To bless the matrimonial hours,

Must three joint leaders club their powers;
Good-nature, piety, and sense

Must their confederate aids dispense.
As the soft powers of oil assuage
Of ocean's waves the furious rage;
Lull to repose the boiling tide,
And the rough billows bid subside,
Till every angry motion sleep,
And softest tremblings hush the deep;
Good-nature! thus thy charms control
The tumults of the troubled soul:
By labor worn, by care oppressed,
On thee the wearied head shall rest;
From business and distraction free,
Delighted, shall return to thee;
To thee the aching heart shall cling,
And find that peace it does not bring.
And while the light and empty fair,
Formed for the ball-room's dazzling glare;
Abroad, of speech so prompt and rapid,
At home, so vacant and so vapid;
Of every puppet-show the life,

At home a dull and tasteless wife;-
The mind with sense and knowledge stored

Can counsel or can soothe its lord;'

His varied joys or sorrows feel,

And share the pains it cannot heal.
But, Piety! without thy aid,

Love's fairest prospects soon must fade.
Blest architect! reared by thy hands,
Connubial Concord's temple stands.
Though wit, though genius, raise the pile,
Though taste assist, though talents smile,
Though fashion, while her wreaths she twine,
Her light Corinthian columns join,
Still the frail structure fancy rears,
A tottering house of cards appears;
Some sudden gust-nor rare the case—
May shake the building to its base,
Unless, blest Piety! thou join,
Thy key-stone to ensure the shrine;
Unless, to guard against surprises,
On thy broad arch the temple rises.

DAN AND JANE;

OR,

FAITH AND WORKS.

A TALE.

GOOD Dan and Jane were man and wife, And lived a loving kind of life;

One point, however, they disputed,

And each by turns his mate confuted.

'Twas faith and works-this knotty question

They found not easy of digestion.
While Dan for faith alone contended,
Jane equally good works defended.

They are not Christians, sure, but Turks, Who build on faith and scoff at works," Quoth Jane; while eager Dan replied, "By none but heathens faith's denied." "I'll tell you, wife," at length quoth Dan, "A story of a right good manA patriarch sage, of ancient days, A man of faith, whom all must praise. In his own country he possessed

Whate'er can make a wise man blessed;
His was the flock, the field, the spring,

In short, a little rural king.

Yet, pleased, he quits his native land,
By faith in the divine command.
God bade him go; and he, content,

Went forth, not knowing where he went.
He trusted in the promise made,
And, undisputing, straight obeyed.
The heavenly word he did not doubt,
But proved his faith by going out."

Jane answered, with some little pride

"I've an example on my side;

And though my tale be somewhat longer,
I trust you'll find it vastly stronger.
I'll tell you, Daniel, of a man,
The holiest since the world began,
Who now God's favor is receiving,
For prompt obeying, not believing.
One only son this man possessed,
In whom his righteous age was blessed;
And more to mark the grace of Heaven,
This son by miracle was given.

And from this child the Word divine
Had promised an illustrious line.
When, lo! at once a voice he hears,
Which sounds like thunder in his ears.
God says-Go sacrifice thy son!'

This moment, Lord, it shall be done.'
He goes, and instantly prepares
To slay this child of many prayers.
Now, here you see the grand expedience
Of works, of actual sound obedience.
This was not faith, but act and deed:
The Lord commands-the child shall bleed.
Thus Abraham acted," Jenny cried;
"Thus Abraham trusted," Dan replied.

"Abraham!" quoth Jane, "why, that's my man;
'No, Abraham's him I mean," says Dan.
"He stands a monument of faith;"

"No, 'tis for works, the Scripture saith."
"Tis for his faith that I defend him;"
""Tis for obedience I commend him."

Thus he thus she-both warmly feel,
And lose their temper in their zeal;
Too quick each other's choice to blame,
They did not see each meant the same.
At length, "Good wife," said honest Dan,
"We're talking of the self-same man.
The works you praise, I own, indeed,
Grow from that faith for which I plead;
And Abraham, whom for faith I quote,
For works deserves especial note:
Tis not enough of faith to talk;
A man of God with God must walk:
Our doctrines are, at last, the same;
'hey only differ in the name.

The faith I fight for, is the root;
The works you value, are the fruit.
How shall you know my creed's sincere,
Unless in works my faith appear?
How shall I know a tree's alive,

Unless I see it bear and thrive?
Your works not growing on my root,
Would prove they were not genuine fruit.
If faith produce no works, I see,
That faith is not a living tree.

Thus faith and works together grow ;
No separate life they e'er can know :
They're soul and body, hand and heart:
What God hath joined, let no man part."

THE TWO GARDENERS.

Two gardeners once beneath an oak
Lay down to rest, when Jack thus spoke-
"You must confess, dear Will, that Nature
Is but a blundering kind of creature;
And I-nay, why that look of terror?
Could teach her how to mend her error."
"Your talk," quoth Will," is bold and odd;
What you call Nature, I call God."

Well, call him by what name you will,"

Quoth Jack, "he manages but ill;

Nay, from the very tree we're under,

I'll prove that Providence can blunder."

Quoth Will, "Through thick and thin you dash;
I shudder, Jack, at words so rash;

I trust to what the Scriptures tell—
He hath done always all things well."
Quoth Jack, "I'm lately grown a wit,
And think all good a lucky hit.
To prove that Providence can err,
Not words, but facts, the truth aver.

To this vast oak lift up thine eyes,
Then view that acorn's paltry size;
How foolish, on a tree so tall,
To place that tiny cup and ball!
Now look again; yon pompion* see;
It weighs two pounds at least, nay three;
Yet this large fruit, where is it found?
Why, meanly trailing on the ground.
Had Providence asked my advice,
I would have changed it in a trice;
I would have said, at Nature's birth,
'Let acorns creep upon the earth;
But let the pompion, vast and round,
On the oak's lofty boughs be found.'
He said-and as he rashly spoke,
Lo! from the branches of the oak,
A wind, which suddenly arose,
Beat showers of acorns on his nose.

“O! O!" quoth Jack, "I'm wrong, 1 see, And God is wiser far than me. For did a shower of pompions large Thus on my naked face discharge, I had been bruised and blinded quite; What Heaven appoints I find is right; Whene'er I'm tempted to rebel, I'll think how light the acorns fell; Whereas on oaks had pompions hung, My broken skull had stopped my tongu

* A gourd.