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Nor for itself it stands alone ;

The seaman's friend, it shines from far, As though an angel from the throne

Came down to be his leading star.

It warns to shun the breakers near,

Smooth into port the vessel guides, Points where a wider course to steer,

Shows how to 'scape conflicting tides. Thus built upon eternal truth,

High in mid-heaven, o'er land and sea, Christ's Church holds forth to age and youth

A beacon and a sanctuary.- James Montgomery.

513. CHURCH: neglected.

SELDOM at church, 'twas such a busy life : But duly sent his family and wife.- Pope.

514. CHURCH. Peril of the

Hard, rugged, shapeless at the first, yet destined

each to shine, Moulded beneath His patient hand in purity Divine. Oh, glorious process ! see the proud grow lowly,

gentle, meek; See floods of unaccustom'd tears gush down the

harden'd cheek : Perchance the hammer's heavy stroke o'erthrew

some idol fond; Perchance the chisel rent in twain some precious,

tender bond. Behold he prays whose lips were seal'd in silent

scorn before ; Sighs for the closet's holy calm, and hails the wel.

come door; Behold he works for Jesus now, whose days went

idly past : Oh! for more mouldings of the hand that works a

change so vast ! Ye look'd on one, a well-wrought stone, a saint

of God matured, — What chisellings that heart had felt, what chasten

ing strokes endured ! But mark'd ye not that last soft touch, what perfect

grace it gave, Ere Jesus bore His servant home, across the dark

some wave? Home to the place His grace design'd that chosen

soul to fill, In the bright temple of the saved, 'upon His holy

hill ;' Home to the noiselessness, the peace of those sweet

shrines above, Whose stones shall never be displaced --set in re

deeming love. Lord, chisel, chasten, polish us, each blemish work

away, Cleanse us with purifying blood, in spotless robes

array ; And thus, Thine image on us stamp'd, transport us

to the shore, Where not a stroke was ever felt, for none is needed

Watch! watch ! the subtle peril threats

The freedom of the bride;
The foe, unweary, ne'er forgets

His spirit-snares to hide.
The watchman on the walls can guard

While marshall'd armies wait;
But vain are sleepless watch and ward,

If treason opes the gate.

To arms! the martial shout prolong,

Unfurl the flag again ;
Give battle to the false and wrong ;
God needeth earnest men.

W. Morley Punshon.

515. CHURCH. Pride at

Some go to church, proud humbly to repent,
And then come back more guilty than they went:
One way they look, another way they steer,
Pray to the gods, but would have mortals hear;
And when their sins they set sincerely down,
They'll find that their religion has been one.

Young. 516. CHURCH. Redemption of the


512. CHURCH. The: a Lighthouse. The light-house founded on a rock,

Casts o'er the food its radiant eye, Firm amidst ocean's heaviest shock,

Serene beneath the stormiest sky. Though winds and waters rage and foam,

Though darkness lowers like Egypt's night, Here peace and safety find a home;

In this small Goshen there is light.

A LITTLE flock! Yes, even so;

A handful among men :
Such is the purpose of thy God;

So willeth He; Amen!
Not many rich or noble call'd,

Not many great or wise ;
They whom God makes His kings and priests

Are poor in human eyes.

A little flock! 'Tis well, 'tis well ;

Such be her lot and name; Through ages past it has been so,

And now 'tis still the same.
But the chief Shepherd comes at length,

Her feeble days are o'er ;
No more a handful in the earth,

A little flock no more.
No more a lily among thorns ;

Weary, and faint, and few,
But countless as the stars of heaven,

Or as the early dew.
Then entering the eternal halls,

In robes of victory,
That mighty multitude shall keep

The joyous jubilee.
Unfading palms they bear aloft,

Unsaltering songs they sing ;
Unending festival they keep,

In presence of the King!-Bonar.

We mark her goodly battlements,

And her foundations strong ;
We hear within the solemn voice

Of her unending song.
For not like kingdoms of the world

Thy holy Church, O God !
Though earthquake shocks are threat'ning her,

And tempests are abroad;
Unshaken as eternal hills,

Immovable she stands,
A mountain that shall fill the earth,

A house not made with hands.-A. C. Coxe.

519. CHURCH OF ROME: her claims.

They would assume, with wondrous art, Themselves to be the whole who are but part Of that vast frame the Church ; yet grant they were The handers down, can they from thence inser A right t' interpret? Or would they alone, Who brought the present, claim it for their own ?

Dryden. 520. CHURCH-YARD: the place where all men

are equal. The solitary, silent, solemn scene, Where Cæsars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie Blended in dust together ; where the slave Rests from his labours; where th' insulting proud Resigns his power, the miser drops his hoard; Where human folly sleeps.--Dyer.

517. CHURCH. Spread of the THE Banyan of the Indian isle

Strikes deeply down its massive root, And spreads its branching life abroad,

And bends to earth with scarlet fruit; But when the branches reach the ground,

They firmly plant themselves again : They rise and spread and droop and root,

An ever-green and endless chain. And so the Church of Jesus Christ,

The blessed Banyan of our God, Fast-rooted upon Zion's mount,

Has sent its sheltering arms abroad; And every branch that from it springs,

In sacred beauty spreading wide, As low it bends to bless the earth,

Still plants another by its side. Long as the world itself shall last,

The sacred Banyan still shall spread ; From clime to clime, from age to age,

Its sheltering shadow shall be shed. Nations shall seek its pillar'd shade,

Its leaves shall for their healing be: The circling food that feeds its life,

The blood that crimson'd Calvary.

521. CHURCH-YARD. The village BENEATH those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield !

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile

The short and simple annals of the poor.

518. CHURCH. Stability of the Oh where are kings and empires now,

Of old that went and came ? But, Lord, Thy Church is praying yet,

A thousand years the same.

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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd muse, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, The place of fame and elegy supply; Await alike the inevitable hour ;

And many a holy text around she strews, The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

That teach the rustic moralist to die. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted | Left the warm precints of the cheerful day, vault,

Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.- Gray. Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

522. CIRCUMVENTION. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

They must sweep my way, Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ;

And marshal me to knavery: let it workHands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,

For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ;

Hoist with his own petard ; and 't shall go hard, But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

But I will delve one yard below their mines, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; And blow them at the moon. --Shakespeare. Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,


your wrongs conceal'd, And froze the genial current of the soul.

And patient as the tortoise ; let this camel Full many a gem of purest ray serene

Stalk o'er your back unbruised : sleep with the lion, The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; And let this brood of secure foolish mice Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

Play with your nostrils, till the time be ripe And waste its fragrance on the desert air.

For the bloody audit, and the fatal gripe :

Aim like a cunning fowler, close one eye, Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,

That you the better may your game espy.-Webster. The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ;

523. CITIZENS. Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

These base mechanics never keep their words The applause of listening senates to command,

In anything they promise. 'Tis their trade The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To swear and break ; they all grow rich by breaking To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,

More than their words; their honesties and credits And read their history in a nation's eyes. Are still the first commodities they put off. - Jonson. Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone

The fawning citizen, whose love's bought dearest, Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ;

Deceives his brother when the sun shines clearest, Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,

Gets, borrows, breaks, lets in and stops out light, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ;

And lives a knave, to leave his son a knight. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,

Brown. To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,

The cit—a common councilman by place, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride

Ten thousand mighty nothings in his face, With incense kindled at the muse's flame.

By situation as by nature great, Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,

With nice precision parcels out the state; Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ;

Proves and disproves, affirms and then denies,

Objects himself, and to himself replies: Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life

Wielding aloft the politician's rod, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Makes Pitt by turns a devil and a god : Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,

Maintains ev'n to the very teeth of power, Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

The same thing right and wrong in half an hour ; With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck’d, Now all is well, now he suspects a plot, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

And plainly proves whatever is—is not :

Smallest helps, if rightly given,

Make the impulse stronger ; 'Twill be strong enough one day ;

Wait a little longer.-Mackay.


Is not the care of souls a load sufficient ?
Are not your holy stipends paid for this ?
Were you not bred apart from worldly noise
To study souls, their cures, and their diseases ?
The province of the soul is large enough
To fill up every cranny of your time,
And leave you much to answer, if one wretch
Be damn'd by your neglect. -- Dryden.

Fearfully wise, he shakes his empty head,
And deals out empires as he deals out thread ;
His useless scales are in a corner flung,
And Europe's balance hangs upon his tongue.

Saburban villas, highway-side retreats,
That dread th' encroachment of our growing streets,
Tight boxes, neatly sash'd, and in a blaze
With all a July's sun's collected rays,
Delight the citizen, who gasping there
Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air.

Cowper. 524. CIVILIZATION. Triumph of THERE's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming;
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray

Of the good time coming.
Cannon balls may aid the truth,

But thought's a weapon stronger ;
We'll win the battle by its aid-

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming ;
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And Right, not Might, shall be the lord,

In the good time coming.
Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,

And be acknowledged stronger ;
The proper impulse has been given ;

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming ;
War in all men's eyes shall be
A monster of iniquity

In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel then,

To prove which is the stronger ;
Nor slaughter men for glory's sake :

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming ;
Hateful rivalries of creed
Shall not make their martyrs bleed

In the good time coming.
Religion shall be shorn of pride,

And flourish all the stronger ;
And Charity shall trim her lamp :

Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming ;
Let us aid it all we can-
Every woman, every man-

The good time coming.

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild,
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed nor wish'd to change his place;
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour ;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.


At church with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place ;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.


526. CLOSET. Waiting in the

LORD, I have shut my door,Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise : Here in this silence they intrude no more.

Speak Thou, and heavenly joys
Shall fill my heart with music sweet and calm,

A holy psalm.
Yes, I have shut my door
Even on all the beauty of Thine earth,-
To its blue ceiling from its emerald floor,

Fill'd with spring's bloom and mirth: From these Thy works I turn, Thyself I seek,

To Thee I speak.

And I have shut my door On earthly passion, - all its yearning love, Its tender friendships, all the priceless store

Of human ties. Above All these my heart aspires, O Heart Divine !

Stoop Thou to mine.

Lord, I have shut my door !
Come Thou and visit me: I am alone !
Come, as when doors were shut Thou cam'st of yore,

And visitedst Thine own.
My Lord ! I kneel with reverent love and fear ;

For Thou art here !- Mary E. Atkinson.

My Saviour ! Thee possessing,

I have the joy, the balm, The healing and the blessing,

The sunshine and the psalm ! The promise for the fearful,

The Elim for the faint, The rainbow for the tearful,

The glory for the saint.-Jane Crewdson.

527. COMET.
LONE traveller through the fields of air,

What may thy presence here portend ?
Art come to greet the planets fair,

As friend greets friend ?
Whate'er thy purpose, thou dost teach

Some lessons to the humble soul;
Though far and dim thy pathway reach,

Yet still thy goal
Tends to the fountain of that light

From whence thy golden beams are won : So should we turn from earth's dark night,

To God our sun.-Mrs Hale.

528. COMFORT. Common THERE is a heaven yet to rest my soul on In the midst of all unhappiness, which I look on With the same comfort as a distressed seaman Afar off views the coast he would enjoy, When yet the seas do toss his reeling bark 'Twixt hope and danger. -Shirley.

530. COMFORT : how it is to be obtained. Is thy cruse of comfort failing ? rise and share it

with another, And through all the years of famine it shall serve

thee and thy brother. Love Divine will fill the storehouse, or thy handful

still renew; Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast for

two. For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth is

living gain; Seeds, which mildew in the garner, scatter'd, fill

with gold the plain. Is thy burden hard and heavy ? do thy steps drag

wearily? Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear

both it and thee. Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou

sleep amidst the snow ? Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together

both shall glow. Art thou stricken in life's battle? many wounded

round thee moan ; Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that balm

shall heal thine own. Is the heart a well left empty? None but God ils

void can fill; Nothing but a ceaseless Fountain can its ceaseless

longings fill; Is the heart a living power? Self-entwined, its

strength sinks low; It can only live in loving, and by serving love will

grow.-Mrs Charles.

529. COMFORT. Experience of

I've found a joy in sorrow,

A secret balm for pain,
A beautiful to-morrow

Of sunshine after rain.
I've found a branch of healing

Near every bitter spring ;
A whisper'd promise stealing

O’er every broken string.
I've found a glad hosanna

For every woe and wail,
A handful of sweet manna

When grapes from Eshcol fail.
I've found a Rock of Ages

When desert wells were dry;
And, after weary stages,

I've found an Elim nigh,-
An Elim, with its coolness,

Its fountains, and its shade!
A blessing in its fulness,

When buds of promise fade !
O'er tears of soft contrition,

I've seen a rainbow light ;
A glory and fruition,

So near !-yet out of sight.

531. COMFORT. Prayer for

SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet,
From out the hallelujahs sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so,
Who art not miss'd by any that entreat.
Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet,-
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber, while I go
In reach of Thy Divinest voice complete
In humanest affection,—thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing! As a child,

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