Since then, my God, Thou hast So brave a palace built; oh, dwell in it, That it may dwell with Thee at last! Till then afford us so much wit, That as the world serves us we may serve Thee; And both thy servants be. HERBERT. The same grand argument for reliance on God is taken up and carried forward into nature by the dramatist John Fletcher, with a depth and strength of thought truly admirable. AGAINST DISTRUST OF OUR MAKER. O man! thou image of thy Maker's good, Friends' promises may lead us to believe; A deep alloy, whereby man tougher is To bear the hammer; and the deeper still, Sickness, a humorous cloud 'twixt us and light: And what says Goethe ?— The future hides in it Daunting us-Onward! And solemn before us Graves under us silent. While earnest thou gazest, With doubt and misgiving. But heard are the voices, The works and the Ages; Here eyes do regard you Ye brave, to reward you; Work, and despair not. So another poet : NEVER DESPAIR. The opal-hued and many-perfumed Morn From out the sullen depth of ebon Night Gems in the rayless caverns of the earth From wondrous alchemy of winter hours The bitter waters of the restless main The fading bloom and dry seed bring once more Just sequences of clashing tones afford The full accord; Through weary ages, full of strife and ruth, Through efforts, long in vain, prophetic need Nerve then thy soul with direct need to cope; Life's brightest hope Lies latent in fate's deadliest lair Never despair! The greatest spirits waste scant time in wailing: all hope lies for them in ACTION. Do something! do it soon-with all thy might; Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind WILCOX. How superior is this to the querulous, morbid sentimentality! The wisdom of cheerfulness is finely urged by old Dunbar of Scotland-a poet, says Sir Walter Scott, unrivalled by any that Scotland has ever produced : Be merry, man, and tak' not sair in mind' The wavering of this wretched world of sorrow; To God be humble, to thy friend be kind, And with thy neighbours gladly lend and borrow; His chance to-night; it may be thine to-morrow; Be blythe in heart for any aventure, For oft with wise men it hath been said aforow, Without Gladness availeth no treasure. Make thee gude cheer of it that God thee sends, For warld's wrack but welfare* nought avails; Follow on pity, flee trouble and debate, * World's trash without health. For trouble in earth tak' no melancholy; Without Gladness availeth no treasure. The chief event of middle life is marriage, and with this period begins a new life, so that a wedding-day is essentially a birthday. The soul is as it were newly born, when it emerges from the glittering palace of free and careless youth, and enters on the grandest and most solemn of human engagements, with all its tender anxieties and mighty responsibilities. Bulwer Lytton in "The New Timon has embodied the idea of the birthday of the Soul: Two years ago this day— But with one prayer-nay, hush, and hear me yet— How many mothers will sympathize with these lines, by the wife of the celebrated surgeon, Dr. Hunter : TO MY DAUGHTER, ON BEING SEPARATED FROM Dear to my heart as life's warm stream, |