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In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore;

And praise Thee for Thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.

My life, if Thou preservest my life,
Thy sacrifice shall be ;

And death, when death shall be my doom,
Shall join my soul to Thee.

THE MARTYRS.

By COWPER.

PATRIOTS have toil'd, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse,
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times, and sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust:
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
To those, who, posted at the shrine of truth,
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood,
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed,
And for a time ensure, to his loved land
The sweets of liberty and equal laws;
But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,
And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed
In confirmation of the noblest claim-

Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,
To walk with God, to be divinely free,
To soar, and to anticipate the skies.

Yet few remember them. They lived unknown
Till persecution dragg'd them into fame,
And chased them up to heaven.
No marble tells us whither.

Their ashes flew-
With their names

No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:
And history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed
The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire,
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

By HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

WHEN marshall'd on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky;
One star alone of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye :
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem,
But one alone the Saviour speaks-
It is the star of Bethlehem!

Once on the raging seas I rode;

The storm was loud, the night was dark;
The ocean yawn'd, and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark:
Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose-

It was the star of Bethlehem!

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm, and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace:
Now, safely moor'd, my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever and for evermore

The star-the star of Bethlehem!

TO THE BUTTERFLY.

By ROGERS.

CHILD of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
Mingling with her thou lovest in fields of light,
And where the flowers of paradise unfold,
Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold:
There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky,
Expand and shut with silent ecstacy:

Yet wert thou once a worm-a thing that crept
On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept.
And such is man-soon from his cell of clay

To burst a seraph in the blaze of day.

Passages for the Memory.

THE IMPARTIAL BANQUET.

The unfashionable worm

Respectless of the crown-illumined brow,

To cheek's bewitchment, or the sceptred clench,
With no more eyes than Love, creeps courtier-like
On his thin belly, to his food,--no matter
How clad or nicknamed it might strut above,
What age or sex,-it is his dinner-time.

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BEDDOES.

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

INSTABILITY OF HAPPINESS.

upon

him:

This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick
The third day, comes a frost a killing frost;
And,-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening,--nips his fruit,
And then he falls.

SHAKSPERE.

LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOUR.

Friend, do not crouch to those above,
And do not tread on those below;
Love those, they're worthy of thy love;
Love these, and thou wilt make them so.

WRITTEN IN A BIBLE.

Within this awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries:
Happiest they of human race,
To whom their God has given grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch-to force the way;
But better had they ne'er been born
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

A COMPARISON.

WALTER SCOTT.

The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Both speed their journey with a restless stream:
The silent pace with which they steal away,

No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay:
Alike irrevocable both when past,

And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resembles each in every part,

A difference strikes, at length, the musing heart:
Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound,
How laughs the land, with various plenty crown'd!
But time that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind.

GOD'S TEACHINGS.

To the Infinitely Good we owe

Immortal thanks, and His admonishment
Receive, with solemn purpose to observe
Immutably His sovereign will, the end
Of what we are.

COWPER.

MILTON.

FEAR NOT CENSURE.

We must not stint

Our necessary actions, in the fear

To cope

malicious censurers, which ever,

As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow

That is new trimm'd, but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best
By sick interpreters, or weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
For our best act.

SHAKSPERE.

DAILY DUTIES.

Sum up at night what thou has done by day;
And in the morning what thou hast to do.
Dress and undress thy soul. Watch the decay,
And growth of it. If with thy watch, that too
Be down, then wind up both. Since we shall be
Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.
HERBERT.

ACTION.

Do something! do it soon! with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God inactive were no longer blest.
Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined:
Pray heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this high purpose; to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fix'd, and feelings purely kind;
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
And strength to give the praise where all is due.
WILCOX.

RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE.

We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips.

THE MIND.

A mind that, in a calm, angelic mood
Of happy wisdom meditating good,

SHAKSPERE.

Beholds, of all from her high powers required, Much done, and much design'd, and more desired; Harmonious thoughts, a soul by truth refined, Entire affection for all human kind.

WORDSWORTH.

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