man! what tears of sorrow hast thou dried! - what tears of recollection, of anticipation, of enjoyment, hast thou caused to flow! To all bosoms thou art grateful, - to all climes congenial. No heart, that is innocent, but has a temple for thee! - no mind, however depraved, but acknowledges thy power!

EXERCISE CXXII.

THE SPELLS OF HOME. - Mrs. Hemans.

By the soft green light in the woody glade,
On the banks of moss where thy childhood played;
By the household tree, through which thine eye
First looked in love to the summer sky;
By the dewy gleam, by the very breath
Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath,
Upon thy heart there is laid a spell,
Holy and precious:— Oh! guard it well!

By the sleepy ripple of the stream,
Which hath lulled thee into many a dream;
By the shiver of the ivy-leaves

To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves,
By the bees' deep murmur in the limes,
By the music of the Sabbath-chimes,
By every sound of thy native shade,
Stronger and dearer the spell is made.

By the gathering round the winter hearth,
When twilight called into household mirth;
By the fairy tale, or the legend old,
In that ring of happy faces told;

By the quiet hour, when hearts unite

In the parting prayer and the kind 'good-night;'
By the smiling eye, and the loving tone,
Over thy life has a spell been thrown.

And bless that gift!-it hath gentle might,
A guardian power, and a guiding light.

It hath led the freeman forth to stand
In the mountain-battles of his land;

It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas
To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze;
And back to the gates of his father's hall,
It hath led the weeping prodigal.

Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray
From the pure first loves of its youth away;

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 trees at thy father's door,
And the kindly spell shall have power once more!

EXERCISE CXXIII.

THE MOTHER OF JESUS,-Jacob Abbott.

Some centuries ago, a large, a very large company were travelling northwardly in early summer, through a lovely country, whose hills and valleys were clothed with the figtree, the olive, and the vine. They journeyed slowly, and without anxiety or care; for their route lay through a quiet land, the abode of peace and plenty. Friends and acquaintances were mingled together in groups, as accident or inclination might dictate, until the sun went down, and the approach of evening warned them to preparations for rest.

While the various families were drawing off together for this purpose, the attention and the sympathy of the multitude were excited by the anxious looks and eager inquiries of a female, who was passing from group to group, with sorrow and agitation painted on her countenance. It was a mother, who could not find her son. It was her only son, and one to whom, from peculiar circumstances, she was very strongly attached. He had never disobeyed her; he had never

given her unnecessary trouble; and the uncommon maturity of his mental and moral powers had probably led her to trust him much more to himself than in any other case would be justifiable. He was twelve years old; and she supposed that he had been safe in the company; but now night had come, and she could not find him. She went anxiously and sorrowfully from family to family, and from friend to friend, inquiring with deep solicitude 'Have you seen my son?'

He was not to be found. No one had seen him; and the anxious parents left their company, and inquiring carefully by the way, went slowly back to the city whence they had

come.

The city was in the midst of a country of mountains and valleys. Dark groves upon the summits crowned the richly cultivated fields which adorned their sides. The road wound along the glens and vales, sharing the passage with the streams, which flowed towards a neighboring sea. The city itself spread its edifices over the broad surface of a hill, one extremity of which was crowned with the spacious walls and colonnades of a temple, rising one above another, the whole pile beaming probably in the setting sun, as these anxious parents approached it, in all the dazzling whiteness of marble and splendor of gold. The parents, however, could not have thought much of the scene before them. They had lost their

son.

With what anxious and fruitless search they spent the evening and the following morning, we do not know. They at last, however, ascended to the temple itself. They passed from court to court, now going up the broad flight of steps which led from one to the other, now walking under a lofty colonnade, and now traversing a paved and ornamented area. At last, in a public part of this edifice, they found a group collected around a boy, and apparently listening to what he was saying; the feeling must have been mingled interest, curiosity, and surprise. It was their son. His uncommon mental and moral maturity had, by some means, shown itself to those around him; and they were deeply interested in his questions and replies.

His mother,

-for the narrative, true to nature and to fact, makes the mother the foremost parent in every thing connected with the search for their son, - does not reproach him. She could not reproach one who had been such a son. She

asked him why he had staid behind, and gently reminded him of the sorrow and suffering he had caused them. He gave them a reply which she could not fully understand; and. the feelings with which twelve years of intercourse, such as no mother ever before had with a son, had inspired her for him, forbade her pressing him for an explanation. his words up in her heart.'

She laid

Great is thy goodness, Father of all life,
Fount of all joy! Thou high and holy One,
Whom not thy glorious sanctuary, heaven,
Can e'er contain; Spirit invisible,

Whose omnipresence makes creation smile,
Great is thy goodness, worthy of all praise

From all thy works! Then let earth, air, and sea;
Nature, with every season in its turn;

The firmament, with its revolving fires;
And all things living join to give thee praise.
Thou glorious Sun, like thy Original,

A vital influence to surrounding worlds,
Forever sending forth, yet always full;

And thou, fair Queen of Night, o'er the pure sky,
Amid thy glittering company of stars,
Walking in brightness, praise the God above!
Ocean, forever rolling to and fro,

In thy vast bed, o'er half the hollowed earth;
Grand theatre of wonders to all lands,
And reservoir of blessings, sound his praise!
Break forth into a shout of grateful joy,
Ye mountains, covered with perennial green,
And pouring crystal torrents down your sides;
Ye lofty forests, and ye humble groves;
Ye hills, and plains, and valleys, overspread
With flocks and harvests! All ye feathered tribes,

That, taught by your Creator, a safe retreat
Find in the dead of winter, or enjoy

Sweet summer all your days, by changing clime,
Warble to Him all your melodious notes;
To Him, who clothes you with your gay attire,
And kindles in your fluttering breast the glow
Of love parental. Beasts that graze the fields,
Or roam the woods, give honor to the Power
That makes you swift to flee, or strong to meet
The coming foe; or rouses you to flight
In harmless mirth, or soothes to pleasant rest.
Shout to Jehovah with the voice of praise,
Ye nations, all ye continents and isles,
People of every tongue! ye that within
The verdant shade of palm and plantain sit,
Feasting on their cool fruit, on torrid plains;
And ye that, in the midst of pine-clad hills,
In snowy regions, grateful vigor inhale
From every breeze. Ye that inhabit lands
Where science, liberty, and plenty dwell,
Worship Jehovah in exalted strains!
But ye to whom redeeming Mercy comes,
With present peace, and promises sublime
Of future crowns, and mansions in the skies,
Imperishable, raise the loudest song!
Oh! sing for ever, with seraphic voice,
To Him whose immortality is yours,
In the blest union of eternal love!

And join them, all ye winged hosts of heaven,
That in your Maker's glory take delight;
And ye, too, all ye bright inhabitants

Of starry worlds; and let the universe

Above, below, around, be filled with praise!

RULE FOR THE READING OF DEVOTIONAL BLANK VERSE.

DEVOTIONAL PASSAGES IN BLANK VERSE, require a DEEPER, FULLER, and ROUNDER tone, a SLOWER utterance, and LONGER PAUSES, than similar passages in other forms of poetry.