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Whence camest thou ? Whither goest thou? I, | The ruminant's beatitude-content, subdued

Chewing the cud of knowledge, with no care With awe of mine own being, thus sit still,

For germs of life within-then will I say: Dumb, on the summit of this lonely hill,

• Thou art not caged, but fitly stalld in clay!' Whose dry November-grasses dew-bestrew'd

Emily Pfeiffer. Mirror a million suns. That sun, so bright, 3198. SOUL. The: a prisoner. Passes, as thou must pass, Soul, into night!

In the body's prison so she lies, Art thou afraid, who solitary hast trod

As through the body's prison she must look, A path I know not, from a source to a bourn

Her divers powers of sense to exercise Both which I know not? fear'st thou to return

By gath'ring notes out of the world's great book. Alone, even as thou camest alone, to God ?

Davies. D. M. Muloch.

| Even so the soul in this contracted state, 3195. SOUL. Joys of the

Confined to these strait instruments of sense,

More dull and narrowly doth operate: When in heaven she shall His essence see,

At this hole hears, the sight may ray from thence, This is her sov'reign good, and perfect bliss : | Here tastes, there smells; but when she's gone Her longings, wishings, hopes, all finish'd be : from hence, Her joys are full, her motions rest in this. Like naked lamp, she is one shining sphere,

Davies. And round about hath perfect cognizance The joys of sense to mental joys are mean;

Whatever in the horizon doth appear: Sense on the present only feeds; the soul She is one orb of sense; all eye, all touch, all ear. On past and present forages for joy ;

Henry More. 'Tis hers, by retrospect, through time to range,

| 3199. SOUL. The: a stranger. And forward, time's great sequel to survey.

Our souls but like unhappy strangers come

From heaven, their country, to this world's bad 3196. SOUL. Struggles of the

coast; With stammering lips and insufficient sound

| They land, then straight are backward bound for I strive and struggle to deliver right

home, The music of my nature, day and night

And many are in storms of passion lost ! With dream and thought and feeling interwound,

They long with danger sail through life's vext seas, And inly answering all the senses round

In bodies as in vessels full of leaks ; With octaves of a mystic depth and height,

Walking in veins, their narrow galleries, Which step out grandly to the infinite

| Shorter than walks of seamen on their decks. From the dark edges of the sensual ground !

Davenant. This song of soul I struggle to outbear

3200. SOUL. The departed Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,

HERE is the house, And utter all myself into the air.

Empty and lone; But if I did it, -as the thunder-roll

Where is the home of that which is goneBreaks its own cloud, -my flesh would perish there, | Out in the regions of boundless blank space, Before that dread apocalypse of soul.

Floating and floating, no shape, no place ?

Mrs Brovning. Or did it gather its wealth and remove 3197. SOUL. The: a Bird of Passage.

To the home up above?

All's still in the house. • My soul is like some eager-born bird, that hath A restless prescience-howsoever won

Gone from its home, Of a broad pathway leading to the sun,

And none knoweth where; With promptings of an oft-reproved faith

Unseen it pass'd the invisible air.

Nothing to mark that the dweller is reft
•In sunward yearnings. Stricken though her breast, Out of our midst, but the house that is left.
And faint her wing, with beating at the bars

God grant that the soul that wander'd away
Of sense, she looks beyond outlying stars,

Be not homeless to-day : And only in the Infinite sees rest.

But here is the house. Sad soul ! if ever thy desire be bent

Out of its house Or broken to thy doom, and made to share

How strange it must be !

Now to itself, the great mystery,

Think it a birth: and when thou go'st to die, "The intangible thing, that's like nothing we know Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to bliss. That we should shudder at, come to us so

Davies. Here with us yesterday, gone with a touch,

Time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain,
How strange to be such

The body, not the mind; nor can control
And away from its house !

Th' immortal vigour, or abate the soul.
Ah! the desolate house

And a voice cometh low,

The soul, secure in her existence, smiles Murmuring, “Some day thou, too, must go.'

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point; Ah, me! Thrust forth to the world outside,

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Shall I not find it dreary and wide?

Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
This is grown to be home--from the near and known But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
I must go forth alone-

Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
Out of this house.

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds!
Low as it is,

Addison. From its windows I bound,

It must be so! Plato, thou reason'st well: All I can measure of what is beyond.

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, Here has been written all of my past

This longing after immortality ? It is dear by memories first and last;

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Old as life to me! What shall I do

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul When I must go too

Back on herself, and startles at destruction? Out of my house?

'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, Can I miss the new house

And intimates eternity to man. --Addison.
In the city impearl'd ?-
Dreadful abysses past world from world,

Her ceaseless fight, though devious, speaks her Valleys of nothingness 'twixt height and height,

nature "Terrible blanks in the great Infinite.

Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; Room for worlds to go down; where a soul might For human weal, Heaven husbands all events, be toss'd

Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. With its anchorage lost,

Yeung. So far from its home!

Our thoughts are boundless, though our frames are Into Thy house,

frail, Lord, take us straight,

Our souls immortal, though our limbs deciy; Lest we be left in the darkness to wait;

Though darken'd in this poor life by a veil Lest we be lost in realms without sun,

Of suffering, dying matter, we shall play And wander for ever where mansion is none,

In truth's eternal sunbeams; on the way
Crying without: Let us in! Let us in,-

To Heaven's high capitol our cars shall roll;
When the feast shall begin,

The temple of the Power whom all obey,
And the door shall be shut !

That is the mark we tend to, for the soul
Carl Spencer. Can take no lower flight, and seek no meaner goal.

Percial 3201. SOUL. The : immortal.

The soul, of origin Divine, HEAVEN waxeth old, and all the spheres above

God's glorious image, freed from clay, Shall one day faint, and their swift motion stay;

In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine, And time itself, in time, shall cease to move;

A star of day.
But the soul still survives, and lives for aye.

The sun is but a spark of fire,

A transient meteor in the sky;
If she the body's nature did partake,

The soul, immortal as its Sire, Her strength would with the body's strength decay;

Shall never die But when the body's strongest sinews slake,

James Montgomery. Then is the soul most active, quick, and gay.

Davies. 3202. SOUL. The: slumbering.
And when thou think'st of her eternity,

Who is sure he hath a soul, unless
Think not that death against her nature is; I It see and judge and follow worthiness,

No quick response ; I tremble, yet I speak
For Him who knows the heart so loving, yet so weak.
And so the words were spoken, soft and low,

Or traced with timid pen ; yet oft they fell
On soil prepared, which she would never know,

Until the tender blade sprang up to tell That not in vain her labour had been spent ; Then with new faith and hope more bravely on she

went.-- Frances Ridley Havergal.

And by deeds praise it? He who doth not this May lodge an innate soul, but 'tis not his.

Donne. 3203. SOUL. The: unknown. As the sharpest eye discerneth nought

Except the sunbeams in the air do shine, So the best soul, with her reflecting thought, Sees not herself without some light Divine.

Davies. Thou that hast fashion's twice this soul of ours,

So that she is by double title Thine ; Thou only know'st her nature and her powers,

Her subtile form Thou only canst define. We that acquaint ourselves with every zone,

And pass the tropics and behold each pole ; When we come home are to ourselves unknown, And unacquainted still with our own soul.

Davies. 3204. SOUL. Value of the

3206. SOWING. Fruits of

Are we sowing seeds of goodness?

They shall blossom bright ere long. Are we sowing seeds of discord ?

They shall ripen into wrong. Are we sowing seeds of honour?

They shall bring forth golden grain. Are we sowing seeds of falsehood ? We shall yet reap bitter pain.

Whatsoe'er our sowing be,

Reaping, we its fruit must see. We can never be too careful

What the seed our hands shall sow; Love from love is sure to ripen,

Hate from hate is sure to grow. Seeds of good or ill we scatter

Heedlessly along our way; But a glad or grievous fruitage

Waits us at the harvest day.

What is the thing of greatest price

The whole creation round? That which was lost in paradise,

That which in Christ is found,

The soul of man-Jehovah's breath!

That keeps two worlds at strife; Hell moves beneath to work its death,

Heaven stoops to give it life.

3207. SPEECH. Eloquence of

God to reclaim it did not spare

His well-beloved Son; Jesus, to save it, deign'd to bear

The sins of all in one. The Holy Spirit seal'd the plan,

And pledged the blood Divine To ransom every soul of man;

That blood was shed for mine.

And is this treasure borne below

In earthly vessels frail ?
Can none its utmost value know

Till flesh and spirit fail ?
Then let us gather round the cross,

This knowledge to obtain,
Not by the soul's eternal loss,

But everlasting gain.-Montgomery.

How shall we learn to sway the minds of men
By eloquence? to rule them, or persuade?
Do you seek genuine and worthy fame?
Reason and honest feeling want no arts
Of utterance, ask no toil of elocution !
And, when you speak in earnest, do you need
To search for words? Oh! these fine holiday

In which you robe your worn-out commonplaces,
These scraps of paper which you crimp and curl,
And twist into a thousand idle shapes,
These filigree ornaments, are good for nothing,
Cost time and pains, please few, impose on no one;
Are unrefreshing, as the wind that whistles
In autumn ʼmong the dry and wrinkled leaves.
If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive.
If from the soul the language does not come,
By its own impulse, to impel the hearts
Of hearers with communicated power,
In vain you strive, in vain you study earnestly,
Toil on for ever, piece together fragments,
Cook up your broken scraps of sentences,

3205. SOWER. The 'Such as I have I sow, it is not much,'

Said one who loved the Master of the field; Only a quiet word, a gentle touch

Upon the hidden harp-strings, which may yield

See how Time, consoling,

Dries the saddest tears;
Bids the darkest storm-clouds

Pass in gentle rain,
While uprise in glory
Flowers and dreams again!

Adelaide A. Practer.

And blow, with puffing breath, a struggling light,
Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes-
Startle the school-boys with your metaphors,
And, if such food may suit your appetite,
Win the vain wonder of applauding children !
But never hope to stir the hearts of men,
And mould the souls of many into one,
By words which come not native from the heart!

NATURE to each allots his proper sphere,
But that forsaken, we like comets err.
Toss'd through the void, by some rude shock we're

broke, And all our boasted fire is lost in smoke.-Congreve.

3212. STARS. Mystery of the YE stars ! which are the poetry of heaven;

If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empires—'tis to be forgiven,

That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are

A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them.

selves a star.-Byron.

3213. STARS. Order of the

There they stand, Shining in order, like a living hymn Written in light.-Willis.

3209. SPIRITS. Traits of

THEY miss the truth who meditate that death, Or that which follows after death, can change The native idealities of men. These in the saved and lost alike remain Immutable for ever. There is nought In the unloosing of the mortal tent To alter or transform immortal minds. The gentle still are gentle, and the strong Are ever strong. Innumerable traits Each from the rest distinguish. It is true There lies a gulf impassable betwixt Salvation and perdition, heaven and hell; But oh! the almost infinite degrees Betwixt the lost and lost.-Bickersteth.


Can wealth give happiness ? look around and see
What gay distress ! what splendid misery !
I envy none their pageantry and show,
I envy none the gilding of their woe. — Young.

The splendours of our rank and state
Are shadows, not substantial things. - Young.

3214. STARS. Progress of the

THE sad and solemn night
Has yet her multitude of cheerful fires;

The glorious host of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires :
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and

go. Day, too, hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they: t.

Through the blue fields afar, Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim, Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.

Bryant. 3215. STARS. Shining forth of the THEY are all up—the innumerable stars That hold their place in heaven. My eyes have been Searching the pearly depths through which they

spring Like beautiful creations.-Willis.

3211. STARS. Invocation to the

SHINE, ye stars of heaven,

On a world of pain !
See old Time destroying

All our hoarded grain ;
All our sweetest flowers,

Every stately shrine,
All our hard-earn'd glory,

Every dream divine !
Shine, ye stars of heaven,

On the rolling years!

3216. STARS. Suggestiveness of the Oh what a confluence of ethereal fires, From urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight! | Nor tarries there ; I feel it at my heart. - Young.

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And for the heavens' wide circuit, let it speak The Maker's high magnificence. -Milton.

He made the stars, And set them in the firmament of heaven, T' illuminate the earth and rule the night.

Milton. These great orbs thus radically bright, Primitive founts, and origins of light, Enliven worlds denied to human sight.-Prior.


But the day is spent,
And stars are kindling in the firmament,
To us how silent-though, like ours, perchance,
Busy and full of life and circumstance.-Rogers.
Each of these stars is a religious house ; I saw.
Their altars smoke, their incense rise ;
And heard hosannas ring through every sphere,
A seminary fraught with future gods.
Nature all o'er a consecrated ground,
Teeming with growths immortal and divine.
The great Proprietor's all bounteous hand
Leaves nothing waste ; but sows these fiery fields
With seeds of reason, which to virtues rise
Beneath His genial ray.— Young.

Count o'er those lamps of quenchless light
That sparkle through the shades of night;
Behold them -can a mortal boast
To number that celestial host?
Mark well each little star, whose rays
In distant splendour meet thy gaze :
Each is a world by Him sustain'd
Who from eternity hath reign'd.
Each, kindled not for earth alone,
Hath circling planets of its own,
And beings whose existence springs
From Him, the all-powersul King of kings.

· Mrs Hemans.

3221. STARS. Watching the

LOOK how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold : There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, But in his motion like an angel sings; Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.

Shakespeare. Ye quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright, Untroubled sentries of the shadowy night, While half the world is lapp'd in downy dreams, And round the lattice creep your midnight beams, How sweet to gaze upon your placid eyes, In lambent beauty looking from the skies !

Robert Montgomery. Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars Till he had peopled them with beings bright As their own beams.—Byron.

3222. STATE. Constituents of a

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 storin, rich navies ride;

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