Leonidas and Washington,

Whose every battle-field is holy ground,
Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds un-
done;

How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!
While the mere victors may appal or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watchword till the Future shall be free.-Byron.

What constitutes a state?

Not high-raised battlement or labour'd mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crown'd;
Not bays and broad-arm'd ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;
Not starr'd and spangled courts

Where low-brow'd baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No-men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endued,

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude;

Men, who their duties know,

But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aim'd blow,

And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain:These constitute a state.-Sir William Jones.

2660. PATTERN. Neglecting the

A WEAVER sat one day at his loom,

Among the colours bright,

With the pattern for his copying

Hung fair and plain in sight.

But the weaver's thoughts were wandering

Away on a distant track,

As he threw the shuttle in his hand

Wearily forward and back.

And he turn'd his dim eyes to the ground,

And tears fell on the woof,

For his thoughts, alas! were not with his home, Nor the wife beneath its roof;

When her voice recall'd him suddenly
To himself, as sadly she said:
'Ah, woe is me! for your work is spoil'd,
And what will we do for bread?'

And then the weaver look'd, and saw

His work must be undone ;

For the threads were wrong, and the colours dimm'd, Where the bitter tears had run.

'Alack, alack!' said the weaver,

'And this had all been right

If I had not look'd at my work, but kept
The pattern in my sight!'

Ah! sad it was for the weaver,

And sad for his luckless wife;
And sad it will be for us if we say,
At the end of our task of life,
'The colours that we had to weave

Were bright in our early years;
But we wove the tissue wrong, and stain'd
The woof with bitter tears.

We wove a web of doubt and fear

Not faith, and hope, and love—
Because we look'd at our work, and not
At our Pattern up above!'-Phabe Carey.

2661. PAUPER. Death of a

TREAD Softly-bow the head

In reverent silence bowNo passing bell doth toll, Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

Stranger! however great,

With lowly reverence bow; There's one in that poor shedOne by that paltry bed

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state. Enter, no crowds attend;

Enter, no guards defend

This palace gate.

That pavement, damp and cold,

No smiling courtiers tread;

One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hand.
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound-
An infant wail alone;

A sob suppress'd-again
That short deep gasp, and then-
The parting groan.

O change! O wondrous change!
Burst are the prison bars-
This moment there so low,
So agonized, and now

Beyond the stars.

O change! stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod;

The sun eternal breaks,

The new immortal wakes

Wakes with his God.-Caroline Bowles.

2662. PAUPER. Funeral of a

THERE'S a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round

trot

To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot;

The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs; And hark to the dirge which the mad driver sings: Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper whom nobody owns!

Oh, where are the mourners? Alas! there are none;
He has left not a gap in the world, now he's gone—
Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man;
To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can:
Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper whom nobody owns!

What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din!

The whip, how it cracks! and the wheels, how they spin!

How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is hurl'd; The pauper at length makes a noise in the world! Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper whom nobody owns !

Poor pauper defunct! he has made some approach
To gentility, now that he's stretch'd in a coach!
He's taking a drive in his carriage at last;
But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast :
Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper whom nobody owns!
You bumpkins! who stare at your brother convey'd,
Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid!

And be joyful to think, when by death you're laid low,

You've a chance to the grave like a gemman to go! Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper whom nobody owns!

But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad,
To think that a heart in humanity clad
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end,
And depart from the light without leaving a friend!
Bear soft his bones over the stones!

Though a pauper, he's one whom his Maker yet
owns - Hood.

2663. PEACE at the Birth of Christ.

No war or battle's sound

Was heard the world around:

The idle spear and shield were high up hung,
The hooked chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood,

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still, with awe-full eye,

As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.

But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began:
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kiss'd,

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sat brooding on the charmèd wave.-Milton.

2664. PEACE. Blessings of

PEACE,

Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful birth.
Shakespeare.

How strangely active are the arts of peace,
Whose restless motions less than wars do cease:
Peace is not freed from labour, but from noise;
And war more force, but not more pains, employs.
Dryden.

Oh, first of human blessings! and supreme!
Fair Peace! how lovely, how delightful thou!
By whose wide tie the kindred sons of men
Live, brothers like, in amity combined,'
And unsuspicious faith; while honest toil
Gives every joy, and to those joys a right
Which idle, barbarous rapine but usurps.

Thomson.

O beauteous Peace! Sweet union of a state! what else but thou Gives safety, strength, and glory to a people?

Thomson.

Oh, Peace! thou source and soul of social life;
Beneath whose calm inspiring influence,
Science his views enlarges, Art refines,
And swelling Commerce opens all her ports;
Blest be the man divine, who gives us thee!
Thomson.

2665. PEACE. Christ's

FIERCE was the wild billow,
Dark was the night,
Oars labour'd heavily,

Foam glitter'd white,

Trembled the mariners,
Peril was high;

Then said the GOD of GOD'Peace! It is I.'

Ridge of the mountain wave,
Lower thy crest!
Wail of Euroclydon,

Be thou at rest!
Sorrow can never be,

Darkness must fly,

Where saith the Light of Light'Peace! It is I.'

JESU, Deliverer,

Come Thou to me:

Soothe Thou my voyaging

Over life's sea;

Thou, when the storm of death

Roars, sweeping by,

Whisper, Thou Truth of Truth'Peace! It is I.' Anatolius, tr. by J. M. Ncale.

2666. PEACE. Christ's bequest of

ERE our dear Saviour spoke the parting word
To those who loved Him best when here below,

While deep emotion every bosom stirr'd,

He said, 'My Peace I give you ere I go !'

His Peace. Sweet Peace! As falls the summer dew

On drooping flowers, so fell those words of cheer Upon the earnest hearts that dimly knew

What they, like their dear Lord, must suffer here. His Peace-Christ's Peace! O gift most rare and strange!

Never was aught so precious given before! Vain trifler he who would that gift exchange For all the riches of Golconda's shore !

His Peace-His blessed Peace! Not Joy, the bright Bewildering sprite that charm'd their early years, When, with youth's roses crown'd, and clad in light, Her radiant eyes had ne'er been dimm'd by tears;

But Peace that walks with Patience, side by side, Bearing Heaven's seal upon her pale, calm face: Child of Submission, whatsoe'er betide,

She wears the white robes of celestial grace.

O Christ! whose human heart remembers still
The pangs from which death only gave release,
Strange griefs, strange fears, our yearning souls must
fill,

Withhold what else Thou wilt-but give us Peace!
Mrs Dorr.

2667. PEACE: comes only from Christ.

WHEN across the heart deep waves of sorrow
Break, as on a dry and barren shore;
When hope glistens with no bright to-morrow,
And the storm seems sweeping evermore;

When the cup of every earthly gladness

Bears no taste of the life-giving stream;
And high hopes, as though to mock our sadness,
Fade and die as in some fitful dream,—

Who shall hush the weary spirit's chiding?
Who the aching void within shall fill?
Who shall whisper of a peace abiding,

And each surging billow calmly still?

Only He whose wounded heart was broken With the bitter cross and thorny crown; Whose dear love glad words of joy had spoken; Who His life for us laid meekly down.

Blessed Healer! all our burdens lighten ;

Give us peace, Thine own sweet peace, we pray; Keep us near Thee till the morn shall brighten, And all mists and shadows flee away.—Alford.

2668. PEACE: comes only from Christ.

LIFE'S mystery-deep, restless, as the ocean-
Hath surged and wail'd for ages to and fro;
Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion
As in and out its hollow moanings flow.
Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,
Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in Thee!

Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,

Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;
And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff

Borne by the whirlwind from the ripen'd grain.
Ah! when before that blast my hopes all flee,
Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in Thee!
Between the mysteries of death and life

Thou standest, loving, guiding, not explaining ; We ask, and Thou art silent; yet we gaze,

And our charm'd hearts forget their drear complaining.

No crushing fate, no stony destiny,

O Lamb that hast been slain, we find in Thee!

The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,
The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,
From far-off worlds, from dim, eternal shores,

Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands,-
This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea
Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in Thee!

Thy pierced hand guides the mysterious wheels;
Thy thorn-crown'd brow now wears the crown of

power;

And, when the dread enigma presseth sore,

Thy patient voice saith, 'Watch with Me one hour.'

As sinks the moaning river in the sea

In silver peace, so sinks my soul in Thee! Harriet Beecher Stowe.

2669. PEACE. Divine

PEACE upon peace, like wave on wave,
This is the portion that I crave;

The peace of God which passeth thought,
The peace of Christ which changeth not.

Peace like the river's gentle flow,
Peace like the morning's silent glow,

From day to day, in love supplied,
An endless and unebbing tide.

Peace through the night and through the day,
Peace through all windings of our way,

In pain, and toil, and weariness,

A deep and everlasting peace.

O King of peace, this peace bestow
Upon a stranger here below;

O God of peace, Thy peace impart
To every troubled, trembling heart.—Bonar.

2670. PEACE. Glory of

A PEACE is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser.-Shakespeare.

'Tis less to conquer than to make wars cease, And, without fighting, awe the world to peace. Halifax.

Peace, greatness best becomes. Calm power doth guide

With a far more imperious stateliness,

Than all the swords of violence can do:

And easier gains those ends she tends unto.-Daniel.

2671. PEACE: in death

SURE the last end

Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit! Night dews fall not more calmly on the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.-Blair.

2672. PEACE. Love and

THERE is a story told

In Eastern tents, when autumn nights grow cold,

And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit
With grave responses listening unto it:
Once, on the errands of his mercy bent,
Buddha, the holy and benevolent,
Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look,
Whose awful voice the hills and forests shook.
'O son of peace!' the giant cried, 'thy fate
Is seal'd at last, and love shall yield to hate.'
The unarm'd Buddha looking, with no trace
Of fear or anger, in the monster's face,
With pity said: 'Poor fiend, even thee I love.'
Lo! as he spake, the sky-tall terror sank
To handbreadth size; the huge abhorrence shrank
Into the form and fashion of a dove ;

And where the thunder of its rage was heard,
Brooding above him sweetly sang the bird :
'Hate hath no harm for love,' so ran the song,
'And peace unweapon'd conquers every wrong!'
Whittier.

2673. PEACE. Perfect

WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
And billows wild contend with angry roar,
'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,
That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.

Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,
And silver waves chime ever peacefully :
And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth,
Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.

So to the heart that knows Thy love, O Purest !
There is a temple sacred evermore,

And all the babble of life's angry voices
Dies in hush'd stillness at its sacred door.

Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth,

And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord! in Thee.

O Rest of rests! O Peace serene, eternal! Thou ever livest, and Thou changest never; And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth Fulness of joy, for ever and for ever.

Harriet Beecher Stowe.

2674 PEACE. Perfect: not far off. OH for the peace which floweth as a river, Making life's desert places bloom and smile! Oh for the faith to grasp heaven's bright for ever,' Amid the shadows of earth's 'little while.'

'A little while,' for patient vigil-keeping,

To face the stern, to wrestle with the strong; 'A little while,' to sow the seed with weeping,

Then bind the sheaves, and sing the harvest-song.

'A little while,' to wear the weeds of sadness, To pace with weary step through miry ways; Then to pour forth the fragrant oil of gladness, And clasp the girdle round the robe of praise. 'A little while,' 'midst shadow and illusion,

To strive, by faith, love's mysteries to spell; Then read each dark enigma's bright solution, Then hail sight's verdict, 'He doth all things well!'

'A little while,' the earthen pitcher taking

To wayside brooks, from far-off fountains fed; Then the cool lip its thirst for ever slaking

Beside the fulness of the Fountain Head.

'A little while,' to keep the oil from failing,

'A little while,' faith's flickering lamp to trim;
And then, the Bridegroom's coming footsteps hailing,
To haste to meet Him with the bridal hymn.
And He, who is Himself the Gift and Giver,
The future glory and the present smile,
With the bright promise of the glad 'for ever'
Will light the shadows of the 'little while.'
Mrs Crewdson.

2675. PEACE. Prayer for
JESUS, pitying Saviour, hear me ;

Draw Thou near me;

Turn Thee, Lord, in grace to me,
For Thou knowest all my sorrow;
Night and morrow

Doth my cry go up to Thee.

Peace I cannot find: oh, take me,

Lord, and make me

From the yoke of evil free ;
Calm this longing never-sleeping,

Still my weeping,

Grant me hope once more in Thee.

Thou, my God and King, hast known me,
Yet hast shown me

True and loving is Thy will;
Though my heart from Thee oft ranges,
Through its changes,

Lord, Thy love is faithful still.

Here I bring my will, oh take it;

Thine, Lord, make it ;

Calm this troubled heart of mine: In Thy strength I too may conquer; Wait no longer;

Show in me Thy grace Divine.-Tersteegen.

2676. PEACE. Prophecies of

No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;

But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.-Pope.
Down the dark future, through long generations,

The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease; And like a bell with solemn sweet vibrations,

I hear once more the voice of Christ say 'Peace!' Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals

The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies; But, beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holiest melodies of love arise.-Longfellow.

'Peace,' shall the world outwearied ever see

Its universal reign? Will states, will kings, Put down these murderous and unholy things, Which fill the earth with blood and misery? Will nations learn that love-not enmity—

Is heaven's first lesson-which beneath the wings Of mercy, brooding over land and sea,

Fills earth with joy by its soft ministerings? 'Twere a sad prospect-'twere a vista dark As midnight-could this wearied mortal eye, Through the dim mists that veil futurity, Discern not that heaven-bright though distant spark, Lighted by prophecy, whose ray sublime Sheds a soft gleam of hope o'er the dull path of time.

I hate that noisy drum, it is a sound

That tells of war, of bondage, and I blush
That liberty had ever cause to rush
Into a warrior's arms; that right e'er found
Asylum in the furious field. Not so

The holy crowns of genuine glory grow;

Not there should they who bear the badge serene
Of Him who was the Prince of Peace, be seen :
Can such His faithful followers be?-Oh no!
His laurels are not drench'd in blood, but green
And beautiful as spring ;-His arms are love
And mercy and forgiveness; and with them
He rules the nations' mighty destinies
And gently leads us to our homes above.

2677. PEACE. Settled

I HEAR the words of love,
I gaze upon the blood,

I see the mighty sacrifice,
And I have peace with God.

'Tis everlasting peace!

Sure as Jehovah's name ; 'Tis stable as His steadfast throne,

For evermore the same.

The clouds may go and come,

Bowring.

And storms may sweep my sky, This blood-seal'd friendship changes not. The cross is ever nigh.