Yet found she something still for which to live,-
Hearths desolate, where angel-like she came,
And 'little ones' to whom her hand could give
A cup of water in her Master's name;
And breaking hearts to bind away from death
With the soft hand of pitying love and faith.
Phoebe Cary.

3558. WORDS: can never be recalled. WHAT you keep by you, you may change and mend; But words once spoke can never be recall'd.

Roscommon.

Words have wings, and as soon as their cage, the
Mouth, is open'd, out they fly, and mount beyond
Our reach and past recovery: like lightning,
They can't be stopt, but break their passage through
The smallest crannies, and penetrate

Sometimes the thickest walls: their nature's as
Expansive as the light.-Nevile.

3559. WORDS. Effect of

OH, many a shaft at random sent
Finds mark the archer little meant ;

And many a word at random spoken
May soothe or wound a heart that's broken.

Scott.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.-Byron.

Words are mighty, words are living, Serpents with their venomous stings, Or bright angels, crowding round us With heaven's light upon their wings. Every word has its own spirit,

True or false, that never dies; Every word man's lips have utter'd Echoes in God's skies.

I have known a spirit, calmer

Than the calmest lake, and clear! As the heavens that gazed upon it,

With no wave of hope or fear; But a storm had swept across it,

And its deepest depths were stirr'd (Never, never more to slumber), Only by a word.-Adelaide A. Procter.

It was but a little word,
Yet it took wings,
Like unto living things,
And flew away;
But one dark day,

Mid gloomy clouds and rain, The 'word' came back again Like any bird.

Came back to trouble me;

But not alone;

My winged word had grown

Into a sentence,

And brought repentance
For a spoken thought

That had but wrought

Me misery.

Words are like thistle-seed;

Mind what you sow,

And where your blossoms grow.
When once they've flown

On wings of down,
Across the fertile field,

A harvest they will yield:

The warning heed !-M. A. Kidder.

The cruel and the bitter word,

That wounded as it fell,
The chilling want of sympathy,

We feel, but never tell,

The hard repulse that chills the heart Whose hopes were bounding high,— In an unfading record kept,

These things shall never die.

Let nothing pass; for every hand
Must find some work to do;
Lose not a chance to waken love;
Be firm, and just, and true.
So shall a light that cannot fade

Beam on thee from on high,
And angel voices say to thee,

"These things shall never die !'
All the Year Round.

The strongest love hath yet, at times, A weakness in its power;

And latent sickness often sends

The madness of an hour!

To her I loved, in bitterness

I said a cruel thing:

Ah me! how much of misery

From idle words may spring!

I loved her then-I love her still;
But there was in my blood
A growing fever, that did give
Its frenzy to my mood;
I sneer'd because another's sneers
Had power my heart to wring:
Ah me! how much of misery
From idle words may spring!

And when, with tears of wonder, she
Look'd up into my face,

I coldly turn'd away mine eyes,
Avoiding her embrace :
Idly I spake of idle doubts,

And many an idle thing:

Ah me! how much of misery

From idle words may spring!

'Twas over soon, the cause,-not soon The sad effects pass'd by;

They rule beneath the winter's sun,
And 'neath the summer's sky!

I sought forgiveness,—she forgave,
But kept the lurking sting:
Alas! how much of misery

From idle words may spring!

Month after month, year after year,

I strove to win again

The heart an idle word had lost,

But strove, alas! in vain.
Oh! ye who love, beware lest thorns
Across Love's path ye fling:

Ye little know what misery

From idle words may spring.
Major Calder Campbell.

3560. WORDS. Eloquent

THAT glorious burst of wingèd words!-how bound they from his tongue!

The full expression of the mighty thought, the strong, triumphant argument,

The rush of native eloquence, resistless as Niagara, The keen demand, the clear reply, the fine, poetic

image,

The nice analogy, the clinching fact, the metaphor bold and free,

The grasp of concentrated intellect wielding the omnipotence of truth.-Tupper.

3561. WORDS: expressions of thought.

WORDS are the soul's embassadors, who go
Abroad upon her errands to and fro;
They are the sole expounders of the mind,
And correspondence keep 'twixt all mankind.
They are those airy keys that ope (and wrest
Sometimes) the locks and hinges of the breast.
By them the heart makes sallies: wit and sense
Belong to them: they are the quintessence
Of those ideas which the thoughts distil,
And so calcine and melt again, until
They drop forth into accents; in whom lies
The salt of fancy, and all faculties.-Howell.

NAY, speak no ill; a kindly word

Can never leave a sting behind;

And, oh, to breathe each tale we've heard

Is far beneath a noble mind;

For oft a better seed is sown

By choosing thus a kinder plan;
For if but little good we've known,

Let's speak of all the good we can.
Give me the heart that fain would hide,
Would fain another's fault efface:
How can it please our human pride
To prove humanity but base?
No! let it reach a higher mode,
A nobler estimate of man:
Be earnest in the search of good,

And speak of all the best we can.

Then speak no ill, but lenient be

To others' feelings as your own;

If you're the first a fault to see,

Be not the first to make it known.
For life is but a passing flood;

No lip can tell how brief the stay:
Be earnest in the search of good,

And speak of all the best we may.

3563. WORDS: real character. 'Tis only man can words create,

And cut the air to sounds articulate

By nature's special charter. Nay, speech can
Make a shrewd discrepance 'twixt man and man :
It doth the gentleman from clown discover;
And from a fool the grave philosopher;
As Solon said to one in judgment weak,
I thought thee wise until I heard thee speak.

3564. WORDS. Use of

James Howel.

WORDS are like leaves; and where they most abound,

Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.

False eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
Its gaudy colours spreads on every place;
The face of nature we no more survey,
All glares alike, without distinction gay;
But true expression, like the unchanging sun,
Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon;
It gilds all objects, but it alters none.

Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent as more suitable :
A vile conceit in pompous words express'd,
Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd:
For different styles with different subjects sort,
As several garbs, with country, town, and court.
In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold;
Alike fantastic, if too new or old :

Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. —Pope.

IN His furrow'd fields around us
God has work for all who will:
Those who may not scatter broadcast,
Yet may plant it hill by hill.
Yearning hearts are often near us,
Conscious of their spirit-need:
These are hills prepared by Heaven
To receive the precious seed.

Shall we find these hills, and plant them?
Shall we scatter when we may?
Or with idle hands stand waiting
Till the seed-time pass away?

Glory waits the faithful workmen
Who perform their Master's will:
Then, O Christians! will ye weary
Of this planting hill by hill?
Soon life's spring-time will be over,
And its autumn days will come :
Happy then will be those workmen
Who have sheaves to carry home.-Allis.

The bees are stirring, birds are on the wing, And winter, slumbering in the open air,

Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring;
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll.
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And hope without an object cannot live.-Coleridge.

3569. WORK: necessary as well as prayer.
ONE pleasant spring morning on nothing intent,
But following fancy wherever it went,
As clang of an anvil rang out on the air

I paused by a smithy, smoke-blacken'd, and where The brawny-arm'd blacksmith, with blows fast and strong,

Was pounding out horse - shoes and singing this song:

'Bread and butter, potatoes and meat,
Shoes and stockings for six little feet;
House and home from mortgages free,
Come, old anvil, give these to me.'

And the ring of the anvil seem'd to say:—
'Tis wisdom to work as well as to pray;
And prayer that comes with work at its side
Is never in heaven or earth denied.'

And the blows fell faster and faster still,
And the sparks flew farther and farther, till,
Like rainbow of fire, the very air
Seem'd full of promise to hear the prayer.
The music of hammer and words of song
Rang out in the morning air hearty and strong;
Keeping time together, -the arm that swung
The hammer to strike, and the heart that sung,—
And neither was still a moment before
The smoking horse-shoe roll'd on the floor.

Mid shower of fire and rain of sweat

The brawny blacksmith is toiling yet ;

But he taught a lesson for all, that day,

How to work with the hammer as well as to pray.

3570. WORK: universal.

Leverich.

No gain, but by its price; labour, for the poor man's meal,

Ofttimes heart-sickening toil, to win him a morsel for his hunger;

Labour, for the chapman at his trade, a dull, unvaried round,

Year after year, unto death; yea, what a weariness is it !

Labour, for the pale-faced scribe, drudging at his hated desk,

Who bartereth for needful pittance the untold gold of health;

Labour, with fear, for the merchant, whose hopes are ventured on the sea;

Labour, with care, for the man of law, responsible in his gains;

Labour, with envy and annoyance, where strangers will thee wealth;

Labour, with indolence and gloom, where wealth falleth from a father;

Labour, unto all, whether aching thews, or aching head, or spirit

The curse on the sons of men, in all their states, is labour.

Nevertheless, to the diligent, labour bringeth blessing:

The thought of duty sweeteneth toil, and travail is a pleasure;

And time spent in doing hath a comfort that is not for the idle ;

The hardship is transmuted into joy, by the dear alchemy of mercy;

Labour is good for a man, bracing up his energies to conquest,

And without it life is dull, the man perceiving himself useless;

For wearily the body groaneth, like a door on rusty hinges,

And the grasp of the mind is weaken'd, as the talons of a caged vulture.-Tupper.

O! it is beautiful to see this world,
Poised in the crystal air, with all its seas,
Mountains, and plains, majestically rolling
Around its noiseless axis, day by day,

And year by year, and century after century ;
And as it turns, still wheeling through the immense
Of ether, circling the resplendent sun

In calm and simple grandeur.—Atherstone.

Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth
In her fair page; see, every season brings
New change to her, of everlasting youth;
Still the green soil with joyous living things
Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings,
And myriads still are happy in the sleep
Of ocean's azure gulfs.—Bryant.

God's world is bathed in beauty,
God's world is steep'd in light;
It is the self-same glory

That makes the day so bright,
Which thrills the earth with music,
Or hangs the stars in night.
Hid in earth's mines of silver,

Floating on clouds above,
Ringing in autumn's tempest,
Murmur'd by every dove,
One thought fills God's creation—
His own great name of Love!
In God's world strength is lovely,
And so is beauty strong,
And light-God's glorious shadow—
To both great gifts belong;
And they all meet in sweetness,

And fill the earth with song.

God's world has one great echo,
Whether calm blue mists are curl'd,

Or lingering dew-drops quiver,
Or red storms are unfurl'd;
The same deep love is throbbing

Through the great heart of God's world.

3575. WORLD. Different views of the

'Tis a very good world that we live in

To lend, or to spend, or to give in;

But to borrow or beg, or get a man's own,
'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known.
Old Song.

I've tried this world in all its changes,
States, and conditions; have been great and happy,
Wretched and low, and pass'd through all its stages,
And oh believe me, who have known it best,

It is not worth the bustle that it costs;

'Tis but a medley, all of idle hopes, And abject childish fears.—Madden.