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The courteous master hears, and thus replies : Celestial odors breathe through purpled air,
Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do. Warned by a bell, and close the hour with Surprise, in secret chains, his words suspends, prayer.
And in a calm his settling temper ends; At length the world, renewed by calm repose, But silence here the beauteous angel broke, Was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose; The voice of music ravished as he spoke: Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept “Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unNear a closed cradle where an infant slept,
known, And writhed his neck! the landlord's little In sweet memorial rise before the Throne; pride,
These charms success in our bright region O strange return! grew black, and gasped, find, and died!
And force an angel down to calm thy mind; Horror of horrors: what, his only son! For this commissioned, I forsook the sky; How looked our hermit when the fact was Nay, cease to kneel—thy fellow-servant I. done!
Then know the truth of government divine, Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder And let these scruples be no longer thine. part,
The Maker justly claims that world he made; And breathe blue fire, could more assault his In this the right of Providence is laid; heart.
Its secret majesty through all depends Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, On using second means to work his ends. He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with 'Tis thus, withdrawn, in state from human speed;
eye, His steps the youth pursues ; the country lay The Power exerts his attributes on high, Perplexed with roads; a servant showed the Your action uses, nor controls your will, way;
And bids the doubting sons of men be still. A river crossed the path; the passage o’er What strange events can strike with more Was nice to find; the servant trod before ;
surprise Long arms of oak an open bridge supplied, Than those which lately struck thy wonderAnd deep the waves beneath them bending ing eyes? glide.
Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty The youth, who seemed to watch a time to just, sin,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust. Approached the careless guide, and thrust The great, vain man, who fared on costly him in;
food, Plunging, he falls, and rising, lifts his head, Whose life was too luxurious to be good, Then flashing turns, and sinks among the Who made his ivory stand with goblets shine, dead.
And forced his guests to morning draughts of While sparkling rage inflames the father's wine, eyes,
Has with the cup the graceless custom lost, He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries: And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. “ Detested wretch!” But scarce his speech The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted began,
door When the strange partner seemed no longer Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor, man;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind His youthful face seemed more serenely sweet, That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be His robe turned white, and flowed upon his
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair, bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. • I'm bound for Heaven, and when I'm there
Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track, But now the child half-weaned his heart from But his gown was heavy, and held him back, God;
And the poor old father tried in vain Child of his age, for him he lived in pain,
A single step in the flood to gain. And measured back his steps to earth again. I saw him again on the other side, To what excesses had his dotage run!
But his silk gown floated on the tide; But God, to save the father, took the son.
And no one asked in that blessed spot To all but thee, in fits he seemed to go,
Whether he belonged to "the Church” or not. And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow. The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Then down to the river a Quaker strayed, Now owns in tears the punishment was just. His dress of a sober hue was made ; But how had all his fortunes felt a wrack,
“My coat and hat must be all of gray, Had that false servant sped in safety back!
I cannot go any other way.” This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his And what a fund of charity would fail!
chin, Thus Heaven instructs thy mind; this trial And staidly, solemnly waded in, o'er,
And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more.”
tight On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew; O'er his forehead, so cold and white. The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew ; Thus stood Elisha, when, to mount on high, But a strong wind carried away his hat; His master took the chariot of the sky;
A moment he silently sighed over that, The fiery pomp ascending left the view, And then, as he gazed on the further shore, The prophet gazed, and wished to follow too. The coat slipped off and was seen no more. The bending hermit here a prayer begun :
As he entered Heaven his suit of gray "Lord, as in heaven, on earth thy will be
Went quietly sailing-away-away, done!” Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, About the width of his beaver's brim.
And none of the angels questioned him And passed a life of piety and peace.
Next came Dr. Watts with a bundle of psalms,
And hymns as many, a very wise thing,
sing. TALKING ari sestadietrlates the ever
of the various doctrines the saints be- But I thought he heaved an anxious sigh lieve,
As he saw the river ran broad and high, That night I stood in troubled dream,
And looked rather surprised, as, one by one, By the side of a darkly flowing stream.
The psalms and hymns in the waves went
down. And a “Churchman" down to the river came; When I heard a strange voice call his name. And after him with his mss., “Good father, stop; when you cross this tide
Come Wesley, the pattern of Godliness, You must leave your robes on the other side.” But he cried, “ Dear me! what shall I do?
The water has soaked me through and But the aged father did not mind,
And the saint, astonished, passed through How she longed to pass to the other side, alone,
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, Without the manuscripts, up to the throne. A voice arose from the brethren then:
“Let no one speak but the ‘holy men;'
For have you not heard the words of Paul : Then gravely walking, two saints by name,
"Oh! let the women keep silence all.""
I watched them long in my curious dream,
Till they stood by the borders of the stream; “Sprinkled or plunged ? may I ask you, But all the brethren were talking yet,
Then, just as I thought, the two were met; friend,
And would talk on, till the heaving tide How you attain to life's great end ?
Carried them over, side by side; “ Thus, with a few drops on my brow;"
Side by side, for the way was one, “But I have been dipped, as you'll see me
The toilsome journeying of life was done, now."
And all who in Christ the Savior died
Came out alike on the other side; “ And I really think it will hardly do,
No forms, or crosses, or books had they, As I'm close communion.' to cross with you; No gowns of silk, or suits of gray, You're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, No creeds to guide them, or manuscripts, But you must go that way, and I'll go this." For all had put on Christ's righteousness.
HABIT. IKE flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the earth, the seemingly unimportant events of life succeed one another. As the snow gathers together, so are our habits formed. No single flake that is added to the pile produces a sensible change, no single action creates, however it may exhibit, a man's character.
AT THE LAST. FEEL in myself the future life. I am like a forest which has been more than once cut down. The new shoots are stronger and livelier than ever. I am rising, I know, toward the sky. The sunshine is on my head. The earth gives me its generous sap, but Heaven
lights me with the reflection of unknown worlds. You say the soul is nothing but the resultant of bodily powers. Why, then, is my soul the most luminous when my bodily powers begin to fail? Winter is on my head and eternal Spring is in my heart. Then I breathe, at this hour, the fragrance of the lilacs, the violets and the roses, as at twenty years. The nearer I approach the end the plainer I hear around me the immortal symphonies of the worlds which invite me. It is marvelous, yet simple. It is a fairy tale, and it is history. For half a century I have been writing my thoughts in prose, verse, history, philosophy, drama, romance, tradition, satire, ode, song-I have tried all. But I feel that I have not said the thousandth part of what is in me. When I go down to the grave I can say, like so many others, “I have finished my day's work;" but I cannot say, “I have finished my life.” My day's work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley ; it is a thoroughfare. It closes in the twilight to open with the dawn. I improve every hour, because I love this world as my fatherland; because the truth compels me as it compelled Voltaire, that human divinity. My work is only a beginning. My monument is hardly above its foundation. I would be glad to see it mounting and mounting forever. The thirst for the infinite proves infinity.