While saying this, I gladly own my obligations for many valuable hints, and for a profuse loan of books, to a revered friend, at Nedging, whose life is a round of kind offices to those about him-who shrinks from publicity, but courts usefulness-the beau idéal of a quiet country pastor. Holding that all our efforts when linked with SACRED TRUTH should have a distinct and definite aim, and, if possible, be consecrated by a deliberate offering unto THE SUPREME, let me add, that if this attempt meet with public favour, in its success will not be forgotten-"The Hospital for the Cure of Consumption at Brompton," a valuable and much-needed home of refuge in our changeable climate, and for our over-tasked artisans; and also that interesting and nobly-conducted institution, "The Wanstead Infant Orphan Asylum." What subjects can commend themselves more irresistibly to the heart of the compassionate and the thoughtful, than the helplessness of the orphan, and the necessities of the dying? For the rest, let me say in the words of a gifted Poetess, who deserves to be better known, Mrs. Sarah F. Adams, "The world may change from old to new, From new to old again; Yet hope and heaven, for ever true, The dreams that bless the weary soul, The struggles of the strong, Are steps towards some happy goal, The story of hope's song. Hope leads the child to plant the flower, The man to sow the seed; Nor leaves fulfilment to her hour But prompts again to deed. And ere upon the old man's dust The grass is seen to wave, We look through falling tears, to trust Hope's sunshine on the grave. Oh! no! it is no flattering lure, No fancy, weak or fond; When hope would bid us rest secure In better life beyond. Nor love, nor shame, nor grief, nor sin, Her promise may gainsay; The voice divine hath spoke within, And God did ne'er betray." Rectory, Suffolk. May 17th, 1848. |