both to silence and serious thought. But in a few minutes Mrs. Clayton rose. "I think, dears, it is quite time to go; we must not forget the real purpose of our walk.” GATHERED PEARLS. "Strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might."- "Religion is power itself-power to calm the tempest of passion, and guide the impulses of the heart-power to burst every spiritual fetter, and lift the soul to freedom-power to resist evil, to overcome the world, and to build up the empire of truth-power to serve God, follow Jesus, and bless mankind-power to face danger and death without fear, and to endure suffering without complaint. The man whom all Europe dreaded a few years ago, whose foot-tread shook the civilized world to its centre, had no such power as this. His power was in ambitious impulses, stimulated from without, not in noble principles, uplifting him from within. When his prospects were blighted he truly said, 'Everything that belongs to me is stricken.' Amidst the solitude of his island home he was heard |