2170. KNOWLEDGE: should be sought for soberly.

KNOWLEDGE is as food, and needs no less
Her temperance over appetite, to know

In measure what the mind may well contain;
Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns
Wisdom to folly.-Milton.

Who in deep mines for hidden knowledge toils, Like guns o'ercharged, breaks, misses, or recoils. Denham.

Search not to find what lies too deeply hid; Nor to know things whose knowledge is forbid. Denham.

2171. KNOWLEDGE. Thirst for

FIRST in man's mind we find an appetite
To learn and know the truth of everything;
Which is connatural, and born with it.-Davies.
The wish to know-the endless thirst,

Which even by quenching is awaked,
And which becomes or bless'd or cursed,
As is the fount whereat 'tis slaked.-Moore.

2172. KNOWLEDGE: to what it would prompt

us.

IF we knew, when walking thoughtless
Through the crowded, dusty way,
That some pearl of wondrous whiteness
Close beside our pathway lay,
We would pause where now we hasten,
We would oftener look around,
Lest our careless feet should trample
Some rare jewel in the ground.

If we knew what forms are fainting
For the shade which we should fling,
If we knew what lips are parching

For the water we should bring,
We would haste with eager footsteps,
We would work with willing hands,
Bearing cooling cups of water,

Planting rows of shading palms.

If we knew what feet were weary,
Climbing up the hills of pain;
By the world cast out as evil,

Poor, repentant Magdalenes;

We no more would dare to scorn them
With our Pharisaic pride,
Wrapping close our robes about us,
Passing on the other side.

If we knew when friends around us
Closely press to say 'Good-bye,'

Which among the lips that kiss us,
First beneath the flowers should lie,
While like rain upon their faces
Fell our bitter, blinding tears,
Tender words of love eternal

We would whisper in their ears.

2173. KNOWLEDGE. True

WHAT is true knowledge? Is it with keen eye
Of lucre's sons to thread the mazy way?
Is it of civic rights, and royal sway,
And wealth political, the depths to try?
Is it to delve the earth, or soar the sky?
To marshal nature's tribes in just array?
To mix, and analyze, and mete and weigh
Her elements, and all her powers descry?
These things, who will may know them, if to know
Breed not vain-glory. But o'er all to scan
God, in His works and word shown forth below;
Creation's wonders, and Redemption's plan;
Whence came we, what to do, and whither go;
This is true knowledge, and the whole of man,'
Mant.

Almighty Being,

Cause and support of all things, can I view
These objects of my wonder: can I feel
These fine sensations, and not think of Thee?
Thou who dost through th' eternal round of time,
Dost through th' immensity of space exist
Alone, shalt Thou excluded be
From this Thy universe? Shall feeble man
Think it beneath his proud philosophy
To call for Thy assistance, and pretend
To frame a world, who cannot frame a clod?
Not to know Thee, is not to know ourselves-
Is to know nothing-worth the care
Of man's exalted spirit.—Stillingfleet.

Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labour is glory!-the flying cloud lightens ;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens,
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens,

Play the sweet keys wouldst thou keep them in tune!

Labour is rest-from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us;
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us ;
Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill.
Work-and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work-thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow;
Lie not down 'neath Woe's weeping willow,

Work with a stout heart and resolute will!

Labour is health! Lo, the husbandman reaping,
How through his veins goes the life-current leaping!
How his strong arm in its stalworth pride sweeping,
True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides.
Labour is wealth-in the sea the pearl groweth ;
Rich the queen's robe from the cocoon floweth ;
From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ;
Temple and statue the marble block hides.

Droop not! though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee!

Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee! Look to the pure heaven smiling beyond thee!

Rest not content in thy darkness-a clod! Work for some good, be it ever so slowly! Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly! Labour -all labour is noble and holy; Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God. Frances S. Osgood.

2179. LABOUR. Burden of

LABOUR with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun.

By the bedside, on the stair,

At the threshold, near the gates, With its menace or its prayer, Like a mendicant it waits;

Waits, and will not go away; Waits, and will not be gainsaid;

By the cares of yesterday

Each to-day is heavier made;

Till at length the burden seems

Greater than our strength can bear, Heavy as the weight of dreams,

Pressing on us everywhere.

HAST thou then been hired to labour

In the vineyard of the Lord, With the promise that if faithful

Thou shalt win a sure reward?
Look, the tireless sun is hasting
Towards the zenith, and the day
Which in vanity thou'rt wasting,
Speedeth rapidly away!

Lo! the field is white for harvest,
And the labourers are few;
Canst thou, then, oh, slothful servant

Find no work that thou canst do?
Sitting idle in the vineyard;

Sleeping while the noon-day flies;
Dreaming while with every pulse-beat
Some frail mortal droops and dies.
Waken! overburden'd labourers,
Fainting in the sultry ray,
Cry against thee to the Master

As thou dream'st the hours away:
Waken! patient angels, bearing

Home earth's harvest, grieving see One by one the bright hours waning, And no sheaf secured by thee. When at last, the summer ended,

And the song of 'Harvest home,'
By God's blessed angels chanted,
Swells through heaven's celestial dome,
What wilt thou do, slothful servant,
With no gather'd sheaf to bring?
How wilt thou feel, empty-handed,
In the presence of thy King?

Lo! the field is white for harvest,
And the labourers are few;
Canst thou, then, oh, slothful servant,
Find no work that thou canst do?

Angels wait to bear the tidings

Of some good that thou hast done; Then, to patient, faithful labour, Waken, ere the set of sun!

2181. LABOUR. Christian is never in vain.

UPON the stormy waters

The bread of life we cast,

With cheerful trust believing It shall be found at last.

We see it but a moment,
Far drifting o'er the main,
But deathless, undecaying,
It shall be found again.

One eye shall ever watch it,
The eye of Him who sees
Each tiny seedling scatter'd
By summer's passing breeze;
That
eye which sees the coral,
As year by year it grows,
And counts the myriad crystals
Of Himalayan snows.

Sometimes with bitter weeping
The seed of life is sown,
With well-nigh hopeless pleadings,
To Jesus only known.

With hope deferr'd, the mother

Oft looks upon her child,

No plant of heaven is springing,

Though weeds grow rank and wild. The shades of evening gather Upon the Sabbath sky, From pastors and from teachers

The prayer ascends on high. Once more their hands have broken The true and heavenly bread ;

Let them believe not vainly

The table hath been spread!

Yes! On the stormy waters

We cast the bread of life, Vain are the surging waters, Vain is the tempest's strife. His never-failing promise Jehovah will fulfil,

And the seed be found in glory, When those proud waves are still.

2182. LABOUR. Encouragement to

Sow with a generous hand,

Pause not for toil or pain, Weary not through the heat of summer, Weary not through the cold spring rain; But wait till the autumn comes

For the sheaves of golden grain.
Scatter the seed, and fear not;

A table will be spread;
What matter if you are too weary
To eat your hard-earn'd bread:
Sow while the earth is broken,
For the hungry must be fed.
Sow, while the seeds are lying
In the warm earth's bosom deep,

And your warm tears fall upon it,—
They will stir in their quiet sleep,
And the green blades rise the quicker,
Perchance, for the tears you weep.
Then sow,-for the hours are fleeting,
And the seed must fall to-day;

And care not what hand shall reap it,
Or if you shall have pass'd away
Before the waving corn-fields

Shall gladden the sunny day.

Sow, and look onward, upward,

Where the starry light appears,— Where, in spite of the coward's doubting, Or your own heart's trembling fears,

You shall reap in joy the harvest
You have sown to-day in tears.

UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands ;
The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,

Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earn'd a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life

Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped

Fach burning deed and thought!-Longfellow.

2184. LABOUR: lightened by love.

THIS my mean task

Would be as heavy to me as odious; but
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead,
And makes my labours pleasures.-Shakespeare.

2185. LABOUR: necessary.

IF little labour, little are our gains : Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

Herrick.

The curse on the sons of men, in all their states, is labour,

Nevertheless, to the diligent, labour bringeth blessing;

The thought of duty sweeteneth toil, and travail is a pleasure;

And time spent in doing, hath a comfort that is not for the idle,

The hardship is transmuted into joy by the dear alchemy of mercy.

Labour is good for man, bracing up his energies to conquest,

And without it life is dull, the man perceiving himself useless.

For wearily the body groaneth, like a door on rusty hinges,

And the grasp of the mind is weakened, as the talons of a caged vulture.- Tupper.

2188. LAND. The better

'I HEAR thee speak of the better land ;
Thou callest its children a happy band.
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?
'Not there, not there, my child!'

Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or amidst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?'
'Not there, not there, my child!'

'Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,

And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?'
Not there, not there, my child!'

'Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep sounds of joy ;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom:
Far beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb-
It is there, it is there, my child !'-Mrs Hemans.

2189. LANGUAGE. Power of

WHEN Amruzail describes what he has seen,
Such power in his language lies,
That as he paints flocks, wastes, oases green,
His hearers' ears are turn'd to eyes!
Oriental, tr. by W. R. Alger.

2190. LAUGHTER.

WE look before and after,

And pine for what is not;

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught.—Shelley.

2191. LAW. Cost of

ONCE (says an author, when I need not say),
Two travellers found an oyster in their way:
Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong,
While, scale in hand, dame Justice pass'd along.
Before her each with clamour plead the laws,
Explain'd the matter, and would win the cause.
Dame Justice, weighing long the doubtful right,
Takes, opens, swallows it before their sight.
The cause of strife removed so rarely well,
'There take (says Justice), take ye each a shell.
We thrive at Westminster, on fools like you:
'Twas a fat oyster-live in peace. Adieu!'-Pope.

2192. LAWS.

THERE is a law in each well-order'd nation
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.—Shakespeare.

The brain may devise laws

For the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er A cold decree. - Shakespeare.

Pity is the virtue of the law,

And none but tyrants use it cruelly.-Shakespeare.

We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch, and not their terror.—Shakespeare.

The good need fear no law;

It is his safety, and the bad man's awe. -Jonson.
Laws can discover sin, but not remove.-Milton.
Multitude of laws are signs either of
Much tyranny in the prince, or much
Rebellious disobedience in the subject. —Marston.

Each state must have its policies;
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters.
Ev'n the wild outlaw, in his forest walk,
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline.
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron,
Hath man with man in social union dwelt,
But laws were made to draw that union closer.
Old Play.

Strict laws are like steel bodice, good for growing limbs ;

But when the joints are knit, they are not helps,
But burdens.-Fane.

No man e'er felt the halter draw

With good opinion of the law.-Trumbull.

Laws, as we read in ancient sages,
Have been like cobwebs in all ages.
Cobwebs for little flies are spread,
And laws for little folks are made;
But if an insect of renown,
Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone,

Be caught in quest of sport or plunder,
The flimsy fetter flies in sunder.-Beattie.

2193. LAZINESS. Penalty of

SOME other kind of wits must be made known, Whose harmless errors hurt themselves alone; Excess of luxury they think can please, And laziness call loving of their ease: To live dissolved in pleasures still they feign, Though their whole life's but intermitting pain: So much of surfeits, headaches, gouts are seen, We scarce perceive the little time between : Well-meaning men who make this gross mistake, And pleasure lose only for pleasure's sake; Each pleasure has its price, and when we pay Too much of pain, we squander life away.-Dryden.

2194. LEARNING. False

BUT as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill colouring but the more disgraced;
So by false learning is good sense defaced :
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
Pope.