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 When high in health and all around is gay, Yet leads to folly, vanity, and tears; Build'st thou on Fame ?-the dancing meteor's ray Glides not more swift, more unperceived away. 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 the words of wisdom weigh, Mature the gathering ills of life beware, Aged- O, make His mighty arm thy stay, Who saves the weakest suppliant from despair, And bids the darken'd tomb a robe of glory wear. Anonymous. 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 iz 58. On the dark wave of Galilee The gloom of twilight gathers fast; And o'er the waters drearily Sweeps the bleak evening blast. The weary bird hath left the air, Still, near the lake, with weary tread, And, from his lone unsheltered head Why seeks not he a home of rest? Why seeks not he the pillowed bed? Such was the lot he freely chose, To bless, to save, the human race; And through his poverty there flows W. Russell. 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. I. O MINGLE with the widow's tears She bends beneath the weight of years; Her son - her only son is gone! Oh, who shall wipe that eye? The pall upon his corse is spread, It cannot rouse the slumbering dead, But who is He that stops the bier, The Saviour is that pitying one; 'Young man, arise!" Is in his mother's arms! a living son W. H. Furness. II. WAKE not, O mother, sounds of lamentation; Bear forth the cold corpse slowly, slowly bear him: 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. Heber. WHO says III. the widow's heart must break, The childless mother sink ?— 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, Even such an awful soothing calm |