A LIGHT. [Earnest and vigorous.] Suppose I were lost in a desolate land, With no one to comfort or guide me at hand, How glad should I be of some friend at my side, Tis thus that we wander unsafe and forlorn, How many like us have their journey begun, But yet in the darkness a light is bestowed, THAT LIGHT IS THE BIBLE; it shows us our way, O THOU; who hast given THY WORD FOR OUR LIGHT, Till life and its dangers are past: The star of my darkness, the sun of my day, MAY IT CHEER WITH ITS SHINING EACH STEP OF MY WAY, AND GUIDE ME TO HEAVEN AT LAST. THE FAMILY BIBLE. [Bold and earnest.] How painfully pleasing the fond recollection, The seats of their offspring as ranged on each hand, And that richest of books, which excelled every otherThat FAMILY BIBLE that lay on the stand: The OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE, THE DEAR, BLESSED BIBLE, THE FAMILY BIBLE that lay on the stand. That BIBLE, the volume of deep inspiration, At morn and at evening, could yield us delight; And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation, For mercy by day, and for safety through night; Our hymns of thanksgiving with harmony swelling, Half raises us from earth to that rapturous dwelling, That RICHEST OF BOOKS, WHICH EXCELLED EVERY OTHER— Ye scenes of tranquility, long have we parted, And wander unknown on a far distant shore: MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. [With vigour and energy.] This book is all that's left me now For many generations past, Here is our family tree; My mothers's hands this Bible clasped ; She, dying, gave it me. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear, Who round the hearth-stone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, My father read this holy book How calm was my poor mother's look, Her angel face-I see it yet! What thronging memories come; Again that little group is met WITHIN THE HALLS OF HOME! THOU TRUEST FRIEND MAN EVER KNEW, Where all was false I found THEE true, IN TEACHING ME THE WAY TO LIVE, THE WORD OF GOD. BY HANNAH MORE. [Earnest and bold.] Here the first history of mankind, Here we are shown "the good old way," By prophecy, the truth is shown. A field for harsh polemic hate; Yet strict inquiry may be mov'd, The more 'tis search'd the more 'tis prov'd. It is a boon by mercy given, That man gain some taste of heaven; Best medicine for the sin-sick soul, For guilty passions best control; To all, its precepts are applied, The rich man's guard, the poor man's guide; To fill with gratitude the hearts Here are the only precepts given Sole lesson since the world began, The ravages of sin repair; IT CAME TO CHEER THE CONTRITE HEART, That he who sins should sin no more ;- THE WORLD FOR SALE BY RALPH HOYT. [Earnest and bold.] THE WORLD FOR SALE!-Hang out the sign: And set me from earth's bondage free? 'TIS GOING!-yes, I mean to fling The bauble from my soul away; I'll SELL it, whatsoe'er it bring; THE WORLD'S AT AUCTION HERE TO-DAY! It is a GLORIOUS THING TO SEE,- It is not what it seems to be: - FOR SALE! It shall be mine no more. Come, turn it o'er and view it well, I would not have you purchase dear; 'Tis going! GOING !-I must sell! WHO BIDS?—Who'll buy the splendid Tear? Here's WEALTH in glittering heaps of gold,WHO BIDS?-But let me tell you fair, A baser lot was never sold; Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care? Here's LOVE, the dreamy potent spell I know its power, alas! too well; MUST PART?-What I more with LOVE? All over the enchanter's reign; WHO'LL BUY THE PLUMELESS, DYING DOVE?— And FRIENDSHIP,-RAREST GEM OF EARTH,- WHO BIDS FOR FRIENDSHIP-AS IT IS? "Tis going! GOING !-Hear the call: Once, twice, and THRICE !-'tis very low I "Twas once my hope, my stay, my all,But now the broken staff must go! FAME! hold the brilliant meteor high; HOW DAZZLING EVERY GILDED NAME! Ye millions, now's the time to buy! HOW MUCH FOR FAME? HOW MUCH FOR FAME? Hear how it thunders !-Would you stand On high Olympus, far renown'd, NOW PURCHASE, and a world command !- Sweet star of HOPE! with ray to shine Who bids for man's last friend and best! This treasure should my soul sustain ; But HOPE and I are now at strife, And SONG! For sale my tuneless lute; Or e'en were mine a wizard shell, Could chain a word in rapture high; AMBITION, FASHION, SHOW, AND PRIDE,- Grief, in an overwhelming tide, Has taught my haughty heart to bow. Poor heart! distracted, ah, so long,— And still its aching throb to bear; How broken! that was once so strong! How heavy, once so free from care! |