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ALL THINGS ARE OF GOD. - MOORE. 1. Thou art, O God, the life and light

Of all this wondrous world we see ;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from thee.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things, fair and bright, are thine.

2. When day, with farewell beam, delays

Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven, -
Those hues that mark the sun's decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine.

3. When night, with wings of starry gloom,

O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume

Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes,
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine.

4. When youthful spring around us breathes,

Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the summer wreathes,

Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things, fair and bright, are thine.

5. “Let there be light !” and listening earth,

With tree, and plant, and flowery sod,
In the beginning," sprang to birth,
Obedient to the voice of God.



[See Rule 6, p. 180.] 1. The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned

To hew the shaft, and lay the Architrave, *
And spread the roof above them,- ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood,
Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down
And offered to the Mightiest, solemn thanks
And supplication. Let me, then, at least,
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood,
Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find

Acceptance in his ear. — 2.

Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold C'ommunion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride, Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here, - thou fill'st

* Arch'i-trave, the lower division of an entablature which rests Immediately on the column.

The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds
That run along the summit of these trees
In music; thou art in the cooler breath,
That, from the inmost darkness of the place,
Comes, scarcely felt; - the barky trunks, the ground,

The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 3. My heart is awed within me, when I think

Of the great miracle that still goes on
In silence round me, the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed
Forever. Written on thy works, I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo! all grow old and die, but see, again,
How on the faltering footsteps of decay
Youth presses

ever gay and beautiful youth,
In all its beautiful forms. Oh, there is not lost
One of earth's charms ! — these lofty trees
Wave not less proudly, that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them.

4. Then let me often to these solitudes

Retire, and in thy presence reassure
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink,
And tremble, and are still. Oh! God, when thou
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift, dark whirlwind that uproots the woods
And drowns the villages; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep, and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities, — who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ?



[Colloquial and Narrative. - See Rule under Personation, p. 202.]

1. “There,” said the Indian, “are your countrymen; there is the enemy who wait, to give us battle. Remember that I have saved thy life; that I have taught thee to construct a canoe; to arm thyself with a bow and arrows; to surprise the beaver in the forest ; to wield the tomahawk; and to scalp the enemy. What wast thou when I first took thee to my hut? Thy hands were those of an infant; they were fit neither to procure thee sustenance nor safety. Thou wast ignorant of every thing; and thou owest every thing to me. Wilt thou then go over to thy nation, and take up the hatchet against us?”

2. The officer replied, “ I would rather lose my own life, than take away that of my deliverer.” The Indian, then bending down his head, and covering his face with both his hands, stood some time silent; then, looking earnestly at his prisoner, he said, in a voice that was at once softened by tenderness and grief, “Hast thou a father?” -“ My father," said the young man,

was alive when I left my country.” — “Alas !” said the Indian, “how wretched must he be!” He paused a moment, and then added, “ Dost thou know that I have been a father? I am a father no more. I saw my son fall in battle; he fought at my side ; I saw him expire; but he died like a man! He was covered with wounds when he fell dead at my feet; but I have revenged him!”

3. He pronounced these words with the utmost vehemence; his body shook with a universal tremor; and be was almost stifled with sighs that he would not suffer to escape him. There was a keen restlessness in his eye; but


no tear would flow to his relief. At length he became calm by degrees, and turning toward the east where the sun was then rising, “ Dost thou see,” said he to the young officer, “ the beauty of that sky which sparkles with prevailing day? and hast thou pleasure in the sight?” — “Yes," replied the young officer, “I have pleasure in the beauty of so fine a sky.” — “I bave none !” said the Indian, and his tears then found their way.

4. A few minutes after, he showed the young man a tree in full bloom. “Dost thou see that beautiful tree?” said hie; “ and dost thou look upon it with pleasure?”—“ Yes,” replied the officer, “I do look with pleasure upon that beautiful tree.” — “ I have pleasure in looking upon it no more," said the Indian hastily; and immediately added, “Go, return to thy countrymen, that thy father may still have pleasure when he sees the sun rise in the morning, and the trees blossom in the spring.”




Resolve to do something useful, honorable, dutiful, and do it heartily. Repel the thought that you can, and therefore you may, live above work and without it. Among the most pitiable objects in society, is the man wbose mind has been trained by the discipline of education ; who has learned how to think, and the value of his immortal powers; who with all these noble faculties, cultivated and prepared for an honorable activity, ignobly sits down to do nothing ; with no influence over the public mind; with no interest in the concerns of his country, or even his neighborhood; who is con

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