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With his bow'd head, shall bear him company. 416. CHARITY : its impulses to be obeyed. Decay will make no difference, and death,
When poverty, with mien of shame, With his cold hand, shall make no difference;
The sense of pity seeks to touch, And there will be no precedence of power,
Or, bolder, makes the simple claim
That, I have nothing, you have much, -
Believe not either man or book
That bids you close the opening hand, When time is a forgotten circumstance !
And with reproving speech and look, The elevated brow of kings will lose
Your first and free intent withstand. The impress of regalia, and the slave
Why not believe the homely letter Will wear his immortality as free,
That all you give will God restore? Beside the crystal waters ; but the depth
The poor man may deserve it better, Of glory in the attributes of God
And surely, surely wants it more. Will measure the capacities of mind;
R. M. Milnes. And as the angels differ, will the ken Of gifted spirits glorify Him more.
417. CHARITY: its rewards. It is life's mystery. The soul of man
CHARITY ever Createth its own destiny of power ;
Finds in the act reward, and needs no trumpet And, as the trial is intenser here,
In the receiver.-Beaumont and Fletcher. His being hath a nobler strength in heaven.
Willis. Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing good, 413. CHARACTER. Thought from
Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours
Are barren in return.-Rowe.
Think not the good,
Shall die forgotten all : the poor, the pris'ner, 414. CHARACTER. Vacillation of
The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,
Shall cry to Heaven, and pull a blessing on thee. Religious-deistic-now loyal and warm ;
Rowe. Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform :
Nothing truly can be term'd mine own This moment a fop, that sententious as Titus ; But what I make mine own by using well. Democritus now, and anon Heraclitus ;
Those deeds of charity which we have done Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle ; Shall stay for ever with us: and that wealth Then vex'd to the soul with impertinent tattle ; Which we have so bestow'd, we only keep; Sow moody and sad, now unthinking and gay,
The other is not ours.- Middleton.
The secret pleasure of a generous act
Is the great mind's great bribe. - Dryden. 415. CHARITIES. Trifling
The liberal are secure alone ; The blessings which the poor and weak can scatter
For what we frankly give, for ever is our own. Have their own season. 'Tis a little thing
Granville. To give a cup of water ; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips,
418. CHARITY : must not be confined to gifts of May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
money. More exquisite than when nectarian juices
WERE we as rich in charity of deed Renew the life of joy in happiest hours.
As gold, what rock would bloom not with the seed ? It is a little thing to speak a phrase
We give our alms and cry, “What can we more ?' Of common comfort, which by daily use
One hour of time were worth a load of ore ! Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear
Give to the ignorant our own wisdom ! give Of him who thought to die unmourn'd, 'twill fall | Sorrow our comfort ! lend to those who live Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye
In crime the counsels of our virtue ! share With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand
With souls our souls, and Satan shall despair ! To know the bonds of fellowship again.— Talfourd. |
ONLY add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable ; add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love, By name to come call'd charity,—the soul Of all the rest.-Milton.
'Mongst all your virtues
While thirst of praise and vain desire of fame
422. CHARITY. Unbounded
427. CHEERFULNESS : encouraged.
Self-LOVE thus push'd to social,—to divine,
LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say ;
Foretells a pleasant day.
But these are transient all;
Enjoy them as they fly!
And calls our best away?
O'er hope, a heavy sway?
Unconquer'd, though she fell ;
LET huinble Allen, with an awkward shame, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Pope. 424. CHASTISEMENT. Views of
RABIA, sick upon her bed, By two saints was visited, Holy Malik, Hassan wise, Men of mark in Moslem eyes.
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Charlotte Bronté. Were it not worse than vain to close our eyes
Unto the azure sky and golden light, Because the tempest cloud doth sometimes rise, And glorious day must darken into night?
Douglas Ferrold's Magasine.
Better to hope, though the clouds hang low,
And to keep the eyes still lifted ; For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through,
When the ominous clouds are rifted ; There was never a night without a day,
Nor an evening without a morning ; And the darkest hour, the proverb goes,
Is the hour before the dawning.
428. CHEERFULNESS: its value.
CHEERFUL looks make every dish a feast, And 'tis that crowns a welcome.—Massinger.
THERE's many a trouble
Would break like a bubble, And into the waters of Lethe depart,
Did not we rehearse it,
And tenderly nurse it,
There is many a gem in the path of life,
Which we pass in our idle pleasure, That is richer far than a jewell'd crown,
Or the miser's hoarded treasure; It may be the love of a little child,
Or a mother's prayer to heaven, Or only a beggar's grateful thanks,
For a cup of water given.
A bright and golden filling,
And hands that are swift and willing,
Of curious lives asunder ; And then blame heaven for the tangled ends,
And sit, and grieve, and wonder.
There's many a sorrow
Would vanish to-morrow, Were we not unwilling to furnish the wings;
So sadly intruding
And quietly brooding,
430. CHEERFULNESS. Power of The stoutest armour of defence is that which is
within the bosom, And the weapon that no enemy can parry is a bold
and cheerful spirit : Catapults in old war worked liked Titans, crushing
foes with rocks; So doth a strong-springed heart throw back every
load on its assailants. - Tupper.
431. CHEERFULNESS. Psalm of
How welcome the seeming
Of looks that are beaming,
Eyes bright as a berry,
Cheeks red as a cherry, The groan and the curse and the heartache can cure.
Resolved to be merry,
All worry to ferry
And no longer fearful,
But happy and cheerful, We feel life has much that's worth living for yet.
Georgiana C. Clark.
I MOURN no more my vanish'd years :
Beneath a tender rain,
My heart is young again.
429. CHEERFULNESS : its wisdom.
If we would only stop to take it ;
If the querulous heart would wake it.
And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
Though the wintry storm prevaileth.
The west winds blow, and singing low
I hear the glad streams run;
Wide open to the sun.
I look in hope and fear :
The best of now, and here.
I plough no more a desert land
For harvest, weed and tare; The manna dropping from God's hand
Rebukes my painful care.
2nd Cland. They planted herWishe come up next year?
Ist Chald. No, not so soon; Bat some day God will call her to come up, And then she will Papa knows everything; He said she would, before they planted her.
Jean Ingela. 433. CHILD. Death of a
When the morning, half in shadow,
I break my pigrim staf, I lay
Aside the towing car,
I welcome at my door.
Among the ripening com,
Blow through the autumn morn ;
Through fringed lids to heaven, And the pale aster in the brook
Shall see its image given ;
The south winds softly sigh,
Melt down the amber sky.
Rebuke an age of wrong:
Make not the blade less strong.
Have mark'd my erring track,
His chast'ning turn'd me back;
Of love is understood,
Sweet with eternal good;
Which opens into light,
Beyond the Father's sight;
Through memory's sunset air,
In purple distance fair ;
Seem blending in a psalm,
Slow rounding into calm. And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play : And all the windows of my heart
I open to this day.-Whittier.
Not enough of earth for sinning,
432. CHILD. Burying a
Amy diedDear little Amy! when you talk of her, Say, she is gone to heaven.
Now, the litter she doth lie on, Strew'd with roses, bear to Zion; Go, as past a pleasant meadow, Through the valley of the shadow.
Take her softly, holy angels, Past the ranks of God's evangels, Past the saints and martyrs holy, To the Earth-Born meek and lowly : We would have our precious blossom Softly laid in Jesus' bosom!
434 CHILD. Lesson for a
My fairest child, I have no song to give you ;
For every day.
Charles Kingsley. 435. CHILD. My Lost
I CANNOT make him dead !
His fair sunshiny head
Yet when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,
I walk my parlour floor,
And, through the open door,
I'm stepping toward the hall
To give the boy a call ;
In dreams I see him now ;
And, on his angel brow,
Yes, we all live to God !
Father, Thy chastening rod
That in the spirit-land,
Meeting at Thy right hand, 'Twill be our heaven to find that he is there.
Pierpont. 436. CHILDHOOD. Beauty of BEAUTIFUL, beautiful childhood ! with a joy That like a robe is palpable, and flung Out by your ev'ry motion ! delicate bud Of the immortal flower that will unfold And come to its maturity in heaven ! I weep your earthly glory. 'Tis a light Lent to the new-born spirit, that goes out With the first idle wind. It is the leaf Fresh flung upon the river, that will dance Upon the wave that stealeth out its life, Then sink of its own heaviness. The face Of the delightful earth will to your eye Grow dim ; the fragrance of the many flowers Be noticed not, and the beguiling voice Of nature in her gentleness will be To manhood's senseless ear inaudible. --Willis.
437. CHILDHOOD. Mystery of
'Tis aye a solemn thing to me
To look upon a babe that sleeps-
Of its Adam's taint and woe,
Will not let it slumber so.-E.B. Browning.
I thread the crowded street ;
A satchell'd lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colour'd hair ;
And, as he's running by,
Follow him with my eye,
I know his face is hid
Under the coffin lid ; Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair ;
My hand that marble felt;
O'er it in prayer I knelt ;
Not there! Where, then, is he?
The form I used to see
The grave, that now doth press
Upon that cast-off dress,
He lives! In all the past
He lives; nor, to the last,
438. CHILDREN. Benefit of
Were there no little people in it;
Were there no children to begin it. No little forms, like buds, to grow,
And make the admiring heart surrender ; No little hands on breast and brow,
To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. No rosy boys, at wintry morn,
With satchels to the school-house hasting ; No merry shouts as home they rush,
No precious morsel for their tasting. Tall, grave, grown people at the door,
Tall, grave, grown people at the table;