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On Science? see! his favorite sons have fled
Like the pale lamp that lit their midnight toil, Forgotten as the flower that deck'd the vernal soil.
Build'st thou on Love?—the simple heart it cheers
Ah! why on sands like these thy temple rear? How shall its base the storms and billows shun? Seek the Eternal Rock with humble fear,
And on the tablet of each setting sun, Grave with a diamond's point, some deed of duty done.
If thou art young
Who saves the weakest suppliant from despair, And bids the darken'd tomb a robe of glory wear. Anonymous.
- the words of wisdom weigh,
THE POVERTY OF JESUS.
"Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head." - Luke is
On the dark wave of Galilee
The gloom of twilight gathers fast;
The weary bird hath left the air,
And sunk into his sheltered nest;
Still, near the lake, with weary tread,
Why seeks not he a home of rest?
Why seeks not he the pillowed bed?
Such was the lot he freely chose,
And through his poverty there flows
THE WIDOW OF NAIN.
"And he came and touched the bier; and they that bare him stood still. And he said; 'Young man, I say unto thee, arise.' And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak."- Luke vii. 14, 15.
O MINGLE With the widow's tears
The drops for misery shed:
She bends beneath the weight of years;
Her son - her only son is
The pall upon his corse is spread,
She follows on, without a tear,
But who is He that stops the bier,
The Saviour is that pitying one;
Is in his mother's, arms!
a living son
W. H. Furness.
WAKE not, O mother, sounds of lamentation;
Strong is the word of God to succor thee.
Bear forth the cold corpse slowly, slowly bear him: Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all.
Why pause the mourners? who forbids our weeping?
Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? 'Set down the bier- he is not dead, but sleeping. 'Young man, arise!'-He spake,and was obeyed.
Change, then, O sad one, grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee.
Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succor thee.
A kinder, truer voice I hear,
Which even beside that mournful bier
Whence parents's eyes would hopeless shrink,
Bids weep no more O heart bereft,
Feeling more bitterly alone
For friends that press officious round.
Yet is the voice of comfort heard,
But all is still, 'twixt hope and fear.
Even such an awful soothing calm