Imagens da página

Thy sins, tho' scarlet, shall be white as snow,

Mountains may totter, promises are sure !
Art thou polluted ? to the fountain go,
There drop thy burden-wash thee and be pure ;
And feeling thy disease, accept the offered cure.
Thou canst not doubt the virtue of that stream,

Or if thou dost, remember I was there ;
Pardon, peace, life, are found in Jesu's name,

More full than thought can reach, more free than air.
Dost thou enquire on what condition ? where ?

What depth of sorrow ? with how sad a brow?
Join to thy present grief, believing prayer:
This moment at His footstool prostrate bow;
This is salvation's day, the time accepted now.
Thou can'st not purchase what's already bought,

The mere idea is absurd as vain ;
Nay worse, 'tis impious, at least in thought,

Works cannot merit; pilgrimages gain,
What cost our great Redeemer so much pain,

For which he suffered, bow'd his head and died. The crimson current cleanses every stain, Faith is the hand by which it is applied ; Faith is the only means" by faith,” thou’rt “justified.' “All things are ready now," the Father stands,

Beaming compassion, whilst He cries, “my child!' For thee, the Son extends His wounded hands,

Prays and beseeches thee “ be reconciled," And hark! the whispers of His Spirit mild,

Arise "why tarriest thou ?" disdain to dread; Spring forth my sister, be no more beguiled,

Angels might weep, had angels tears to shed, To see the hungry soul, refuse the living bread. Art thou afraid to trust Him? Oh! beware,

There's something selfish in a servile fear ; Cast self away, to Jesu's feet repair,

Tell Him, "I'll perish, if I perish, here !" Stretch forth thy hand, he brings the sceptre near,

[ocr errors]

“What wilt thou Esther," what wouldst thou receive? " Lord ! as a guilty rebel I appear, Or send me from Thee, or my sins forgive ; I venture on Thy word, I must, I do believe." Dost thou ? then wondrous truth the cherub throng

With deepened rapture hallelujahs sing ?
Dost thou ? then catch the theme, the notes prolons,

Cry“endless glory to the Eternal King !"
Shout the full triumph till thy soul takes wing,

And feels a transport never felt before ;
Fly, break the willow, strike each a joyful string,
Thy harp shall know a plaintive sound no more ;
But all within rejoice, love, wonder, and adore !
Farewell, my sister, may the shadows fade ;

And day celestial open on thy view !
May He, whom I implore, impart His aid,

And in His image all thy soul renew;
The snare discover, force thy passage through,

And unbelief with power Almighty rend!
Only pray on ; thy morning days are few,
Soon shall the sinner meet the sinner's Friend ;
Thy sorrow disappear, thy comforts have no end.


I CAN'T TELL A LIE, FATHER. When the celebrated George Washington was about six years of age, some one made him a present of a hatchet. Like other children, exceedingly fond of what is new, he went about chopping everything that came in his way; and going into the garden, he unluckily tried its edge on a very choice cherry-tree, stripping off its bark, and leaving but little hope of its recovery. When, on the next morning, his father saw the tree, which was a great favourite, in this wretched plight, he inquired who had done the mischief, declaring that he would sooner have given five guineas than it should have occurred; but no one could

inform him of the offender. At length, however, George advanced with his hatchet, and immediately he was sus-, ! pected of being the culprit. “George," said his father, “ do you know who killed that beautiful little cherrytree ?The child hesitated for a moment, and then nobly replied, “I can't tell a lie, father ; you know I can't tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.” “Run to my arms, my boy!” exclaimed his father ;"run to my arms ! Glad am I, George, that you have killed my cherry-tree, for you have paid me for it a thousand-fold ! Such an act of heroism in my son is worth more than a thousand cherrytrees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of gold !”

Cheerfully do we join in this tribute of an affectionate and delighted parent. “The lip of truth shall be established for ever, but a lying tongue is but for a moment." It gains nothing but the disadvantage of being discredited when the truth is spoken ; and this, apart from its moral evil, should keep it silent. Its offensiveness to God has, however, been fearfully displayed in the punishment and immediate death of some who have nttered falsehoods. A regard for truth is always delightful. A party of Moors made an attack on the flocks of a village, and an African youth was mortally wounded. The natives placed him on horseback, and conducted him home, while his mother preceded the mournful group, proclaiming his excellent qualities, and by her clasped hands and streaming eyes,

1 discovering the inward bitterness of her soul. But the chief one she mentioned was thus expressed-may a similar testimony be borne to you !-"He nerer, neder, never told a lie !"

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]


THERE was once a young Virginian, and a noble boy was

he, Yet he sprang not from a princely line, nor was of high

degree ; But the clear blood mantled in his cheek, the light flash'd

from his eye, And his presence was right noble, FOR HE NEVER TOLD


Now his home was near a forest, filled with lofty

branching trees; And his wont had been to try his knife, boy-fashion,

upon these : We may think that he, not seldom too, had snapped the

brittle toy, Ere his father found a hatchet stout, and bought it

for the boy. Who so proud as our young woodsman now ? His soul

is full of glee; He will try his keen-edged tool at once upon the nearest

tree; So he hies him round his father's house, and waves it in

the air, When (evil was the hour!) he spies a fruit-tree planted


Oh, the mischief in that bold, bright eye! the mischief in

that hand! For the favourite tree is ruined, though the finest in the


Yet no eye hath seen the ruin wrought, and he will go

his way;

Why not shroud his fault in silence, light the blame on

whom it may ? But ve boy was better than his thought! His father saw

thi tree :

“Who hath done this wanton mischief here?” impatiently

cried he. 'Twas the struggle of a moment, though 'twas easy to

deny; Then he summond up his courage,—"Sir, I CANNOT TELL

A LIE.” I wish you could have seen his father's features now; He forgot his petty sorrow as he read that open brow. Then he clasp'd him in his arms, and said, -fit words for

son and sire, “I had rather loze a thousand trees than have my son

a liar.” So the fearless boy grew up to be a noble, fearless man; Match his virtues in long centuries, if match them so

ye can: That shall be a glorious century which of patriots yields

us one, Of glory fit to mate with that of our owa Wastixo'rox.


THE PLANET SATURN. Our young readers will be glad to learn that their friend, the author of the excellent Astronomical articles in the “Hive” of the last two years, h:27 recently become distinguished as a Discoverer in relation to one of the Planets described by him. The following is taken from one of the Daily Journals of the North

"Every improvement of the telescope brings to light some new feature in the appearance of Saturn. Many of our readers are prob:ibly not aware that during the last three or four years, when the planet has been very favour: ably situated, with the ring fully opened, the attention of astronomers, possessing powerful telescopes, has been directed to an appearance on the outer bright ring, which was asserted to be another divisioa-thus forming three

« AnteriorContinuar »