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Take stars for money; stars not to be told
By any art, yet to be purchased.
None is so wasteful as the scraping dame :
She loseth three for one-her soul, rest, fame.
George Herbert.

58. AVARICE: praised.

THE base wretch who hoards up all he can
Is praised, and call'd a careful, thrifty man.
Dryden.

259. AVARICE. Slavery of

WHEN thou wouldst take a lazy morning's nap,
Up, up, says Avarice; thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain :
The tyrant Lucre no denial takes ;

At his command the unwilling sluggard wakes:
What must I do? he cries: What? says his lord:
Why rise, make ready, and go straight aboard :
With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight;
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight
Of pepper, and Sabæan incense, take

With thy own hands from the tired camel's back;
And with post-haste thy running markets make.
Be sure to turn the penny: lie and swear;
'Tis wholesome sin: but Jove, thou say'st, will hear;
Swear, fool, or starve; for the dilemma's even :
A tradesman thou! and hope to go to heaven?
Persius, tr. by Dryden.

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Sleep, darling, sleep! Cold rain shall steep Thy little turf-made dwelling;

Thou wilt not know, so far below,

What winds or storms are swelling;
And birds shall sing in the warm spring,
And flowers bloom about thee:
Thou wilt not heed them, love; but oh,
The loneliness without thee!
Father, we will be comforted!

Thou wast the gracious Giver;
We yield her up, not dead, not dead,
To dwell with Thee for ever!
Take Thou our child, ours for a day,

Thine while the ages blossom!
This little shining head we lay
In the Redeemer's bosom !

263. BABE. Death of a

SHE had seen

All of earth's year except the winter's snows,
Spring, summer, autumn, like sweet dreams, had
smiled

On her. Eva-or living-was her name;
A bud of life folded in leaves and love;
The dewy morning-star of summer days;
The golden lamp of happy fire-side hours;
The little ewe-lamb nestling by our side;
The dove whose cooing echo'd in our hearts;
The sweetest chord upon our harp of praise;
The quiet spring, the rivulet of joy ;
The pearl among His gifts who gave us all;
On whom not we alone, but all who look'd,
Gazing would breathe the involuntary words,
'God bless thee, Eva-God be bless'd for thee.'
Alas, clouds gather'd quickly, and the storm
Fell without warning on our tender bud,
Scattering its leaflets; and the star was drench'd
In tears; the lamp burnt dimly; unawares
The little lamb was faint; the weary dove

We wake from death's short sleep, to struggle Cower'd its young head beneath its drooping wing;

through

A brief bewilderment, and in dismay,

Behold our life unto our old life true.

Helen Hunt.

The chord was loosen'd on our harp; the fount
Was troubled, and the rill ran nearly dry;
And in our souls we heard our Father, saying,
'Will ye return the gift?' The Voice was low-

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It came upon us by degrees:

We saw its shadow ere it fell, The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Babie Bell. We shudder'd with unlanguaged pain, And all our hopes were changed to fears, And all our thoughts ran into tears,

Like sunshine into rain.

We cried aloud in our belief, 'O smite us gently, gently, God! Teach us to bend and kiss the rod,

And perfect grow through grief.' Ah, how we loved her, God can tell ; Her heart was folded deep in ours. Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell!

At last he came, the messenger,

The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Babie Bell?

She only cross'd her little.hands, She only look'd more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair,

We wove the roses round her browWhite buds, the summer's drifted snowWrapt her from head to foot in flowers! And thus went dainty Babie Bell Out of this world of ours.-T. B. Aldrich.

265. BACKSLIDERS: how they are to be treated.

Look thou with pity on a brother's fall,

And dwell not with stern anger on his fault;
The grace of God alone holds thee, holds all ;
Were that withdrawn, thou too would'st swerve
and halt.

Lead back the wanderer to the Saviour's fold;
That were an action worthy of a saint;
But not in malice let the crime be told,
Nor publish to the world the evil taint.

The Saviour suffers when His children slide;
Then is His holy name by men blasphemed,
And He afresh is mock'd and crucified
Even by those His bitter death redeem'd.
Rebuke the sin, but yet in love rebuke,
Feel as one member in another's pain;

Win back the soul that His fair path forsook, And mighty and eternal is the gain.

266. BACKSLIDER'S RETURN. The

I COME, O Lord, to Thee;
In sad and grievous thought I hear Thy call,
And I must come, or else from Thee I fall
Deeper in misery.

I have not kept Thy word,
And yet Thou biddest me to taste Thy love;
Shaming my faithless heart, that e'er could rove
From Thee, O gracious Lord!

Shame wraps my heart around, Like morning gloom upon the mountains spread; Indignant memory, avenger dread,

Deepens each restless wound.

Yet must I come to Thee!

Thou hast the words of life, and Thou alone;
Thou sitt'st upon the Mediator's throne:
Where should a sinner flee?

Whom didst Thou turn away?

From what distress was hid Thy pitying face? What cold rebuke e'er check'd the cry for grace? Can I unheeded pray?

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ON a fair ship, borne swiftly o'er the deep,
A man was lying, wrapp'd in dreamless sleep;
When unawares upon a sunken rock

That vessel struck, and shatter'd with the shock.
But strange! the plank where lay the sleeper bore
Him, wrapt in deep sleep ever, to the shore.
Sweet tones first woke him from his sleep, when
round

His couch observant multitudes he found :
All hail'd him then, and did before him bow,
And with one voice exclaim'd-'Our king art thou.'
With jubilant applause they bore him on,
And set him wondering on a royal throne.
Much he rejoiced, and he had well-nigh now
Forgotten whence he hither came, and how;
Until at eve, of homage weary grown,
He craved a season to be left alone.
Alone in hall magnificent he sate,
And mused upon the wonder of his fate;
When lo! an aged counsellor, a seer,
Before unnoticed, to the king drew near:

--And thee would I congratulate, my son,
Who hast thy reign in happy hour begun;
Seen hast thou the beginning,-yet attend,
While I shall also show to thee the end.

That this new fortune doth not blind thee quite,
Both sides regard, the darker with the bright;
Heed what so many who have ruled before,
Failing to heed, now rue for evermore.

Though sure thy state and strong thy throne appear,
King only art thou for a season here;

A time is fix'd, albeit unknown to thee,

Which, when it comes, thou banish'd hence shalt be.
Round this fair spot, though hidden from the eye
By mist and vapour, many islands lie:
Bare are their coasts, and dreary and forlorn,
And unto them the banish'd kings are borne;
On each of these an exiled king doth mourn,
For when a new king comes, they bear away
The old, whom now no vassals more obey.

'Much, O my Prince, my words have thee distrest,
Thy head has sunk in sorrow on thy breast;
Yet idle sorrow helps not-I will show

A nobler way, which shall true help bestow.

This counsel take-to others given in vain,
While no belief from them my words might gain.
Know then, whilst thou art monarch here, there
stand

Helps for the future many at thy command;
Then, whilst thou canst, employ them to adorn
That island whither thou must once be borne.
Unbuilt and waste and barren now that strand,
And gush no fountains from the thirsty sand.
So when the world, which speaks thee now so fair,
And flatters so, again shall strip thee bare,
And drive thee naked forth in harshest wise,
Thou joyfully wilt seek thy paradise.'

Then raised the Prince his head with courage new,
And what the sage advised, prepared to do.
He ruled his realm with meekness, and meanwhile
He marvellously deck'd the chosen isle ;
Bade there his servants build up royal towers,
And change its barren sands to leafy bowers;
Bade fountains there be hewn, and caused to bloom
Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume.
And when he long enough had kept his throne,
To him sweet odours from that isle were blown :
Then knew he that its gardens blooming were,
And all the yearnings of his soul were there.
Grief was it not to him, but joy, when they
His crown and sceptre bade him quit one day;
When him his servants rudely did dismiss,
'Twas not the sentence of his ended bliss,
But pomp and power he cheerfully forsook,

And to his isle a willing journey took,

And found diviner pleasure on that shore,
Than all his proudest state had known before,
Oriental, tr. by R. C. Trench.

269. BATTLE OF LIFE. The

FIGHTING the battle of life,

With a weary heart and head; For in the midst of the strife,

The banners of Joy are fled.

Fled and gone out of sight,

When I thought they were so near; And the music of Hope this night

Is dying away on my ear.

Fighting the whole day long,
With a very tired hand,
With only my armour strong,―

The shelter in which I stand.

There is nothing left of me :

If all my strength were shown, So small the amount would be,

Its presence could scarce be known. Fighting alone to-night,

With not even a stander-by To cheer me on in the fight,

Or to hear me when I cry.

Only the Lord can hear,

Only the Lord can see

The struggle within how dark and drear,
Though quiet the outside be.
Fighting alone to-night,

With what a sinking heart!
Lord Jesus, in the fight,

Oh stand not Thou apart! Body and mind have tried

To make the field mine own; But when the Lord is on my side, He doeth the work alone.

And when He hideth His face,

And the battle-clouds prevail, It is only through His grace If I do not utterly fail.

The word of old was true,

And its truth shall never cease,'The Lord shall fight for you,

And ye shall hold your peace.'

Lord, I would fain be still
And quiet behind my shield;
But make me to love Thy will,
For fear I should ever yield.

For when, to destroy my foes,

Thou lettest them strike at me, And fillest my heart with woes, That joy may the purer be, Nothing but perfect trust,

And love of Thy perfect will, Can raise me out of the dust,

And bid my fears lie still.

Even as now my hands,

So doth my folded will Lie waiting Thy commands, Without one anxious thrill.

But as, with sudden pain,

My hands unfold and clasp, So doth my will start up again, And taketh its old firm grasp.

Lord, fix mine eyes upon Thee,

And fill my heart with Thy love; And keep my soul till the shadows flee, And the light breaks from above.

F. W. Faber.

270. BATTLE. The Christian's

How goes the fight with thee?

The life-long battle with all evil things? Thine no low strife, and thine no selfish aim; It is the war of giants and of kings.

Does it grow slacker now?

Then tremble; for, be sure, thy hellish foe Slacks not; 'tis thou that slackest in the fight; Fainter and feebler falls each weary blow.

What though ten thousand faint,

Desert, or yield, or in weak terror flee! Heed not the panic of the multitude;

Thine be the Captain's watchword,--Victory!

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Beauty's a slippery good, which decreaseth
Whilst it is increasing resembling the
Medlar, which, in the moment of his full
Ripeness, is known to be in a rottenness.
Whilst you look in the glass, it waxeth old
With time; if on the sun, parch'd with heat; if
On the wind, blasted with cold. A great care
To keep it, a short space to enjoy it,
A sudden time to lose it.-Lilly.

Trust not too much to that enchanting face;
Beauty's a charm, but soon the charm will pass.

Dryden.

Do not idolatrize; beauty's a flower,
Which springs and withers almost in an hour.
William Smith.

Beauty, sweet love! is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green Cheers for a time,-but till the sun doth show,And straight is gone as it had never been.

Daniel.

Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit,
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulse unknown before!
The grave discredits thee: thy charms expunged,
Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,

What hast thou more to boast of? will thy lovers
Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage?
Methinks I see thee with thy head laid low;
Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek,
The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscared. For this was all thy caution?
For this thy painful labours at thy glass,
T'improve those charms and keep them in repair,
For which the spoiler thanks thee not?

feeder!

Foul

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SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall Beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
Where rocks impregnable are not so stout,

Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! Where, alack,

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift book back? Or who his spoil of Beauty can forbid?

279. BEAUTY: its perils.

Shakespeare.

BEAUTY, like the fair Hesperian tree,
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye,
To save her blossoms and defend her fruit
From the rash hand of bold incontinence.

Milton.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray;
Who can tread sure on the smooth slipp'ry way?

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