to Western ocean, every variety of climate giving them choice of pursuit and modification of temperament, the ballot-box fusing together all rivalries, they shall have one national will. What is wanting in one race will be supplied by the characteristic energies of the others; and what is excessive in either, checked by the counter-action of the rest. Nay, though for a time the newly come may retain their foreign vernacular, our tongue, so rich in ennobling literature, will be the tongue of the nation, the language of its laws, and the accent of its majesty. ETERNAL GOD! who seest the end with the beginning, thou alone canst tell the ultimate grandeur of this people! Ibid. VICTORY OVER DEATH. As the Redeemer is glorified in his flesh, so shall the believer be raised up to glory at the last day. What then to him, whose faith can grasp things hoped for and unseen, are all the passing ignominies, and pangs, and insults, which now afflict the follower of the man of sorrows, the Lord of life and glory? Every revolution of the earth rolls on to that fulness of adoption, "when this mortal shall put on immortality, and this corruption shall put on incorruption, and shall be brought to pass this saying, Death is swallowed up in victory;" when these eyes, now so dim and soon to be closed in dust, shall behold the face of God in righteousness; when these hands, now so weak and stained with sin, shall bear aloft the triumphant palm, and strike the golden harp that seraphs love to listen to; and these voices, now so harsh and tuneless, shall swell in harmony ineffable to the song of Moses and the Lamb, responsive to the Trisagion, the thrice holy of the angels. Yes, beloved Master, we see thee, "who wast made a little lower than the angels for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor;" and thou hast promised that we shall share thy glory and thy crown! "Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ!" "Us!" And who are included in that sublime and multitudinous plural? "Not to me only," says the apostle, "but to all them that love his appearing." Ye shall share it, ancient believers, who, from Adam to Christ, worshipped by figure, and under the shadow! Ye shall share it, ye prophets, who wondered at the mysterious promises of glory following suffering! Ye shall share it, ye mighty apostles, though ye doubted when ye heard of the broken tomb! Ye, martyrs, whose howling enemies execrated you, as they slew you by sword, and cross, and famine, and rack, and the wild beast, and flame! And ye, God's humble poor, whom men despised, but of whom the world was not worthy, God's angels are watching, as they watched the sepulchre in the garden, over your obscure graves, keeping your sacred dust till the morning break, when it shall be crowned with princely splendor! Yes, thou weak one, who yet hast strength to embrace thy Master's cross! Thou sorrowing one, whose tears fall like rain, but not without hope, over the grave of thy beloved! Thou tempted one, who, through much tribulation, art struggling on to the kingdom of God! Ye all shall be there, and ten thousand times ten thousand more! Hark! the trumpet! The earth groans and rocks herself as if in travail ! They rise, the sheeted dead; but how lustrously white are their garments! How dazzling their beautiful holiness! What a mighty host! They fill the air; they acclaim hallelujahs; the heavens bend with shouts of harmony; the Lord comes down, and his angels are about him; and he owns his chosen, and they rise to meet him, and they mingle with cherubim and seraphim, and the shoutings are like thunders from the throne -thunderings of joy: "O Death, where is thy sting! O Grave, where is thy victory! Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ!" CLING TO THY MOTHER. Cling to thy mother; for she was the first To know thy being, and to feel thy life; The hope of thee through many a pang she nurst; Was all forgot, for bliss of loving thee. Be gentle to thy mother; long she bore Thine infant fretfulness and silly youth; Nor rudely scorn the faithful voice that o'er Thy cradle prayed, and taught thy lispings truth. She looks, and claims thee as her child e'en now. Uphold thy mother; close to her warm heart She carried, fed thee, lulled thee to thy rest; Cherish thy mother; brief perchance the time Be tender with thy mother; words unkind, Of venomed serpent. Wound not that strong trust, O mother mine! God grant I ne'er forget, I owe thy love; but make my sweet employ, SONG OF THE TEE-TOTALLER. Let others sing the ruby bright The juice from the bleeding vine, But the stream comes pure from the hand of God, To fill this cup of mine. Then give me the cup of cold water, The pure sweet cup of cold water; His arm is strong, though his toil be long, The dewdrop lies in the floweret's cup, And the thirsty earth with joy looks up, And the bending trees on her banks rejoice Then give me the cup of cold water, For bright is his eye, and his spirit high, The lark springs up with a lighter strain, This was the drink of Paradise, Ere blight on its beauty fell; And the buried streams of its gladness rise In every moss-grown well. Then here's for the cup of cold water, The pure sweet cup of cold water; LIVE TO DO GOOD. Live to do good; but not with thought to win The merciful, the meek, rejected One; Do good to all; but while thou servest best, And at thy greatest cost, nerve thee to bear, From lips which thou hast taught in hope to pray, Still do thou good; but for His holy sake Who died for thine; fixing thy purpose ever Content to wait the recompense above; EARLY LOST, EARLY SAVED. Within her downy cradle, there lay a little child, And a group of hovering angels unseen upon her smiled; When a strife arose among them, a loving, holy strife, Which should shed the richest blessing over the newborn life. One breathed upon her features, and the babe in beauty grew, Of a face so sweet and radiant with ever fresh delight. Another gave her accents, and a voice as musical As a spring-bird's joyous carol, or a rippling streamlet's fall; Another brought from heaven a clear and gentle mind, Thus did she grow in beauty, in melody, and truth, She became, though we thought fondly heart could not love her more. Then on his heart our darling yielded up her gentle breath, CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND. CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND, whose maiden name was Stansbury, is a native of the city of New York, where her father was a bookseller and publisher. After his death the family removed to the western part of the State, where she was married to Mr. William Kirkland.' After Mr. Kirkland was the son of the Hon. Joseph Kirkland, who lived in New Hartford, near Utien, New York. He was at one time a professor in Hamilton College, and is the author of "Letters from Abroad, written after a residence in Europe. He was also a contributor to "The Columbian," and to "Hunt's Merchants' Magazine." He died in October, 1846. |