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Every plant, which my heavenly Father hath not planted, shall be rooted up."-Matthew xv. 13.

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SWIFT the tempest strips the wood,
Swift the sun dries up the flood,
Trophied domes and aisles decay;
Tribes and empires melt away,
Like the wreath of mountain snow,
When summer's breeze begins to blow.

Error, like the flimsy sail
Rent by every passing gale,
Floats her moment on the stream,
Glitters in the morning beam,
Dares the breath of Heaven to brave,
And founders in the foaming wave.

Even the little garden flower,
Once the joy of all the bower,
Fondly watched from day to day,
From its stem is swept away;
Yester morn, what bower so bright?
But, ah! how desolate to-night!

Nought endures but thou, O Lord;
Everlasting is thy word!

Thou, the first, the midst, the end;
Thou, the deathless, changeless friend:
Grant us, Lord, beyond the skies,
Flowers whose fragrance never dies.


"It is good for us to be here."-Matthew xvii. 4.

[The following lines were written in a church-yard, by Herbert Knowles, when he was about fifteen years old.]

METHINKS it is good to be here,

If thou wilt, let us build- but for whom?
Nor Elias, nor Moses appear,

But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom,
The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? Ah! no, Affrighted he shrinketh away;

For see! they would pin him below

To a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah! no: she forgets The charms which she wielded before : Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which, but yesterday, fools could adore, For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it


Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside,

And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding sheet, and the fringe of the shroud.

To Riches! Alas! 'tis in vain,

Who hid in their turns have been hid:

The treasures are squander'd again;

And here in the grave are all metals forbid, But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

Ah! here is a plentiful board,

But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah! no; they have wither'd and died, Or fled with the spirit above,Friends, brothers and sisters are laid side by side, Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

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Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve,

Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear

Which compassion itself could relieve; Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love or fear; Peace, peace, is the watchword, the only one here.

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? Ah! no; for his empire is known,

And here there are trophies enow; Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown.

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd;

And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies.

Herbert Knowles.


"Men ought always to pray."-Luke xviii. 1.

To prayer, to prayer; -for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all below and above,

The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this carly air,
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer;-
for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on.
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thought to the Guardian of

To prayer; -for the day that God has blessed
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new-born infant beside her lies.

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