Now Jesus was not yet come into the town, but was in that place where Martha met him. The Jews, then, who were with her in the house, and comforted her, when they saw Mary that she rose up hastily and went out, followed her, saying, 'She goeth unto the grave, to weep there.' Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, 'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.' When Jesus, therefore, saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping who came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled, and said, 'Where have ye laid him?' They say unto him, 'Lord, come and see.' Jesus wept. Then said the Jews, 'Behold how he loved him!' And some of them said, 'Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?' Jesus therefore, again groaning in himself, cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon it. Jesus said, 'Take ye away the stone.' Then they took away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. And Jesus lifted up his eyes and said, 'Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me. And I knew that thou hearest me always: but because of the people which stand by, I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come forth!' me.' And he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with grave-clothes; and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, 'Loose him, and let him go.' Then many of the Jews who came to Mary, and had seen the things which Jesus did, believed on him. GENERAL RULE FOR READING THE SCRIPTURES. The Scriptures, as they treat of sacred subjects, should generally be read with a LOWER, SOFTER, and SLOWER voice, and with LONGER PAUSES, than other books; but neither with a spiritless or formal tone, nor in a familiar, talking style. EXERCISE III MY BIBLE. H. J. Woodman. Lamp of my feet, where other light has failed me, How shall I bless thy never-clouded beams! Troubled and dark had been my path without thee, As a long night of varied, fearful dreams. Ages have passed, since first thy matchless splendor Light of the world, the mourner's arms embrace thee. Hope of the stricken, strength of the despairing, Casket of gems culled by a Father's pleasure For sinful man, from heaven's exhaustless mines, Thou hast the pearl of price, the earth's one treasure, Which, though unheeded oft, serenely shines. Not till eternity unveil its glory, That we may know, as we shall then be known, Will all the wonders of thy priceless story Burst like a flood from God's unclouded throne. Blessings upon thee for the weak supported, EXERCISE IV. THE MORAL OF THE RHINE.- Krummacher. Nature spake, and the Rhine sprung out of the mountain. Joyful and free, full of vigor and boldness, the young stream rippled down the mountain. In a playful mood, he plunged himself into the lake of Constance; but the lake fettered him not. The waves spread apart. Unwearied, and in his original form, the stream came down, and continued his course; for he was a son of nature, and was born on the mountain. He was young, and took his own path. Gentle nature errs not in her choice. She selects what is great and good. The stream made his own way through rocks and mountains. These directed and tempered the extravagance of his youthful strength. Therefore the mountain-vine also crowned his path. His course was glorious. A hundred streams, and numberless rivulets, accompanied him, and mingled their lovely ripples with his powerful tide; for whatever is divine, takes to itself what is noble; and that which is high, strives to associate with the highest. His course was now manly and more peaceful. He flowed more calmly, but not more feebly. The severity of winter would have bound him in eternal chains: he burst them asunder with ease. He had exercised the strength of his youth, and had broken his way through impeding rocks. The stream now resembled a polished mind. He was surrounded no longer with the joyful vine, the fruit of the mountain, but with beautiful fields of grain. Vessels and rafts glided upon his bosom. Thus does silent vigor add the use ful to the beautiful. He now drew near the limits of his career. Then nature separated him into many streams, which are called by other appellations. The Rhine is only named when man speaks of his greatness and his blessings. Thus the retiring strength of age retains its honor. EXERCISE V. THE WIDOW'S SON. Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. Yon slender boy his bark hath launched His balmy years of childhood o'er, He goes, without a guide, His devious course to run, He turneth from the pleasant door, Where with his little spade he wrought He bears his head like manhood high; Ye say he goeth forth alone, To dare the eventful field; No, no! a spell is round him thrown, A mournful mother's fervent prayer! So, till his life is done, Till time, and toil, and change are o’er; — God bless the widow's son! GENERAL RULE FOR READING POETRY. Poetry is the language of vivid feeling, and requires more EXPRESSION in the tone of the voice than prose. In the reading of verse, the METRE should be marked so distinctly as to be perceptible, but never so strongly as to give more effect to sOUND than SENSE. EXERCISE VI. SPEECH OF COBB.-Anonymous Translator. [The reading of the following piece requires great slowness, with long pauses: the enunciation, throughout, should be exact and distinct. The passages which express emotion, are all in a suppressed tone, indicating deep, but subdued and manly feeling.] Cobb, the head chief of the Choctaws, east of the Mississippi, made the following reply to the speech of the agent of the United States, to the assembled tribe, in 1843:: BROTHER: -We have heard you talk as from the lips of our father, the Great white Chief at Washington; and my people have called upon me to speak to you. The red man has no books; and when he wishes to make known his views, like his father before him, he speaks from his mouth. He is afraid of writing. When he speaks, he knows what he says: the Great Spirit hears him. Writing is the invention of the pale-faces it gives birth to error and to feuds. The Great Spirit talks, we hear him in the thunder, in the rushing winds, and the mighty waters; -but he never writes. Brother: When you were young, we were strong; we fought by your side; but our arms are now broken. You have grown large. My people have become small. Brother: My voice is weak; you can scarcely hear me; it is not the shout of a warrior, but the wail of an infant. I have lost it in mourning over the misfortunes of my people. These are their graves; and in these aged pines you hear the ghosts of the departed. Their ashes are here; and we have been left to protect them. Our warriors are nearly all gone to the far country west; but here are our dead. Shall we gov too, and give their bones to the wolves? Brother: Two sleeps have passed since we heard you talk. We have thought upon it. You ask us to leave our country, and tell us it is our father's wish. We would not desire to displease our father. We respect him, and you his child. But the Choctaw always thinks. We want time to answer. Brother: Our hearts are full. Twelve winters ago, our chiefs sold our country. Every warrior that you see here |