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When the sullying breath of the world would come O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home; Think thou again of the woody glade,

And the sound by the rustling ivy made,

Think of the tree at thy father's door,

And the kindly spell shall have power once more.




COME home! there is a sorrowing breath

In music since ye went,

And the early flower-scents wander by,

With mournful memories blent,

The tones in every household voice

Are grown more sad and deep,

And the sweet word-brother-wakes a wish
To turn aside and weep.

O ye beloved! come home! the hour

Of many a greeting tone,

The time of hearth-light and of song,

Returns, and ye are gone!

And darkly, heavily it falls

On the forsaken room,

Burdening the heart with tenderness,
That deepens 'mid the gloom.

Where finds it you, ye wandering ones?
With all your boyhood's glee
Untamed, beneath the desert's palm,

Or on the lone mid sea?
By the stormy hills of battles old,

Or where dark rivers foam?

Oh! life is dim where ye are not;
Back, ye beloved, come home!

Come with the leaves and winds of spring,
And swift birds, o'er the main !
Our love is grown too sorrowful;
Bring us its youth again!

Bring the glad tones to music back!

Still, still our home is fair,

The spirit of your sunny life

Alone is wanting there!




THE stranger's heart! Oh! wound it not!
A yearning anguish is its lot;

In the green shadow of thy tree,

The stranger finds no rest with thee.

Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leaves
Glad music round thy household eaves;
To him that sound hath sorrow's tone,
The stranger's heart is with his own,

Thou think'st thy children's laughing play
A lovely sight at fall of day;

Then are the stranger's thoughts oppressed,
His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.

Thou think'st it sweet, when friend with friend
Beneath one roof in prayer may blend;
Then doth the stranger's eye grow dim,
Far, far, are those who prayed with him.

Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land,
The voices of thy kindred band,
Oh! 'mid them all when blest thou art,
Deal gently with the stranger's heart.




THE archangel

Ended, and they both descend the hill.

Adam to the bower, where Eve

Lay sleeping, ran before, but found her waked;
And thus, with words not sad, she him received.

"Now lead on;

In me is no delay: with thee to go,

Is to stay here; without thee, here to stay,
Is to go hence unwilling. Thou to me
Art all things under Heaven, all places thou,
Who, for my willful crime, art banished hence.

This further consolation yet secure
I carry hence; though all by me is lost,
Such favor, I unworthy am vouchsafed,
By me the promised seed shall all restore."

So spake our mother Eve; and Adam heard
Well pleased, but answered not; for now too nigh
The archangel stood; and from the other hill
To their fixed station, all in bright array,
The Cherubim descended; on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist,

Risen from a river, o'er the marsh doth glide,
And gather ground fast at the laborer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanced,
The brandished sword of God before them blazed,
Fierce as a comet; which, with torrid heat,
And vapor as the Libyan air adust,

Began to parch that temperate clime: whereat,
In either hand the hastening angel caught
Our lingering parents, and, to the eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast
To the subjected plain; then disappeared.

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand; the gate
With dreadful faces thronged, and fiery arms.

Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon.
The world was all before them where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.




WHAT a tumult of exultation would the promised sovereignty of a world excite in the human breast! How would the purpled robe, the jeweled diadem, the exalted throne, crowd in thick array upon the fancy, as it gazed upon the glittering phantom! How would the heart expand to meet the love and reverence of subject millions! With what intense energy would every passion

spring to the enjoyment of its object! With what exulting transports to accommodate itself to its exalted destiny!

Yet this world, with all its pomp and power attendant on its possession; this world, whose sovereignty in prospect would absorb every faculty of our nature, is declared by our Savior to be far inferior in value to a single soul. To one accustomed to estimate every thing by a worldly standard, this may appear, at first, a startling proposition. Yet even such a man cannot withhold his assent, when he considers the excellent nature of the soul itself, the eternity of existence to which it is destined, and the surprising proofs of the estimate at which it is held by higher intellects than ours.

As God pervades the universe, directing and controlling its complicated operations; so the human soul, in a far lower sphere, it is true, and with far inferior, yet similar powers, rules with absolute dominion that tabernacle of clay in which it dwells. Is God infinitely superior to the universe of matter which he governs? In like manner, though not in equal degree, is the soul of man superior to the frame which it inhabits, and to the kindred earth from which that frame was formed.

The soul also contains within itself a principle of immortality, which adds immeasurably to its excellence. Every thing else in our world is subject to decay. The fairest flower must wither; the tallest oak of the forest must waste away and fall; man's own body must sink into the grave, and return to its kindred dust; the proudest palace that his hands have built, must crumble into ruins; the fame which we vainly call immortal, must fade and be forgotten; the earth itself must cease its revolutions, and perish in the final conflagration. But the soul, more noble, more excellent than all, shall never die ; ignorant of decay, it shall live on throughout the boundless ages of eternity!

Why is it that the hosts of heaven continue still to bend an attentive eye on this far distant planet? Is it to mark with what precise exactness it accomplishes its days and months and years? Is it to observe the dreary stillness that pervades its depopulated regions, or contemplate the hue of universal death that has gathered on its aspect, and deformed its beauties? No; it is an object of still greater interest that attracts their eager gaze; it is that single soul, more valuable in itself than

all that earth possesses of beauty and of grandeur, which causes them to stoop from their exalted thrones in fixed attention. That soul repents; it casts its load of unshared misery, the intolerable burden of unpardoned sin, at the foot of the cross; it receives the promised rest; immediately there is joy in the celestial courts; a new emotion of delight pervades the bosoms of the heavenly host, from the lowest scale of angelic being to Gabriel who standeth in the presence of God. What, then, must be the value of that soul whose progress can attract the scrutiny of angels; whose safety can create a jubilee in heaven!




In every part of Scripture, it is remarkable with what singular tenderness the season of youth is always mentioned, and what hopes are afforded to the devotion of the young. It is to that age, that some of the most direct promises are addressed, and of individuals of that age, much interesting incident is recorded. It was at that age, that God visited the infant Samuel, while he ministered in the temple of the Lord, "in days when the word of the Lord was precious, and when there was no open vision." It was at that age, that his spirit fell upon David, while he was yet the youngest of his father's sons, and when among the mountains of Bethlehem, he fed his father's sheep.

It was at that age, also, "that they brought young children unto Christ, that he should-touch them and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased and said to them, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." If these, then, are the effects and promises of youthful piety, rejoice, O young man, in thy youth! Rejoice in those days which are never to return, when religion comes to thee in all its charms, and when the God of nature reveals himself to thy soul, like the mild radiance of the morning sun, when he rises amid the blessings of a grateful world. If already devotion hath taught thee her secret pleasures; if

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