The living forest with Thy whisper thrills,
And there is holiness on every shade.
Yet must the thoughtful soul of man invest
With dearer consecration those pure fanes,
Which, sever'd from all sound of earth's unrest,
Hear nought but suppliant or adoring strains
Rise heavenward. Ne'er may rock or cave possess
Their claim on human hearts to solemn tenderness.
Mrs Hemans.

3598. WORSHIP. Prayer for acceptance of

THE glorious hosts of peerless night

That ever see Thy face,

Thou mak'st the mirrors of Thy light,

The vessels of Thy grace;

Then when their wondrous strain they weave,
Hast pleasure in the lay:

Deign thus our praises to receive,

Albeit from lips of clay!

And yet Thyself they cannot know,

Nor pierce the veil of light

That hides Thee from the thrones below,

As in profoundest night :

How then can mortal accents frame

Due tribute to the King?

Thou only, while we praise Thy name,
Forgive us while we sing!

We built our church; carved were the stones and wood,

And priceless was the land on which it stood;
Surely our golden gifts are not forgot :-'

And the stern Christ shall say, 'I know them not?

'But this I know, that at your temple gate
My poor, my starving poor, in sorrow sat;
Mine were the children, ignorant and cold,
Mine were the mothers, in their anguish old;
And those young girls were sisters all of mine
That you, for "my sake," might have saved from

TRUE faith nor biddeth nor abideth form.

The bended knee, the eye uplift, is all

Which man need render; all which God can bear.
What to the faith are forms? A passing speck,
A crow upon the sky. God's worship is
That only He inspires; and His bright words,
Writ in the red-leaved volume of the heart,
Return to Him in prayer, as dew to heaven.
Our proper good we rarely seek or make;
Mindless of our immortal powers and their
Immortal end, as is the pearl of its worth,
The rose its scent, the wave its purity.—Bailey,

3601. WORTH: how it is to be measured. THE worth of all men by their end esteem,

For Thee the psalm rings out so sweet and clear,
And silk-robed beauty bends the graceful knee,
And wealth doth suffer Thy meek company,
Content to pray with self-approving ken,
Thanks, Lord! that we-are not as other men.'

O vainest prayer! unheard beyond the skies
For widows' wails, and orphans' bitter cries,
For hunger's calls, and the sad freezing moan
Of dying souls untended and alone.

Shall they have answer, then? Ah, yes! I say
They shall have answer-on the Judgment Day.
When sore-perplex'd, with hearts that sink and
quake,

3602. WORTH. Joy in

THERE is a joy in worth,

Spenser.

A high, mysterious, soul-pervading charm, Which, never daunted, ever bright and warm, Mocks at the idle, shadowy ills of earth,

Amid the gloom is bright, and tranquil in the

storm.

It asks, it needs no aid;

It makes the proud and lofty soul its throne:
There, in its self-created heaven, alone,

No fear to shake, no memory to upbraid,
It sits a lesser God-life, life is all its own!
The Stoic was not wrong:

There is no evil to the virtuous brave;
Or in the battle's rift, or on the wave,

Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands:

Men whom the lust of office does not kill;

Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;

Men who possess opinions and a will;

Men who have honour-men who will not lie; Men who can stand before a demagogue

And scorn his treacherous flatteries without winking;

Tall men, sun-crown'd, who live above the fog

In public duty, and in private thinkingFor while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds, Their large professions and their little deeds, Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps, Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps.

3604. WORTH: wins esteem.

NOR are we ignorant how noble minds
Suffer too much through those indignities
Which times and vicious persons cast on them.
Ourself have ever vowed to esteem
As virtue for itself, so fortune base :

Who's first in worth, the same be first in place.
Ben Jonson.

Firm and resolved by sterling worth to gain
Love and respect, thou shalt not strive in vain.
Brydges.

Oh! wouldst thou set thy rank before thyself?
Wouldst thou be honour'd for thyself or that?
Rank that excels the wearer doth degrade,
Riches impoverish that divide respect :
Oh, to be cherish'd for one's self alone!
To owe the love which cleaves to us to nought
Which fortune's summer-winter-gives or takes!
Sheridan Knowles.

3605. WRATH. Victims of

'Tis not the want of time, nor means, nor good in

tent,

That has these millions to perdition sent;

Their love of quiet growing stronger;,
And, haply, by these tokens know,
What kind friends told them long ago,
That they are boys and girls no longer.

Still on as silent as a ghost!

Seems but a score of days, all told,
Or but a month or two at most,

Since our last New Year's song we troll'd,
And lo! that New Year now is Old.
And here we stand to say 'Good-bye!'
Brief words-and yet, we scarce know why,
They bring a moisture to the eye,

And to the heart some quakes and aches;
We speak them very tenderly,
With half a sob and half a sigh-

'Old Year, good-bye! Old Year, good-bye!'
For what it brought, for what it takes,
We love it, and for loved ones' sakes;

Prized for its hours of happiness,

Nor for its sacred sorrows less;

For all it gave through toil and strife

Of new significance to life

New breadths, new depths, new heights sublime,

And, haply, kingship over Time!

Accept our thanks, Old Year! for these,

And for all precious memories

Of love, of grief, of joy, of pain,
Whose ministry was not in vain.

And so we sadly lay, Old Year!
Our love-wreath on thy snowy bier,
Our love-wreath, moisten'd by a tear;
And, turning from our brief adieu,
With kindly welcome hail the New:
True to the Ruling Power, we sing,
The King is dead!' 'Long live the King!'
Burleigh.

3608. YEAR. Thanksgiving for a New

THANK God, that towards eternity

Another step is won!

Oh, longing turns my heart to Thee,

As time flows slowly on,

Thou Fountain whence my life is born,

Whence those rich streams of grace are drawn,
That through my being run!

I count the hours, the days, the years,
That stretch in tedious line,
Until, O Life, that hour appears,
When, at Thy touch divine,
Whate'er is mortal now in me
Shall be consumed for aye in Thee,
And deathless life be mine!

So glows Thy love within this frame,
That, touch'd with keenest fire,
My whole soul kindles in the flame
Of one intense desire,

To be in Thee, and Thou in me,
And e'en while yet on earth, to be
Still pressing closer, nigher!

I joy that from Thy love divine
No power can part me now;
That I may dare to call Thee mine,
My Friend, my Lord avow;
That I, O Prince of life, shall be
Made wholly one in Heaven with Thee;
My portion, Lord, art Thou!

And therefore do my thanks o'erflow,
That one more year is gone,
And of this time, so poor, so slow,
Another step is won;

And with a heart that may not wait, Toward yonder, distant, golden gate, I journey gladly on.

O Jesus! all my soul hath flown
Already up to Thee,

For Thou, in whom is love alone,

Hast wholly conquer'd me.

Farewell, ye phantoms, day and year,
Eternity is round me here,

Since, Lord, I live in Thee !-A. H. Franche.

3609. YESTERDAY. Lessons of

Now shall the mangled stump teach proud man a lesson;

Now can we from that elm-tree's sap distil the wine of Truth.

Heed ye those hundred rings, concentric from the

core,

Eddying in various waves to the red bark's shorelike rim?

These be the gathering of yesterdays, present all today;

This is the tree's judgment, self-history that cannot be gainsaid:

Seven years agone there was a drought-and the seventh ring is narrow'd;

The fifth from hence was half a deluge-the fifth is cellular and broad,

Thus, Man, thou art a result, the growth of many yesterdays,

That stamp thy secret soul with marks of weal o

woe:

Thou art an almanac of self, the living record of thy deeds:

Spirit hath its scars as well as body, sore and aching in their season:

Here is a knot-it was a crime; there is a cankerselfishness;

Lo! here, the heart-wood rotten; lo, there, perchance, the sap-wood sound.

Nature teacheth not in vain; thy works are in thee,

of thee;

Some present evil bent hath grown of older errors: And what if thou be walking now uprightly? Salve not thy wounds with poison

As if a petty goodness of to-day hath blotted out the sin of yesterday:

It is well thou hast life and light; and the Hewer

showeth mercy,

Dressing the root, pruning the branch, and looking for thy tardy fruits;

But, even here, as thou standest, cheerful belike, and careless,

morrows.-Tupper.

3610. YOUNG. Claims of the

GIVE us light amid our darkness;
Let us know the good from ill;
Hate us not for all our blindness;
Love us, lead us, show us kindness,-
You can make us what you will.

We are willing; we are ready;

We would learn, if you would teach; We have hearts that yearn towards duty ; We have minds alive to beauty;

Souls that any heights can reach !

Raise us by your Christian knowledge:
Consecrate to man our powers;
Let us take our proper station;
We, the rising generation,

Let us stamp the age as ours!

We shall be what you will make us :
Make us wise, and make us good!
Make us strong for time of trial;
Teach us temperance, self-denial,
Patience, kindness, fortitude!

Look into our childish faces;

See ye not our willing hearts?

Only love us, only lead us;
Only let us know you need us,

And we all will do our parts.

We are thousands, many thousands !
Every day our ranks increase;
Let us march beneath your banner,
We, the legion of true honour,
Combating for love and peace!
Mary Howitt.

3611. YOUNG. Counsel for the
LIVE, that thy young and glowing breast
Can think of death without a sigh,
And be assured that life is best
Which finds us least afraid to die.

3612. YOUNG." Death of the

Eliza Cook.

LIKE other tyrants, Death delights to smite
What, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power
And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme,

To bid the wretch survive the fortunate;

The time that bears no fruit deserves no name.
The man of wisdom is the man of years.
In hoary youth, Methuselahs may die ;
O, how misdated on their flattering tombs !

Young.

Grieve not that I die young.-Is it not well
To pass away ere life hath lost its brightness?
Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell
Of love and your kind words. List ye to me
Here I am bless'd-but I would be more free;
I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness.
Let me depart!

Ah! who would linger till bright eyes grow dim,
Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold?
Till carking care, and coil, and anguish grim,
Cast their dark shadows o'er this faery world;
Till fancy's many-colour'd wings are furl'd,
And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old?
I would depart!

Thus would I pass away-yielding my soul
A joyous thank-offering to Him who gave
That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll.
Thus-thus exultingly would I depart,
Song on my lips, ecstasy in my heart:
Sisters-sweet sisters, bear me to my grave—
Let me depart!

Lady Flora Hastings.

3613. YOUNG. Prayer for the

BESTOW, dear Lord, upon our youth
The gift of saving grace;

And let the seed of sacred truth
Fall in a fruitful place.

Grace is a plant, where'er it grows,
Of pure and heavenly root;
But fairest in the youngest shows,
And yields the sweetest fruit.

Ye careless ones, O hear betimes
The voice of sovereign love!
Your youth is stain'd with many crimes,
But mercy reigns above.—Cowper.

3614. YOUNG. Prayer of the

My Father, the guide of my youth,
To Thee for direction I fly;
O grant me Thy light and Thy truth,
Nor ever Thy presence deny.

3616. YOUTH: and age.

AND to say truth, though in its early prime,
And when unstain'd with any grosser crime,
Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast,
That in the valley of decline are lost,
And Virtue with peculiar charms appears,
Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years;
Yet age, by long experience well inform'd,
Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd-
That fire abated which impels hot youth,
Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth,-
As time improves the grape's authentic juice,
Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use,
And claims a reverence in its shortening day
That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay.-Cowper.

And if the mist retiring slow,

Roll round its wavy white,

He thinks the morning vapours hide
Some beauty from his sight.

But when behind the western clouds
Departs the fading day,
How wearily the traveller
Pursues his evening way!

Sorely along the craggy road

His painful footsteps creep,

And slow, with many a feeble pause, He labours up the steep.

And if the mists of night close round,
They fill his soul with fear;
He dreads some unseen precipice,
Some hidden danger near.

So cheerfully does youth begin
Life's pleasant morning stage;
Alas! the evening traveller feels
The fears of wary age.-Southey.

I'd say we suffer and we strive

Not less nor more as men than boys;

With grizzled beards at forty-five,

As erst at twelve in corduroys.-Thackeray.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and spring, The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparell'd in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore :--Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no

more.

The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare:
Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth :

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.-Wordsworth.

3617. YOUTH. Aspirations of

HIGHER, higher will we climb
Up the mount of glory,

That our names may live through time
In our country's story:
Happy, when her welfare calls,
He who conquers, he who falls.

Deeper, deeper let us toil
In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth and learning's spoil

Win from school and college:
Delve we there for richer gems
Than the stars of diadems.

Onward, onward may we press Through the path of duty; Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence true beauty.