They chant their artless notes in simple guise ;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps 'Dundee's' wild-warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs,' worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin' beats the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page-
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
With Amalek's ungracious progeny,
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire;
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in heaven the second name, Had not on earth whereon to lay His head : How His first followers and servants sped;

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ;
How he, who lone in Patmos banished,
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,

And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by
Heaven's command.

Then, kneeling down, to heaven's eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,'
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear;
While circling Time moves round in an eternal
sphere.

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,

In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide, Devotion's every grace, except the heart! The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; But, haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. Burns.

1221. FANATICISM. Definition of WHAT is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much, And dreaded more than a contagious touch? I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear, That fire is catching if you draw too near; But sage observers oft mistake the flame, And give true piety that odious name. To tremble (as the creature of an hour Ought at the view of an Almighty power) Before whose presence, at whose awful throne. All tremble in all worlds, except our own, To supplicate His mercy, love His ways, And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise, Though common sense, allow'd a casting voice, And free from bias, must approve the choice, Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme, And wild as madness in the world's esteem. But that disease, when soberly defined, Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind; It views the truth with a distorted eye, And either warps or lays it useless by ; 'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws Its sordid nourishment from man's applause; And while at sin unrelinquish'd lies, Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies.-Cowper.

1222. FANCY.

IN the soul

Are many lesser faculties, that serve

There are, who to my person pay their court;
I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short.
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,
Such Ovid's nose, and, sir! you have an eye!
Go on, obliging creature, make me see,
All that disgraced my betters, met in me;
Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed,
Just so immortal Maro held his head;
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer died three thousand years ago.

THE firmest purpose of a woman's heart
To well-timed, artful flattery may yield.-Lillo.

All-potent Flattery, universal lord !
Reviled, yet courted; censured, yet adored!
How thy strong spell each human bosom draws
The very echo to our self-applause! -Pope.

1282. FLATTERY. Last refinement of
WHEN I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does; being then most flatter'd.
Shakespeare.

1283. FLATTERY: loved.

OH, that men's ears should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!
Shakespeare.

'Tis an old maxim in the schools
That flattery's the food of fools;
Yet now and then your men of wit
Will condescend to take a bit.-Swift.

But flattery never seems absurd;
The flatter'd always take your word;
Impossibilities seem just,

They take the strongest praise on trust;
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,

Will still come short of self-conceit.-Gay.

1284. FLATTERY. Meanness of

FLATTERY but ill becomes a soldier's mouth;
Leave we the practice of those meaner arts
To smooth-tongued statesmen and betraying cour
tiers.-Marsh.

No flattery, boy! an honest man can't live by 't:
It is a little sneaking art, which knaves
Use to cajole and soften fools withal.
If thou hast flattery in thy nature, out with 't;
Or send it to a court, for there 'twill thrive.

Otway.

Let me be grateful; but let far from me
Be fawning cringe, and false dissembling look,
And servile flattery, that harbours oft
In courts and gilded roofs.-Philips.

1285. FLATTERY. Mirror of

A BEGGAR of Shiraz once had a looking-glass
That by his magic power all others did surpass,-
Which many dames would wish their mirrors too
could share-

To show an ugly face as if it were most fair!
The beggar held this glass in front of every one
From whom he begg'd; and copious guerdons thus
he won.

For each with gladness gave who saw himself so fair:

The gay young lord, the foul old hag, both looking there.

At last the beggar, lying sick, gave to his son
The glass, and said, 'Make use of it as I have done.'
But with the glass at night all empty came he back:
For he had made a different use of it, alack!
He held not up the glass before each passing wight,
But saw his own face there and linger'd on the sight.
The father said, "The foolish fruits of idle pride,
My son, no human heart has ever satisfied.
Who shows the world in Flattery's glass, is one
shrewd elf;

He is a fool who looks therein to see himself.'

1286. FLATTERY: selfish.

Oriental.

You play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me. Shakespeare.

1287. FLATTERY: the peril of the great.

THAT subtle serpent, servile flattery,

Seldom infects the meaner man, that fears No change of state, through fortune's treachery; She spits her poison at the mightiest peers, And with her charms enchants the prince's ears: In sweetest wood the worm doth soonest breed, The caterpillar on best buds doth feed.

Mirror for Magistrates.

To feed, and clothe thee? why should the poor be flatter'd?

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ;
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.-Shakespeare.

'Tis the fate of princes, that no knowledge

Comes pure to them, but, passing through the eyes And ears of other men, it takes a tincture

From every channel; and still bears a relish Of flattery or private ends.-Denham.

1288. FLOWERS: do not bloom in vain.

IN May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh rhodora in the woods
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook;
The purple petals fallen in the pool

Made the black waters, with their beauty gayHere might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,

And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky,' Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being.

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose !

I never thought to ask; I never knew,
But in my simple ignorance suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought
you.-Emerson.

1289. FLOWERS: fading.

FADE, flowers, fade; nature will have it so ; 'Tis but what we must in our autumn do. Waller.

1296. FLOWERS. Field

YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true; Yet, wildings of nature, I dote upon you;

For ye waft me to summers of old,

When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold.-Campbell.

1291. FLOWERS. Teaching of the

To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Wordsworth.

Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining,
Far from all voice of teachers or divines,
My soul would find, in flowers of Thy ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines!

Horace Smith.

There is a lesson in each flower,
A story in each stream and bower;
In every herb on which you tread
Are written words, which, rightly read,
Will lead you from earth's fragrant sod,
To hope, and holiness, and God.

Cunningham.

He might have made enough, enough

For every want of ours,

For luxury, medicine, and toil,

And yet have made no flowers.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man
Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
And dyed with rainbow light,
All fashion'd with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night?

Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high;
And in the silent wilderness,

Where no man passes by?

Our outward life requires them not,
Then, wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth :

To comfort man-to whisper hope,

Whene'er his faith is dim;

For who so careth for the flower
Will much more care for Him!

1294. FOES. A Christian's

Mary Howitt.

AWAKE, my soul! lift up thine eyes, See where thy foes against thee rise, In long array, a numerous host; Awake, my soul! or thou art lost.

Here giant Danger threatening stands,
Mustering his pale terrific bands;
There pleasure's silken banners spread,
And willing souls are captive led.
See where rebellious passions rage,
And fierce desires and lusts engage;
The meanest foe of all the train
Has thousands and ten thousands slain.
Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground,
Perils and snares beset thee round;
Beware of all, guard every part,
But most, the traitor in thy heart.
Come then, my soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield;
Put on the armour from above

Of heavenly truth and heavenly love.
The terror and the charm repel,
And powers of earth, and powers of hell;
The Man of Calvary triumph'd here,
Why should His faithful followers fear?
Mrs Barbauld.

1295. FOLLIES. Unsuspected

WHOSE follies, blazed about, to all are known, And are a secret to himself alone.-Granville.

1296. FOLLOWING CHRIST.

IF Jesus came to earth again,

And walk'd and talk'd in field and street, Who would not lay his human pain

Low at those heavenly feet?

And leave the loom, and leave the lute,
And leave the volume on the shelf,
To follow Him, unquestioning, mute,
If 'twere the Lord Himself?

How many a brow with care o'erworn,

How many a heart with grief o'erladen, How many a youth with woe forlorn, How many a mourning maiden, Would leave the baffling earthly prize

Which fails the earthly, weak endeavour, To gaze into those holy eyes,

And drink content for ever!

And I where'er He went would go,

Nor question where the path might lead: Enough to know that here below

I walk'd with God indeed!

If this be thus, O Lord of mine,
In absence is Thy love forgot?
And must I, when I walk, repine,
Because I see Thee not?

If this be thus, if this be thus,

And our poor prayers yet reach Thee, Lord, Since we are weak, once more to us

Reveal the Living Word!

Oh, nearer to me in the dark

Of life's low hours one moment stand, And give me keener eyes to mark

The moving of Thy hand.-Owen Meredith.

1297. FOOD. Daily

O KING of earth, and air, and sea!
The hungry ravens cry to Thee;
To Thee the scaly tribes, that sweep
The bosom of the boundless deep:
To Thee the lions roaring call;
The common Father, kind to all:
Then grant Thy servants, Lord, we pray,
Our daily bread from day to day.

The fishes may for food complain,
The ravens spread their wings in vain,
The roaring lions lack and pine;
But God, Thou carest still for Thine;
Thy bounteous hand with food can bless
The bleak and lonely wilderness;
And Thou hast taught us, Lord, to pray,
For daily bread from day to day.

And oh! when through the wilds we roam
That part us from our heavenly home;
When, lost in danger, want, and woe,
Our faithless tears begin to flow;
Do Thou the gracious comfort give,
By which alone the soul may live;
And grant Thy servants, Lord, we pray,
The bread of life from day to day !—Heber.

1298. FOOD. Poisonous

DEATH in the pot ! 'tis always there,
The bane of all our food,
When we partake it without fear,
Without an eye to God.

Unless He sanctify the meat,

And bless us from the sky,

Unless we to His glory eat,

Our souls by eating die.-Charles Wesley.

1299. FOOD. Provision of

By the poor widow's oil and meal
Elijah was sustain'd;

Though small the stock, it lasted well,
For God the store maintain'd.

It seem'd as if from day to day

They were to eat and die;
But still, though in a secret way,
He sent a fresh supply.

Thus to His poor He still will give
Just for the present hour ;
But for to-morrow they must live
Upon His word and power.

No barn nor storehouse they possess
On which they can depend;
Yet have no cause to fear distress,
For Jesus is their Friend.-Newton.

1300. FOOLS. Rashness of

FOR fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Pope.

1301. FORBEARANCE: necessary to domestic

happiness.

ALAS! and is domestic strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear'd
As to be wantonly incurr'd
To gratify a fretful passion,
On every trivial provocation?
The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear,
And something, every day they live,
To pity, and perhaps forgive:
But if infirmities that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish, or a sense impair'd,
Are crimes so little to be spared,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar

And tumult and intestine war.-Cowper.

1302. FOREST. Music of the

My soul is growing sick-I will away

And gather balm from a sweet forest walk!
There, as the breezes through the branches sweep,
Is heard aerial minstrelsy, like harps
Untouch'd, unseen, that on the spirit's ear
Pour out their numbers till they lull in peace
The tumult of the bosom. There's a voice
Of music in the rustling of the leaves :

And the green boughs are hung with living lutes,
Whose strings will only vibrate to His hand

Who made them, while they sound His untaught

praise!

The whole wild wood is one vast instrument