word of the Lord was precious, and when there was no open vision." It was at that age that his spirit fell upon David, while he was yet the youngest of his father's sons, and when, among the mountains of Bethlehem, he fed his father's sheep. 2. It was at that age, also, "that they brought young children unto Christ, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it he was much displeased, and said to them, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." If these, then, are the effects and promises of youthful piety, rejoice, O young man, in thy youth! Rejoice in those days which are never to return, when religion comes to thee in all its charms, and when the God of nature reveals himself to thy soul like the mild radiance' of the morning sun, when he rises amid the blessings of a grateful world. 3. If already devotion hath taught thee her secret pleasures; if, when nature meets thee in all its magnificence or beauty, thy heart humbleth itself in adoration before the hand which made it, and rejoiceth in the contemplation of the wisdom by which it is maintained; if, when revelation unvails her mercies, and the Son of God comes forth to give peace and hope to fallen man, thine eye follows with astonishment the glories of his path, and pours at last over his cross those pious tears which it is a delight to shed; if thy soul accompanieth him in his triumph over the grave, and entereth on the wings of faith into that heaven "where he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high," and seeth the "society of angels and of the spirits of just men made perfect," and listeneth to the "everlasting song which is sung before the throne;" if such are the meditations in which thy youthful hours are passed, renounce not, for all that life can offer thee in exchange, these solitary joys. 4. The world which is before thee, the world which thine imagination paints in such brightness, has no pleasures to bestow that can compare with these. And all that its boasted wisdoin can produce has nothing so acceptable in the sight of Heaven, as this pure offering of thy soul. In these days, "the Lord him 'Ra'di ance, brightness shooting in rays, luster.- Mag nif' i cence, grandeur of appearance.-- Med i tå' tions, deep thoughts. Amid the green self is thy shepherd, and thou dost not want. pastures, and by the still waters" of youth, he now makes "thy soul to repose." 5. But the years draw nigh, when life shall call thee to its trials; the evil days are on the wing, when "thou shalt say thou hast no pleasure in them ;" and, as thy steps advance, "the valley of the shadow of death opens," through which thou must pass at last. It is then thou shalt know what it is to ". remember thy Creätor in the days of thy youth." In these days of trial or of awe, "his Spirit shall be with you," and thou shalt fear no ill; and, amid every evil which surrounds you, "he shall restore thy soul. His goodness and mercy shall follow thee all the days of thy life;" and when at last the "silver cord is loosed,1 thy spirit shall return to the God who gave it, and thou shalt dwell in the house of the Lord forever." ARCHIBALD ALISON. 164. THE PURE IN HEART SHALL MEET AGAIN. 1 IF orbs whwelling sphere, [F yon bright orbs which gem the night, Be each a blissful dwelling sphere, Where, kindred spirits reünite, Whom death hath tōrn asunder here,― And leave this dreary world afar,— 2. But oh, how dark, how drear, how lone, 1" Silver cord is loosed," a beautiful figurative expression for death. 3. It can not be; each hope, each fear, That lights the eye, or clouds the brow, Than this bleak world that holds us now. When heaviest weighs life's galling chain,- WILLIAM LEGGETT. 165. DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. HE was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from SHE trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death. Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter-berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. "When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." Those were her words. 2. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird-a poor, slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed-was stirring nimbly in its cage, and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever! Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrōw was dead, indeed, in her; but peace and perfect happiness were born-imaged-in her tranquil' beauty and profound repose. 3. And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes! the old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild and lovely look. So shall we know the angels, in their majesty, after death. 'Trån' quil, quiet; calm; undisturbed. 4. The old man held one languid' arm in his, and the small, tight hand folded to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile-the hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now; and, as he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her. 5. She was dead, and past all help, or need of help. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast, the garden she had tended, the eyes she had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour, the paths she had trodden, as it were, but yesterday, could know her no more. 6. "It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, "it is not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is, compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, expressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her back to life, which of us would utter it!" 7. She had been dead two days. They were all about her ai the time, knowing that the end was drawing on. She died soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night; but, as the hours crept on, she sank to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with the old man: they were of no painful scenes, but of those who had helped them and used them kindly; for she often said "God bless you!" with great fervor. 8. Waking, she never wandered in her mind but once, and that was a beautiful music, which, she said, was in the air. God knows. It may have been. Opening her eyes, at last, from a věry quiet sleep, she begged that they would kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man, with a lovely smile upon her face—such, they said, as they had never seen, and never could forget-and clung, with both her arms, about Languid (lång gwid), drooping; without activity or animation his neck. She had never murmured or complained; but, with a quiet mid, and manner quite unaltered-save that she every day became more earnest and more grateful to them—faded like the light upon the summer's evening. 9. The child who had been her little friend, came there, almost as soon as it was day, with an offering of dried flowers, which he begged them to lay upon her breast. He told them of his dream again, and that it was of her being restored to them, just as she used to be. He begged hard to see her; saying that he would be very quiet, and that they need not fear his being alarmed, for he had sat alone by his younger brother all day long when he was dead, and had felt glad to be so near him. They let him have his wish; and, indeed, he kept his word, and was, in his childish way, a lesson to them all. 10. Up to that time, the old man had not spoken once—except to her or stirred from the bedside. But when he saw her little favorite, he was moved as they had not seen him yet, and made as though he would have him come nearer. Then, pointing to the bed, he burst into tears for the first time, and they who stood by, knowing that the sight of this child had done him good, left them alone together. 11. Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child persuaded him to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do almost as he desired him. And, when the day came on which they must remove her, in her earthly shape, from earthly eyes forever, he led him away, that he might not know when she was taken from him. They were to gather fresh leaves and berries for her bed. 12. And now the bell-the bell she had so often heard by night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure, almost as a living voice-rung its remorseless' toll for her, so young, so beautiful, so good. Decrepit' age, and vigorous life, and blooming youth, and helpless infancy, poured forth-on crutches, in the pride of health and strength, in the full blush of promise, in the mere dawn of life-to gather round her tomb. Old men were there, whose eyes were dim and senses failing; grandmothers, who might have died ten years ago, and still been old; 1 Re morse less, having no compassion or pity; pitiless. De crep' it infirm; feeble. |