It is an interesting inquiry, how much a mind unbiassed by sin, might learn of God, without a written revelation. The atheist, whose intellect sin has darkened, boldly asserts, there is no God; and when you ask him why he assumes this hopeless position, proudly answers, Because I see him not, I apprehend him not. One of the strongest pillars of infidelity, is the denial that we are bound to believe any further than we can comprehend. Destroy this foundation, and the baseless fabric will totter and fall. I would like to address the man who is pressing to his bosom the forlorn hope that chance or fate is the only deny, and this brief hour his all of life. Hast thou, my brother, resolved to believe only what thou canst comprehend? Begin then, at once, by denying thine own existence; for thou canst no more tell how thy body—so fearfully and wonderfully made—became what it is, and continues in being, or how that spark of intelligence was kindled up within thee, than thou canst tell how One Self-Existent Spirit has lived from eternity.

One infidel writer,* at least, has found himself reduced to this dilemma, and, to appear consistent, is said to have denied his own identity; and, like Berkely, to have resolved every thing into an idea. But I would ask him, how he came with the ability to form an idea. And when, upon his own principles, he has satisfactorily answered this question, then I shall be able to explain to him the existence of the Infinite God.

An eternity to come, is as truly a mystery as an eternity past. In the former, most profess to believe; and yet, if you should ask the christian philosopher, just on the verge of heaven, whether he comprehends eternity, his answer will accord with the sentiment, if not with the words which he lisped at his mother's knee:

"My God, an infant cannot tell
How such a thing can be ;

I only ask that I may dwell

That long, long time with thee!"

Who has not listened to the teachings of nature, till his whole soul was swayed and melted by her voice? I have gazed upon a sun-set cloud-varied by its roseate glow-and it has spoken to my heart of another and brighter world. I have listened, at evening, to the murmur of the rippling brook, or the cadence of the gentle water-fall, till every discordant passion was hushed to repose. I have heard the sad moan of the

autumnal storm, as it swept through the forest, scattering its faded leaves, and my heart responded to the lesson,

"All that's bright must fade,
The fairest still the fleetest."

I have stood on the mountain height, and looked far down upon the scattered villages and winding streams, and then around upon the vast expanse, till my soul has been strengthened and enlarged by the sublimity of its own emotions. I have seen the finger of God, writing his name in characters of fire and with the lightning's speed, upon the dark cloud, and heard his

* Hobbes.

voice thunder therefrom, and a sense of his presence has awed my soul into silence. I have stood upon ocean's shore, and felt how strong must be that hand that keeps the proud waves within their appointed bounds.

"The undevout astronomer is mad,"

for "the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge." No speech nor language; their voice is not heard; and yet they speak alike to the heart of

"The poor Indian, whose untutored mind,

Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind,"

and to the profound scholar, who has learned to chain the lightning and count the stars. It may be, that the rainbow, resting upon the hills, is not more truly a token of God's covenant with the earth, than a representation of that beauty with which he will adorn the expanded arch of the heaven of heavens.

And yet there are those who walk blindfold amidst all these wonders, and see not a God in all! It is admitted that Nature has no language in which to tell us that her Maker is holy and just and true; but she does say, in a voice audible and not to be misunderstood, that He who governs her is wise and powerful and good-that his tender mercies are over all his works. The hum of the insect tribe, the happy voice of the feathered songsters, the gambols of ocean's busy myriads, the quiet repose of the cattle upon a thousand hills, all speak of the kindness and bounty of the hand that sustains and feeds them.

"There's not a plant or flower below

But makes his glories known."

The simplest spire of grass that springs up at our feet, proclaims a skill that baffles finite comprehension. The opening rosebud and the modest violet, alike whisper, with their balmy breath, He that made us is love.

And now, let a mind, unwarped by prejudice, set itself to VOL. II.-2.

seek, in the heavens above and the earth beneath, satisfactory evidence of a wise, benevolent, and powerful First Cause, and the search will not be in vain; and though it may have been taught to refer the order and beauty, everywhere manifested, to the laws of nature, it would soon learn to clothe nature itself in a living form, and to enthrone her as a divinity. Let, now, that blessed book, which alone answers the all-absorbing inquiry, WHAT IS THY NAME? be placed before that mind, and it is prepared to bow down before it, and listen to its revelations, with the profoundest reverence and deepest thanksgiving.

"Thy lamp, mysterious word!

Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost,
With intellect bemazed in endless doubt,

But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built
With means that were not, till by thee employed,
Worlds that had never been, hadst thou in strength
Been less, or less benevolent than strong.

They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures testify of thee,
Till thou proclaim thyself."

The love of Nature is a popular theme, and there are many who would fain be numbered among her votaries, who yet scorn to bow the knee before the God she obeys. But it may well be questioned, whether their admiration can be sincere, or whether their tribute of praise will be accepted by her whom they invoke, when, with a deafened ear, and averted eyes, and a marble heart, they thus turn away from the simple, and yet sublime eloquence of her teachings.

All the peace and favor of the world, cannot calm a troubled heart; but where the peace is which Christ gives, all the trouble and disquiet of the world cannot disturb it. All outward distress to such a mind, is but as the rattling of the hail upon the tiles, to him that sits within the house at a sumptuous banquet.-Leighton.

ORIGINAL

ALWAYS SPRING.

-BY DAVID M. STONE.

THE days of flow'rs and fruits were past,
And Autumn's frosts and chilling blast,
Had faded all the gorgeous hues

Of Nature's robe, which vernal dews
Had early brightened into birth,
To beautify the teeming earth.

The happy birds, whose joyous strains
Had vocal made the verdant plains,
Warned by the coldly frowning sky,
Seen through their withered canopy,
Had fled their nests, to seek a home
Beyond the reach of Winter's gloom.

The sun had just gone darkly down,
Nor left a single golden tinge,
To chase away the landscape's frown,
Or edge with light the sable fringe
The sullen clouds hung o'er his face,
As if to hide his resting place.

While thus the day in sadness died,
Dirged by the night-wind's mournful wail,
A father, at his daughter's side,

Asked why her cheek had turned so pale;
When Kate fell weeping on his breast,
And thus her murm'ring thoughts confest :-

"I'm weary of our country life,

I hate these melancholy days;

I fear the loud winds' angry strife,

And the dark clouds, which hide the rays

Of the bright sun, as to his rest

He sinks behind the distant west.

"I dread the coming Winter's gloom,
Its chilling blasts, and weary hours;
I long again for Nature's bloom,
To bring to life my faded flow'rs;

I pine to hear the wild birds sing

I would that it were always Spring:

"O father! I have heard them say, In the far city, 'tis so gay

With cheerful songs and glowing mirth,