306. BESETTING SIN. Power of

LORD, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!
Parents first season us; then schoolmasters
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound
To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin,
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,
Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,
Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,

The sound of glory ringing in our ears;
Without, our shame; within, our consciences;
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears,
Yet all these fences and their whole array
One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.
George Herbert.

307. BIBLE. Contents of the

IF thou art merry, here are airs ;
If melancholy, here are prayers;

If studious, here are those things writ
Which may deserve thy ablest wit;
If hungry, here is food divine;
If thirsty, nectar, heavenly wine.

Read, then; but, first, thyself prepare
To read with zeal and mark with care;
And when thou read'st what here is writ,
Let thy best practice second it :

So twice each precept read shall be,— First in the book, and next in thee.

Peter Heylyn.

308. BIBLE. Esteeming the

THIS holy book I'd rather own

Than all the gold and gems

That e'er in monarchs' coffers shone, Than all their diadems.

For here a blessed balm appears

To heal the deepest woe,

And those who read this book in tears, Their tears shall cease to flow.

309. BIBLE. Excellence of the

THY thoughts are here, my God, Express'd in words divine, The utterance of heav'nly lips, In ev'ry sacred line.

Each word of Thine a gem

From the celestial mines,

A sunbeam from that holy heaven Where holy sunlight shines.

Thine, thine, this book, though given In man's poor human speech, Telling of things unseen, unheard, Beyond all human reach.

Against this sea-swept rock

Ten thousand storms their will Of foam and rage have wildly spent ; It lifts its calm face still.

It standeth and will stand,

Without or change or age, The word of majesty and light, The Church's heritage.—Bonar.

310. BIBLE. Family

WHAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,

Cling reverently!-Of anxious looks beguiled,
My mother's eyes upon thy page divine

Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy love;-whilst I, a dreamy child,
On breeze-like fancies wander'd oft away,

To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh-discover'd nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest; yet would the solemn word,
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my waken'd spirit, there to be
A seed not lost; for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead, and thee!
Mrs Hemans.

311. BIBLE. Inspiration of the

WHENCE, but from Heav'n, could men unskill'd in

arts,

In several ages born, in several parts,

Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,

Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?
Unask'd their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.

If on the book itself we cast our view,
Concurrent heathens prove the story true :
The doctrine, miracles; which must convince,
For Heaven in them appeals to human sense :
And though they prove not they confirm the cause,
When what is taught agrees with nature's laws.

Therefore, the style majestic and divine,
It speaks no less than God in every line :
Commanding words; whose force is still the same
As the first fiat that produced our frame
All faiths beside, or did by arms ascend;
Or sense indulged has made mankind their friend :

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!

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.

317. BIGOTRY: cursed.

O LOVE-destroying, cursed Bigotry;
Cursed in heaven, but cursèd 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.

318. BIGOTRY. Fate of

THE bigot theologian-in minute

Distinctions skill'd, and doctrines unreduced
To practice; in debate how loud! how long!
How dexterous! in Christian love, how cold!
His vain conceits were orthodox alone.
The immutable and heavenly truth, reveal'd
By God, was nought to him: he had an art,
A kind of hellish charm, that made the lips
Of truth speak falsehood; to his liking turn'd
The meaning of the text; made trifles seem
The marrow of salvation; to a word,
A name, a sect, that sounded in the ear,
And to the eye so many letters show'd,
But did no more-gave value infinite;
Proved still his reasoning best, and his belief,
Though propp'd on fancies, wild as madmen's dreams,
Most rational, most scriptural, most sound;

With mortal heresy denouncing all
Who in his arguments could see no force.
On points of faith too fine for human sight,
And never understood in heaven, he placed
His everlasting hope, undoubting placed,
And died and when he open'd his ear, prepared
To hear, beyond the grave, the minstrelsy
Of bliss-he heard, alas! the wail of woe.
He proved all creeds false but his own, and found
At last, his own most false-most false, because
He spent his time to prove all others so.-Pollok.

319. BIRTH. High

VERILY,

I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.-Shakespeare.
Thus, born alike, from virtue first began
The diff'rence that distinguish'd man from man:
He claim'd no title from descent of blood;
But that which made him noble, made him good.
Dryden.

Madam, you haply scorn the vulgar earth
Of which I stand compacted: and because
I cannot add a splendour to my name,
Reflective from a royal pedigree,
You interdict my language; but be pleased
To know, the ashes of my ancestors,
If intermingled in the tomb with kings,
Could hardly be distinguish'd. The stars shoot
An equal influence on the open cottage,
Where the poor shepherd's child is rudely nursed,
As on the cradle where the prince is rock'd
With care and whisper.—Habbington.

The honours of a name 'tis just to guard; They are a trust but lent us, which we take, And should, in reverence to the donor's fame, With care transmit them down to other hands.

Shirley.

Let high birth triumph! what can be more great?
Nothing-but merit in a low estate.

To virtue's humblest son let none prefer
Vice, though descended from the Conqueror.
Shall man, like figures, pass for high, or base,
Slight, or important, only by their place?
Titles are marks of honest men, and wise;
The fool, or knave, that wears a title, lies.- Young.

320. BIRTH. The New: its joys.

YES, all is plain! I see,

I live, I am made free!

Oh! Love, my new-found guest!
Sweet peace, and sweetest rest!
What shall I do, what say,

In this rare morn which is true life's first day?
All round are odours blown,

And with soft undertone

Faint music pants in all the glowing air.
The waters call in many a flower-fringed stream;
The earth is very fair,

And through the depths of tender sky
Floats many a cloud-bright argosy ;
But I have tasted something more divine,
I see a glory brighter than the May;
I hear what angels to each other say;
A heavenly heart is throbbing against mine.
These earthly blossoms cannot make my crown,
Celestial strains this earthly music drown,

I look, as through an open door,
On landscapes that shall fade no more.

Oh! Saviour, Jesus, it is all of Thee-
This sacred sense of what I'm made to be,
Thy perfect self and my infirmity—
All, all of Thee-the veil removed,
The joy that springs in being loved,
The faith that asks no higher place
Than sights of Thy forgiving face.

Nearer and nearer, Lord, and nearer still;

Thy work begun, fulfil,

Shape all my life according to Thy will.
Thou know'st how I aspire;

Accept my strong desire,

Hope, heart, and mind—my spirit's deepest deep— Take all, to feed and keep,

Till my whole soul to Love's full flower is blown, And Love's full flower to perfect fruit is grown.

H. N. Powers.

But peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began:

THE oracles are dumb,

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell,

Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

Peor and Baalim

Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine;

And mooned Ashtaroth,

Heaven's queen and mother both,

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine;

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn,

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz

mourn.

And sullen Moloch fled,

Hath left in shadows dread

His burning idol all of blackest hue:

In vain with cymbals' ring,

They call the grisly king,

In dismal dance about the furnace blue:

The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste

Smoothly the waters kiss'd,

Whisp'ring new joys to the mild ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.-Milton.

325. BIRTH OF CHRIST. Welcoming the

ALL hail, Thou noble Guest, this morn,
Whose love did not the sinner scorn!
In my distress Thou cam'st to me:
What thanks shall I return to thee?

Were earth a thousand times as fair,
Beset with gold and jewels rare,
She yet were far too poor to be
A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee.

Ah, dearest Jesus, Holy Child!
Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled,
Within my heart, that it may be

A quiet chamber kept for Thee.-Luther.

326. BLESSED? Who are the

WHO are the bless'd?

They who have kept their sympathies awake, And scatter'd joy for more than custom's sake