293. BEREAVED. Comfort for the

296. BEREAVEMENT, Benefit of

Who weeps when love, a cradled babe, is born ?

Rather we bring frankincense, myrrh, and gold, While softest welcomes from our lips are rollid To meet the dawning fragrance of a morn Or checker'd being. Even while the thorn Keeps pace with rosy graces that unfold,

Do we with rapture cry, ‘Behold, behold,
A heaven-dropp'd flower, our garden to adorn!'
And yet, when from our darling fall the years,

As from the rose the shrivellid petals rain,
And into newer life the soul again
Springs thornless to the air of purer spheres,

So blinded are we by our bitter pain
We greet the sweeter birth with selfish tears.

Catholic World.

Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud,
To damp our brainless ardours, and abate
That glare of light which often blinds the wise.
Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth
Our rugged pass to death; to break those bars
Of terror and abhorrence nature throws
Cross our obstructed way; and thus to make
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm.
Each friend by fate snatch'd from us is a plume
Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity.— Young.

207. BEREAVEMENT. God's purpose in

294. BEREAVED. Comfort for the

AFTER our child's untroubled breath

Up to the Father took its way,
And on our home the shade of death,

Like a long, misty twilight, lay,
And friends came round with us to weep

Her little spirit's swift remove, This story of the Alpine sheep

Was told to us by one we love :

DEAD!' are the tidings on this side;

Born !' is the joyful word they speak, Who press around with eager looks,

To welcome the dear ones that we seek.

Is the corn dead, that lies awhile

In summer sun and summer storm? Nay, rather it is gathering life

For larger use and lovelier form.

Oh, watch not with your tearful eyes

The green mounds where your darlings sleep; If you could pierce through death's disguise, Believe me, you would never weep.

Mrs M. F. Butts.

295. BEREAVED. Counsel for the

•They, in the valley's sheltering care,

Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, And, when the sod grows brown and bare,

The shepherd strives to make them climb "To airy shelves of pastures green

That hang along the mountain's side, Where grass and flowers together lean,

And down through mist the sunbeams slide. * But nought can tempt the timid things

That steep and rugged path to try, Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings,

And sear'd below the pastures lie,
*Till in his arms their lambs he takes,

Along the dizzy verge to go;
Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks,

They follow on o'er rocks and snow; . And in those pastures lifted fair,

More dewy soft than lowland mead, The shepherd drops his tender care,

And sheep and lambs together feed.'
This parable, by Nature breathed,

Blew on me as the south-wind free
O'er frozen brooks that float unsheathed

From icy thraldom to the sea.

The voice which I did more esteem

Than music in her sweetest key, Those eyes which unto me did seem

More comfortable than the day, Those now by me, as they have been, Shall never more be heard or seen; But what I once enjoy'd in them Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

All earthly comforts vanish thus ;

So little hold of them have we,
That we from them, or they from us,

May in a moment ravish'd be.
Yet we are neither just nor wise
If present mercies we despise ;
Or mind not how there may be made
A thankful use of what we had.

George Wither.

A blissful vision through the night

Would all my happy senses sway,-Of the Good Shepherd on the height,

Or climbing up the stony way,

Holding our little lamb asleep ;

And like the burden of the sea Sounded that voice along the deep, Saying, “Arise, and follow me.'

Maria Lowell.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapours;

Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers

May be heaven's distant lamps.

There is no Death! What seems so is transition :

This life of mortal breath,
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portal we call Death.

298. BEREAVEMENT. God's purpose in The faithful Alpine shepherd tends his flocks,

By night as well as day,

Lest from the fold should stray,

The lambs, that only live By care his loving hand alone can give. From field to field, where greenest turf is found,

Below the glacial snow

Where coolest waters flow,

He leads them gently on, To crop the herbage that his zeal has won. From cliff to cliff they scale the giddy height,

The watchful shepherd near,

And know no care or fear,

Content, if they can trace
Safety and plenty in his rugged face.
Should any timorous grow, in heart or limb,

The summit fail to dare,

The shepherd's tender care

O’ercomes their anxious dread; He takes the lambs, and thus the sheep are led. So when the Shepherd saw us weary grow,

And by the wayside faint,

And make our timorous plaint,

Quick, to His loving breast,
He took our lamb to everlasting rest.

She is not dead—the child of our affection

But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,

And Christ Himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,

By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,

She lives whom we call dead.
| Day after day we think what she is doing

In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,

Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her ;

For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,

She will not be a child :

But our great loss may prove eternal gain :

The stairs that heavenward go,
With children's feet aglow,

Are easier of ascent-
The Shepherd leads in love : we rest content.

L. S. Upham. 299. BEREAVEMENT. Lessons of

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,

Clothed with celestial grace ;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion

Shall we behold her face.
| And, though at times, impetuous with emotion

And anguish long suppressid, | The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,

That cannot be at rest,
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay;
| By silence sanctifying, not concealing,

The grief that must have way.-Longfellow.

THERE is no flock, however watch'd and tended,

But one dead lamb is there !
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair !
The air is full of farewells to the dying,

And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,

Will not be comforted !
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions

Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

300. BEREAVEMENT. Parable of We clutch our joys as children do their flowers; We look at them, but scarce believe them ours, Till our hot palms have smirch'd their colours rare, And crush'd their dewy beauty unaware. But the wise Gardener, whose they were, comes by, At hours when we expect not, and with eye Mournful yet sweet, compassionate though stern, Takes them.

This is indeed philosophy : this known,
Makes wisdom worthy of the name, his own;
And, without this, whatever he discuss,
Whether the space betwixt the stars and us;
Whether he measure earth, compute the sea,
Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea, -
The solemn trifler, with his boasted skill,
Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still;
Blind was he born, and his miguided eyes
Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies.

Cowper. 314. BIBLE. Reading the

Within this ample volume lies
The mystery of mysteries :
Happiest they of human race
To whom their God has given grace,
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way;
And better had they ne'er been born
That read to doubt, or read to scorn.--Scott.

This only doctrine does our lusts oppose :
Unsed by nature's soil, in which it grows;
Cross to our interests, curbing sense and sin;
Oppress'd without, and undermined within,
It thrives through pain; its own tormentors tires,
And with a stubborn patience still aspires.

Dryden. 312. BIBLE. My Mother's

This book is all that's left me now,

Tears will unbidden start,-
With faltering lip and throbbing brow

I press it to my heart.
For many generations past

Here is our family tree;
My mother's hands this Bible clasp'd,

She, dying, gave it me.
Ah! well do I remember those

Whose names these records bear :
Who round the hearthstone used to close,

After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said

In tones my heart would thrill !
Though they are with the silent dead,

Here are they living still !
My father read this holy book

To brothers, sisters dear;
How calm was my poor mother's look,

Who loved God's word to hear !
Her angel face,- I see it yet!

What thronging memories come!
Again that little group is met

Within the halls of home!
Thou truest friend man ever knew,

Thy constancy I've tried ;
When all were false, I found thee true,

My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give

That could this volume buy;
In teaching me the way to live,

It taught me how to die.-G. P. Morris.

315. BIBLE. Search the Yes, 'tis a mine of precious jewelry,

The Book of God; a well of streams divine !

But who would wish the riches of that mine To make his own ; his thirst to satisfy From that pure well ; must ear, eye, soul, apply;

On precept precept scan, and line on line ;

Search, ponder, sift, compare, divide, combine, For truths that oft beneath the surface lie. Yes; there are things which he who runs may read,

Nor few there are, which yield a harder part, To mark, discern, and know. With cautious heed,

'Tis God's command, survey thy safety's chart ; Lest arduous things, distorted, death-ward lead The mind unlearn'd, and the unstable heart.

Mant.

316. BIGOTS: slaves to custom. The slaves of custom and establish'd mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road, Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.-Cowper.

313. BIBLE. Philosophy of the The lamp of revelation only shows What human wisdom cannot but oppose, That man, in nature's richest mantle clad And graced with all philosophy can add, Though fair without, and luminous within, Is still the progeny and heir of sin. Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride, He feels the need of an unerring guide, And knows that, falling, he shall rise no more, Unless the power that bade him stand, restore.

317. BIGOTRY: cursed.
O LOVE-destroying, cursed Bigotry;
Cursèd in heaven, but cursed more in hell!
The infidel who turn'd his impious war
Against the walls of Zion, on the Rock
Of Ages built, and higher than the clouds,
Sinn'd and received his due reward : but she
Within her walls sinn'd more; of Ignorance
Begot, her daughter, Persecution, walk'd
The earth from age to age, and drank the blood
Of saints. - Pollok.