Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Whilst all the stars, that round her burn, And all the planets, in their turn, Confirm the tidings, as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball!
What though nor real voice, nor sound,
Amid their radiant orbs be found!
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The Hand that made us is Divine."

LESSON IX.

Morning Meditations.-HAWKESWORTH.

IN sleep's serene oblivion laid,
I've safely passed the silent night;
Again I see the breaking shade,
Again behold the morning light.

New-born, I bless the waking hour;

Once more, with awe, rejoice to be; My conscious soul resumes her power, And soars, my guardian God, to thee.

O guide me through the various maze

My doubtful feet are doomed to tread; And spread thy shield's protecting blaze Where dangers press around my head.

A deeper shade shall soon impend

A deeper sleep mine eyes oppress :Yet then thy strength shall still defend; Thy goodness still delight to bless.

That deeper shade shall break

away;

That deeper sleep shall leave mine eyes;

Thy light shall give eternal day;

Thy love, the rapture of the skies.

LESSON X.

Nature's Music.-ANONYMOUS.

NAY, tell me not of lordly halls!
My minstrels are the trees;

The moss and the rock are my tapestried walls,
Earth's sounds my symphonies.

There's music sweeter to my soul

In the weed by the wild wind fanned, In the heave of the surge, than ever stole From mortal minstrel's hand.

There's mighty music in the roar

Of the oaks on the mountain's side, When the whirlwind bursts on their foreheads hoar, And the lightning flashes wide.

There's music in the city's hum,

Heard in the noontide glare,

When its thousand mingling voices come
On the breast of the sultry air.

There's music in the forest stream,
As it plays through the deep ravine,*
Where never summer's breath or beam
Has pierced its woodland screen.

There's music in the thundering sweep
Of the mountain waterfall,

As its torrents struggle, and foam, and leap
From the brow of its marble wall.

There's music in the dawning morn,
Ere the lark his pinion dries-

In the rush of the breeze through the dewy corn,
Through the garden's perfumed dyes.

There's music on the twilight cloud,
As the clanging wild swans spring;
As homeward the screaming ravens crowd,
Like squadrons on the wing.

* Pron. ra-vēēn'.

There's music in the depth of night,

When the world is still and dim,

And the stars flame out in their pomp of light,
Like thrones of the cherubim!

LESSON XI.

Religious Contemplation of the Works of God.-MOODIE.

CONTEMPLATE the great scenes of nature, and accustom yourselves to connect them with the perfections of God. All vast and unmeasurable objects are fitted to impress the soul with awe. The mountain, which rises above the neighbouring hills, and hides its head in the sky; the sounding, unfathomed, boundless deep; the expanse of heaven, where, above, and around, no limit checks the wondering eye; these objects fill and elevate the mind-they produce a solemn frame of spirit, which accords with the sentiment of religion.

From the contemplation of what is great and magnificent in nature, the soul rises to the Author of all. We think of the time which preceded the birth of the universe, when no being existed but God alone. While unnumbered systems arise in order before us, created by his power, arranged by his wisdom, and filled with his presence, the earth, and the sea, with all that they contain, are hardly beheld amidst the immensity of his works. In the boundless subject the soul is lost. "It is he who sitteth on the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers. He weigheth the mountains in scales. He taketh up the isles as a very little thing. Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him!

Pause for a while, ye travellers on the earth, to contem'universe in

him who which you dwell; and the glory of

it. What a scene of wonders is here presented to your view! If beheld with a religious eye, what a temple for the worship of the Almighty! The earth is spread out before you, reposing amidst the desolation of winter, or clad in the verdure of the spring; smiling in the beauty of summer, or loaded with autumnal fruit; opening, to an endless variety of beings, the treasures of their

Maker's goodness, and ministering subsistence and comfort to every creature that lives.

The heavens, also, declare the glory of the Lord. The sun cometh forth from his chambers to scatter the shades of night, inviting you to the renewal of your labours, adorning the face of nature, and, as he advances to his meridian brightness, cherishing every herb and every flower that springeth from the bosom of the earth. Nor, when he retires again from your view, doth he leave the Creator without a witness. He only hides his own splendor for a while, to disclose to you a more glorious scene; to show you the immensity of space filled with worlds unnumbered, that your imaginations may wander, without a limit, in the vast creation of God.

What a field is here opened for the exercise of every pious emotion! and how irresistibly do such contemplations as these awaken the sensibility of the soul! Here is infinite power to impress you with awe; here is infinite wisdom to fill you with admiration; here is infinite goodness to call forth your gratitude and love. The correspondence between these great objects and the affection of the human heart, is established by nature itself; and they need only to be placed before us, that every religious feeling may be excited.

LESSON XII.

Criminality of Intemperance.-H. WARE, JR.

I Do not mean to say, that the habit of intemperance is ever formed without temptation, or persisted in without what may be thought an excuse. The temptation is gradual, and insinuating; the habit is formed insensibly. It is an established custom for men to drink while they labour. The poor man is taught, absurdly, to think a glass necessary for his strength; he finds another necessary for good companionship. He cannot go abroad without finding a lure invitingly held out beneath the license of the law. Before he is aware of it, a certain stimulus has become necessary to his constitution. If he try to amend, he is pressed by this necessity, and, in a manner, compelled to maintain the rice; though he would give the world to renounce it. And

where, we are asked, is the sin in all this? Is there not rather a call for compassion than for censure?

Undoubtedly there is a call for compassion; for deep and earnest compassion. So there is in the case of every sin, when we reflect on the circumstances of trial and temptation. The case of the drunkard is not, in this respect, different from that of other criminals. The man who, impelled by want, or the unprincipled habits of a d education, robs, on the high way, is driven by as imperious a necessity as the drunkard. The temptation is as strong, the habit is as irresistible.

The sudden passion of the murderer is as irresistible as the appetite of the tippler. The cherished revenge of the assassin is as strong an incitement as the cherished thirst of the intemperate. But who, in these cases, excuses the crime because of the temptation? Who thinks it a palliation of the offence, that the state of the offender's mind and heart is such as necessarily to lead to it?

Who excuses the two-fold crime of David, because of the greatness of the lust by which he was drawn away and enticed? Ce passionate, therefore, as you please, the condition of the miserable man who is the slave of intemperate habits; but remember that, after all, his apology is but the same with that of other criminals, and quite as strong for them as for him.

Indeed, may we not fairly go further, and say, that there are some circumstances which bring a peculiar aggravation to his guilt? When we consider the powerful dissuasives from this sin, is there not an aggravation in that state of mind, which is not at all affected by them? When we reflect on the misery it occasions, must there not be a singular guilt in that deadness of mind, which allows one coolly to produce that misery, without any malice or bad intention? How thoroughly must the good affections be palsied, and the moral sense destroyed, when this brutalizing enjoyment has become more desirable to a man, than all the rich pleasures which flow from home, friendship, health, and reputation!

What an enormity of sin must he have to answer for, who has depraved himself so far, that, when all the felicities of a rational and social being are put in the one scale, and those of a beastly self-indulgence in the other, he chooses the last, strips himself of decency and honour, puts out the light of reason, flings off the attributes of a man, and rushes into all

« AnteriorContinuar »