When the first cry, weak and piteous,
Heralds long-enduring pain,
And a soul from non-existence

Springs, that ne'er can die again ;
When the mother's passionate welcome,
Sorrow-like, bursts forth in tears,
And a sire's self-gratulation
Prophesies of future years—

It is well we cannot see
What the end will be.

When the boy, upon the threshold
Of his all-comprising home,
Puts aside the arm maternal

That unlocks him ere he roam;
When the canvas of his vessel
Flutters to the favouring gale,
Years of solitary exile

Hid behind the sunny sail; When his pulses beat with ardour, And his sinews stretch'd for toil, And a hundred bold emprises

Lure him to that eastern soil

It is well we cannot see
What the end shall be.

When the altar of religion
Greets the expectant bridal pair,
And the vow that lasts till dying
Vibrates on the sacred air;
When man's lavish protestations
Doubts of after-change defy,
Comforting the frailer spirit

Bound his servitor for aye;

When beneath love's silver moonbeams
Many rocks in shadow sleep,
Undiscover'd, till possession
Shows the danger of the deep-
It is well we cannot see
What the end shall be.

Whatsoever is beginning

That is wrought by human skill; Every daring emanation

Of the mind's ambitious will; Every first impulse of passion,

Gush of love or twinge of hate; Every launch upon the waters Wide-horizon'd by our fate; Every venture in the chances

Of life's sad, oft desperate game,
Whatsoever be our motive,
Whatsoever be our aim-

It is well we cannot see
What the end shall be.

1031. END OF THE WORLD. Safety at th

STAND the omnipotent decree;

Jehovah's will be done!
Nature's end we wait to see,

And hear her final groan.

Let this earth dissolve, and blend
In death the wicked and the just :
Let those ponderous orbs descend,
And grind us into dust.

Rests secure the righteous man;
At his Redeemer's beck
Sure to emerge and rise again,

And mount above the wreck.
Lo, the heavenly spirit towers,
Like flame, o'er nature's funeral pyre;
Triumphs in immortal powers,

And claps his wings of fire.

Nothing hath the just to lose

By worlds on worlds destroy'd; Far beneath his feet he views,

With smiles, the flaming void; Sees this universe renew'd, The grand millennial reign begun; Shouts with all the sons of God

Around the eternal throne.

Resting in this glorious hope
To be at last restored,
Yield we now our bodies up,

To earthquake, plague, or sword:
Listening for the call divine,
The latest trumpet of the seven,
Soon our soul and dust shall join,
And both fly up to heaven.

Charles Wesley.

1032. ENDEAVOUR. Benefit of

A MOANING cry, as the world rolls by,
Through gloom of cloud and glory of sky,
Rings in my ears for ever:

And I know not what it profits a man
To plough and sow, to study and plan,
And reap the harvest never.

'Abide, in truth abide,'

Spake a low voice at my side, 'Abide thou, and endeavour.'

And even though, after care and toil,
I should see my hopes from a kindly soil,
Though late, yet blooming ever,
Perchance the prize were not worth the pain,
Perchance this fretting and wasting of brain
Wins its true guerdon never.

'Abide, in love abide,'

The tender voice replied, 'Abide thou, and endeavour.'

'Strive, endeavour: it profits more

To fight and fail, than on Time's dull shore
To sit an idler ever;

For to him who bares his arm to the strife,
Firm at his post in the battle of life,
The victory faileth never.

Therefore in faith abide,' The earnest voice still cried, 'Abide thou, and endeavour.'

1033 ENDURANCE. Angel of
A STRONG and mailed angel,
With eyes serene and deep,
Unwearied and unwearying,
His patient watch doth keep.
A strong and mailed angel

In the midnight and the day;
Walking with me at my labour,
Kneeling by me when I pray.

What he says no other heareth;
None listen save the stars,
That move in arm'd battalions,
Clad with the strength of Mars.

Low are the words he speaketh-
'Young dreamer, God is great!

'Tis glorious to suffer !

'Tis majesty to wait!'

Oh, Angel of Endurance!
Oh, saintly and sublime!
White are the armed legions

That tread the halls of Time!
Blessed and brave, and holy!
The olive on my heart,
Baptized with Thy baptizing,
Shall never more depart.

Oh, strong and mailed angel!
Thy trailing robes I see!
Read other souls the lesson

So meekly read to me!

Still chant the same grand anthem—

The beautiful and great-
"Tis glorious to suffer,
'Tis majesty to wait!'

1034 ENDURANCE. Reward of
A LITTLE longer still-patience, beloved :
A little longer still, ere heaven unroll

The glory, and the brightness, and the wonder,
Eternal and divine, that waits thy soul.

A little longer ere life, true, immortal

(Not this our shadowy life), will be thine own, And thou shalt stand where wing'd archangels worship,

And trembling bow before the Great White Throne.

A little longer still, and heaven awaits thee,
And fills thy spirit with a great delight;
Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten,
Our sun a darkness, and our days a night.

A little longer, and thy heart, beloved,

Shall beat for ever with a love divine; And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal, No mortal knows and lives, shall then be thine.

A little longer yet, and angel voices

Shall sing in heavenly chant upon thine ear; Angels and saints await thee, and God needs thee: Beloved, can we bid thee linger here?

1035. ENDURANCE: the Christian's duty.
'HAVING done all, to stand '-the words ring down
Th' echoing corridors of time. No frown
Of adverse fortune when in fickle mood;
No fear of foes that lie in wait for blood;
The venom'd sting of friendship, false and dead
When sorest needed; not the crushing tread
Of bitter grief upon the bleeding heart;

Nor yet the great arch-fiend's most subtle dart
Could from those lips the smallest tribute wring,
That conquering cried: 'O Death! where is thy
sting?

O Grave! where is thy victory?' He stood fast
Through light and storm; finish'd his course at last ;
And, having kept the faith, the battle won,
Received the crown from God's Eternal Son.

Scorning the foes that in the billows lurk,
Unawed it stands, and, standing, does its work;
And, though it move not, yet amid the crash
Of warring elements, the welcome flash
Sends life and hope to thousands.

So may we,

With earnest, patient purpose, steadfastly
Stand and resist the billows tossing high;
And, as the lighthouse lenses multiply
The feeble lamps, so, though our light be faint,
The young disciple and the strongest saint
Can thousand-fold intensity impart,
Reflected from the mirror of a heart
Burnish'd by love for God. Nor shines in vain,
If from the deep death of the angry main
One soul be saved, though hundreds, tempest-toss'd,
Heedless of warning, sink for ever lost.

Of all sad thoughts that through the memory roll,
The saddest this-I might have warn'd a soul.
So should we strive to keep the mirror bright,
That o'er life's sea may shine our feeble light;
With childlike faith, holding our Father's hand,
Always look up, and, having done all, stand.'
R. K. Carter.

I never see a wounded enemy,

Or hear of foe slain on the battle-field,
But I bethink me of his pleasant home,
And how his mother and his sisters watch
For one who never more returns. Poor souls!
I've often wept to think how they must weep.
Mrs Hale.

1037. ENERGY. Want of
OUR remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
Shakespeare.

1038. ENGLAND. Freedom in

A HAMPDEN too is thine, illustrious land,
Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul,
Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age
To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again
In all thy native pomp of freedom bold.
Bright at his call, the age of men effulged,
Of men on whom late time a kindling eye
Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read.
Thomson.

'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's Isle,
And makes her barren rocks and her bleak moun-
tains smile.-Addison.

If to Judæa we our worship trace;

If our best learning to Achaia's race;

If Europe owes to Rome her noblest laws;
The freedom of mankind is England's cause.
To law, to learning, to religion, she
Adds Heaven's own element of liberty.-Bailey.

Of old sat Freedom on the heights,

The thunders breaking at her feet :
Above her shook the starry lights;
She heard the torrents meet.
There in her place she did rejoice,

Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind,
But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.

Then stept she down through town and field
To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men reveal'd

The fulness of her face;

Grave mother of majestic works,

From her isle-altar gazing down,
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
And, King-like, wears the crown :
Her open eyes desire the truth.
The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;

That her fair form may stand and shine,
Make bright our days and light our dreams,
Turning to scorn with lips divine

The falsehood of extremes !-Tennyson.

1039. ENGLAND. Homes of

THE free, fair homes of England!

Long, long, in hut and hall,

May hearts of native proof be rear'd
To guard each hallow'd wall!
And green for ever be the groves,

And bright the flowery sod,

Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God !-Mrs Hemans.

1040. ENGLAND. Love of

ENGLAND, with all thy faults, I love thee still-
My country and while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost,
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer France
With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
To shake thy senate, and, from heights sublime
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart
As any thunderer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too; and with a just disdain
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks
Reflect dishonour on the land I love.-Cowper.

England! my country, great and free!
Heart of the world, I leap to thee!---Bailey.

1041. ENGLAND. Mission of

WHETHER this portion of the world were rent,
By the rude ocean, from the continent,
Or thus created; it was sure design'd
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.-Waller.

1042. ENGLAND. Position of

I' THE World's volume

Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest.-Shakespeare.
This scepter'd isle,

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-Paradise,
This fortress, built by Nature for herself,

COME the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them; nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.—Shakespeare.

England is safe, if true within itself.

'Tis better using France, than trusting France.
Let us be back'd with God and with the seas,
Which He hath given for fence impregnable,
And with their helps only defend ourselves;
In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies.
Shakespeare.

England never did (nor never shall)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.

Shakespeare.

Britain, the queen of isles, our fair possession
Secured by nature, laughs at foreign force;
Her ships her bulwark, and the sea her dike,
Sees plenty in her lap, and braves the world.
Havard.

Island of bliss! amid the subject seas,
That thunder round thy rocky coast, set up,
At once, the wonder, terror, and delight
Of distant nations: Whose remotest shores
Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm ;
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.
Thomson.

1044. ENGLISH NATION.

THE English nation, like the sea it governs,
Is bold and turbulent and easily moved;
And always beats against the shore that bounds it.
Crown.

1045. ENJOYMENT. Condition of

It was, we own, the subject of much debate,
And worthy men stood on opposing sides,
Whether the cup of mortal life had more
Of sour or sweet. Vain question this, when ask'd
In general terms, and worthy to be left
Unsolved. If most was sour-the drinker, not
The cup, we blame. Each in himself the means
Possess'd to turn the bitter sweet, the sweet
To bitter; hence from out the self-same fount,
One nectar drank, another draughts of gall.

Hence from the self-same quarter of the sky,
One saw ten thousand angels look, and smile;
Another saw as many demons frown.
One discord heard, where harmony inclined
Another's ear. The sweet was in the taste;
The beauty in the eye; and in the ear
The melody; and in the man-for God
Necessity of sinning laid on none-
To form the taste, to purify the eye,

And tune the ear, that all he tasted, saw,

Or heard, might be harmonious, sweet, and fair. Who would, might groan; who would, might sing for joy.-Pollok.

1048. ENNUI. Course of It is the constant revolution, stale And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, That palls and satiates, and makes languid life A pedler's pack, that bows the bearer down. Health suffers, and the spirits ebb; the heart Recoils from its own choice-at the full feast Is famish'd-finds no music in the song, No smartness in the jest; and wonders why. Yet thousands still desire to journey on, Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. The paralytic, who can hold her cards, But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits, Spectatrix both and spectacle, a sad And silent cipher, while her proxy plays.

Others are dragg'd into the crowded room
Between supporters; and, once seated, sit,
Through downright inability to rise,
Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again.
These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these
Themselves love life, and cling to a twig.
They love it, and yet loathe it ; fear to die,
Yet scorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the dread,
The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame,
And their inveterate habits, all forbid.-Cowper.

AH! how unjust to nature and himself, Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man! Like children babbling nonsense in their sports, We censure nature for a span too short : That span too short, we tax as tedious too; Torture invention, all expedients tire, To lash the lingering moments into speed, And whirl us (happy riddance !) from ourselves. Art, brainless art! our furious charioteer (For nature's voice, unstifled, would recall), Drives headlong towards the precipice of death! Death, most our dread; death, thus more dreadful made:

Oh, what a riddle of absurdity!

Leisure is pain; takes off our chariot-wheels:
How heavily we drag the load of life!
Bless'd leisure is our curse: like that of Cain,
It makes us wander; wander earth around
To fly that tyrant, thought. As Atlas groan'd
The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.
We cry for mercy to the next amusement:
The next amusement mortgages our fields;
Slight inconvenience! prisons hardly frown,