But alas for conquering Jephthah! no rapture filled his soul, But horror and deep anguish, too mighty for control; For an awful vow on record, in the archives of high Heaven, To death and fearful torture that worshipped child had given ! But the soul of Jephthah's daughter was a fount of strength and faith, And to save her father's honor she welcomed pain and death; O! is there not a lesson, in the path this maiden trod, Of the faith and deep devotion we owe our Father, GOD? And should we not surrender, with as beautiful a trust, Our lives to that good Parent, the Merciful and Just? Should not our whole strange being lie prostrate at his feet, Till, in good time, He lifteth us to share his mercy-seat? THE HAPPY THOUGHT. BY HENRY BACON. "A voice, all low and sweet, like thine, That it shall know and meet thee there." I SAT by the side of a dying girl, and conversed upon the mysteries she was soon to have the greatest power to solve. We had never met before, but there is no distance to sympathizing souls, and the formalities of conventional life were all forgotten. She was a sister-spirit, and desired to talk of the Father and the soul's home, and all else was cast aside as burdens from the wings of thought. The sanctity of the themes rested upon my soul like moonlight on the air, and I felt the solemnity of the hour. And that is indeed a solemn hour when a young heart is about to bid farewell to all earthly things, and go down the mystic valley to the Unknown. Life in the Present is precious. There are golden ties binding to earth and its pleasant things, and the heart is wrung with thrilling grief when we are to part with but one scene, or one friend. Deep and bitter regret comes when we are called to take the last look of the spot hallowed by childhood's richest pleasures, the scenes where we were first taught to feel how beautiful is nature, and the necessity laid upon our being to love, to go out of ourselves and weave thoughts of others into all our pictures of life. Backward the soul will turn its tearful eye, and gaze and gaze, as when, through a thin mist, we view the vanishing sunset, or as the mother looks on the smiles of her babe while they fade away in the calmness of sleep, after all that is tender within her has been awakened by his charms. And then, too, the friends who have made earth to have its consecrated spots, whose smiles have imparted to life's beautiful things all that is given to the wave by the foam, their sweetest charm,—how the spirit bleeds to part with them! We stand on the ocean shore and wave the white flag of peace, and it is answered in the distance by a token that seems like a white dove-wing penetrating the blue ether. At last, it vanishes; we strain the power of vision, but, no, we cannot catch a glimpse of the receding bark! The friend is gone, and we turn away to weep. Then, though the freshness and music of Spring be out over the earth, or Summer reigns in all her glorious beauty, there is no loveliness for us. We live in the world of thought, and it is Autumn nearing Winter there! But, in all these times of parting, there is the hope of meeting again, of having the sunshine of love again flashing in glory around us - eye answering to eye, lip to lip, and heart to heartthe unutterable bliss of fully answered prayer. On this the heart feeds, and soon more than half its faintness departs, because of the nutriment of hope. Again earth's pleasant scenes are visited, its glories are communed with; that this may be, the seasons change as is their wont, -the solemn beauty of Winter shall pass to give place to the youthfulness of Spring; the freshness of Spring shall be lost in the consummation of Summer; and then melancholy Autumn shall wear the gorgeous robes in which exceeding loveliness is prepared for the death. As each season, or tribute of the season, unfolds itself, or melts away, the separated, yet united hearts, will have some precious memories to make the Present eloquent. But not so with a young creature who is conscious that its next robe must be a shroud. Earth has just put on its smiles of holy meaning, and the affections have just been initiated into the art of interpreting them. The eye looks on the vast picture of what has been seen and loved, and the idea of its loss gives to all that peculiar and indescribable charm which makes us so long remember the last words and smiles of a dear friend. The spirit yearns to look out on the return of the enchantment amid which it roamed when health gave strength and vivacity, and it mourns as Milton mourned his blindness. Could the curtain but be drawn from the window, the raptured soul would shriek with delight! Even the sight of one freshly-culled rose gives a startling wildness to the eyes. But, farewell! must be said to all these charms; they can be seen no more! The streams will glide, the flowers bloom, the woods wave, the forest bow, and the hills and mountains tower in grandeur and sublimity; the stars will shine, and the sweet moonlight fall on the earth and water, but the eye which they have caused to glisten with rapture will behold them no more! And then, too, faces are vanishing, forms are becoming indistinct, and the familiar things of home are being shrouded from the gaze. The eyelids droop in very weariness of effort to raise themselves, and as the curtain of the glassy orbs is at times lifted up, we see sad tokens of change. Fainter grows the whisper of the life, and more indistinct the |