*

ADDRESS TO LIGHT.

Hail, holy light, offspring of heaven's first-born!
In unapproached light
God dwelt from eternity; dwelt in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
I feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quenched the orbs,
Or dim suffusion veiled.

Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank

Of Nature's works to me expunged and rased,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou, celestial light,

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see, and tell

Of things invisible to mortal sight.*

NATURE'S NOBILITY.

Room for a noble man to pass!

Not in rich robes! nor trappings gay!
No fop tricked out before the glass!

But-clad in sober gray

A nobleman in heart is he,
With mind for his nobility.

His crest-a soul in virtue strong;

His arms-a heart with candour bright;
Which gold bribes not to what is wrong,
Nor blinds to what is right.

The patent of his courtly race,—
Behold it in his open face.

He cringes not on those above,
Nor tramples on the worm below;
Misfortunes cannot cool his love,
Nor flattery make it grow;
Staunch to his friends in woe or weal,
As is the magnet to the steel.

* Vide Milton on his blindness, page 196.

MILTON.

He envies not the deepest sage;
He scoffs not at the meanest wight;
And all the war that he doth wage
Is in the cause of right;

For broad estate, and waving land,
He has the poor man's willing hand.

Room for a lord, ye truckling crew,
Who round earth's great ones fawn and wind;
Fall back! and gaze on something new:-

A lord, at least in mind

That bravest work in nature's plan,
An upright, independent man.

ASPINALL.

It is this sense of duty which makes all men essentially equal, and which removes all the distinctions of the world. Through this the ignorant and the poor may become the greatest of the race; for the greatest is he who is most true to the principle of duty. It is not improbable that the noblest human beings are to be found in the least favoured conditions of society, among those whose names are never uttered beyond the narrow circle in which they toil and suffer, who have but "two mites" to give away, who have perhaps not even that, but who "desire to be fed with the crumbs which fall from the rich man's table;" for in this class may be found those who have withstood the severest temptation, who have practised the most arduous duties, who have confided in God under the heaviest trials, who have been most wronged and have forgiven most; and these are the great, the exalted. It matters nothing what the particular duties are to which the individual is called,how minute or obscure in their outward form. Greatness in God's sight lies not in the extent of the sphere which is filled, or of the effect which is produced, but altogether in the power of virtue in the soul, in the energy with which God's will is chosen, with which trial is borne, or with which goodness is loved and pursued.

CHANNING.

That some should be richer than others is natural, and is necessary, and could be prevented only by gross violations of right. Leave men to the free use of their powers, and some will accumulate more than their neighbours. But, to be prosperous is not to be superior, and should form no barrier between men. The only distinctions which should be recognized are those of the soul, of strong principle, of incorruptible integrity, of usefulness, of cultivated intellect, of fidelity in seeking for truth. A man, in proportion as he has these claims, should be honoured and welcomed everywhere. I see not why such a man, however coarsely if neatly dressed, should not be a respected guest in the most splendid mansions, and at the most brilliant meetings. A man is worth infinitely more than the saloons, and the costumes, and the show of the universe. He was made to tread all these beneath his feet. What an insult to humanity is the present deference to dress and

upholstery, as if silkworms, and looms, and scissors, and needles, could produce something nobler than a man! Every good man should protest against a caste founded on outward prosperity, because it exalts the outward above the inward, the material above the spiritual; because it springs from and cherishes a contemptible pride in superficial and transitory distinctions; because it alienates man from his brother, breaks the tie of common humanity, and breeds jealousy, scorn, and mutual ill-will. Can this be needed to social order?-CHANNING.

OPPORTUNITIES OF THE DAY.

Why thus longing, why for ever sighing,
For the far-off, unattained and dim;
While the beautiful, all round thee lying,
Offers up its low perpetual hymn?

Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
All thy restless yearning it would still,
Leaf, and flower, and laden bee are preaching
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.
Poor, indeed, thou must be, if around thee
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw,
If no silken chord of love hath bound thee
To some little world through weal and woe.

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,
No fond voices answer to thine own;
If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.

Not by deeds that win the world's applauses,
Not by works that give thee world-renown,

Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses,

Canst thou earn and wear the immortal crown.

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give:
Thou wilt find by hearty striving only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live.

Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine;

But with fervent love if thou adorest

Thou art wealthier-all the world is thine!

Nature wears the colour of the spirit;

Sweetly to her worshipper she sings;

All the glow, the grace she doth inherit,

Round her trusting child she fondly flings.-H. W.

LOCKSLEY HALL.

Locksley Hall far in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts,
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts.

Many a night from yonder ivied casement ere I went to rest,
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads rising through the mellow shade,
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid.
There about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime
With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.
When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed;
When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed:
When I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see;
I saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm;
Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were
furl'd

In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.
For I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs,
And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,
And the individual withers, but the world is more and more.

Ah for some retreat

Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat;
Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies,
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of paradise.
Foolish such a dream and fancy! I know well my words are wild,
For I count the grey barbarian lower than the Christian child,
Mated with a squalid savage-what to me were sun or clime?"
I, the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time-
I, that rather held it better men should perish one by one,
Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon!
Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range.
Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day:
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Mother Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun :
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the

sun

O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set,
Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet:
Howsoever, these things be a long farewell to Locksley Hall!
Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.

TENNYSON.-Abr.

ON MUSIC.

Of all the arts beneath the heaven,
That man has found, or God has given,
None holds o'er all so blest a sway,
As music's melting, mystic lay;
Slight emblem of the bliss above,
It soothes the spirit all to love.

I consider music to be the most graceful accomplishment and delightful recreation that adorns this hard working world, and renovates our busy, overcharged existence. Its negative import is great; it provides an amusement for our people, and keeps many from the ale-house and midnight brawls. Its positive importance and value are inestimable; for the combining chords that regulate our own being are so interwoven-sense with principle-that the very character assumes a clothing from external circumstances. I am aware that from every altar, however pure and sacred, fire might be stolen and desecrated; but we should emulate the flame, which, while it enlivens all around, points to the skies.

THE TRUE POET.

Amid life's busy hum and clamour hoarse,
Himself though not unseeing, yet unseen,
The Poet still pursues his placid course.
With quiet pace and upturned eye serene,
He looks regretful on the tinsel scene.
The swollen nothings on life's witching stage:
All to his tastes is profitless and mean;

Far higher thoughts his towering mind engage-
A fairer, nobler home, a worthier heritage.

Nature and God his animating theme,

The fields his study, and the woods his books,
He seeks the grassy dell and wimpling stream,
And haunts the shadowy groves and rushy brooks;
Even in the meanest things reads happy looks,
Hears joyful utterances in tongueless things,
Finds sweet companionship in loneliest nooks.
How much of Paradise to earth still clings,
Far, far beyond the world's cold dull imaginings!

He grieveth too that man on man should frown,
That creed, condition, country should divide;
That blustering Might should Meekness trample down,
And bloated Wealth o'er Poverty should stride.
How long, how long shall Self be defied,
Imperious Mammon fill his wrongful throne?
By blood and sorrow are not all allied?

Oh that fair Love again would claim his own,

That each might live for all, that all might live as one!