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Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening carth Repeats the story of her birth; While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though, in solemn silence, all Move round the dark terrestrial ball? What though no real voice or sound Amid their radiant orbs be found? In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing, as they shine, "The Hand that made us is divine!" JOSEPH ADDISON.

NO SECTS IN HEAVEN.

ALKING of sects till late one eve,
Of the various doctrines the saints believe,
That night I stood, in a troubled dream,
By the side of a darkly flowing stream.

And a "Churchman" down to the river came ·
When I heard a strange voice call his name,
"Good father, stop; when you cross this tide,
You must leave your robes on the other side."

But the aged father did not mind;
And his long gown floated out behind,
As down to the stream his way he took,
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book.
"Im bound for heaven; and when I'm there,
Shall want my book of Common Prayer;
And, though I put on a starry crown,
I should feel quite lost without my gown."
Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track,
But his gown was heavy and held him back,
And the poor old father tried in vain,
A single step in the flood to gain.

I saw him again on the other side,
But his silk gown floated on the tide;
And no one asked, in that blissful spot,
Whether he belonged to the "church

"

or not.

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed;
His dress of a sober hue was made:

"My coat and hat must all be gray—
I cannot go any other way."

Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, And staidly, solemnly, waded in,

And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight, Over his forehead so cold and white.

But a strong wind carried away his hat;

A moment he silently sighed over that;

And then, as he gazed to the further shore,
The coat slipped off, and was seen no more.
As he entered heaven his suit of gray
Went quietly, sailing, away, away;
And none of the angels questioned him
About the width of his beaver's brim.

Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms
Tied nicely up in his aged arms,

And hymns as many, a very wise thing,

That the people in heaven, "all round," might sing

But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh,
And he saw that the river ran broad and high,
And looked rather surprised, as one by one
The psalms and hymns in the wave went down.

And after him, with his MSS.,

Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness;

But he cried, "Dear me! what shall I do?
The water has soaked them through and through."

And there on the river far and wide,
Away they went down the swollen tide;
And the saint, astonished, passed through alone
Without his manuscripts, up to the throne.

Then, gravely walking, two saints by name Down to the stream together came; But, as they stopped at the river's brink, I saw one saint from the other shrink. "Sprinkled or plunged? may I ask you, friend, How you attained to life's great end?" "Thus, with a few drops on my brow." "But I have been dipped, as you'll see me now, "And I really think it will hardly do,

As I'm close communion,' to cross with you;
You're bound, I know, to the realins of bliss,
But you must go that way, and I'll go this."
Then straightway plunging with all his might,
Away to the left-his friend to the right,
Apart they went from this world of sin,
But at last together they entered in.

And now, when the river was rolling on,
A Presbyterian church went down;

Of women there seemed an innumerable throng,
But the men I could count as they passed along.

And concerning the road, they could never agree,
The old or the new way, which it could it be,
Nor ever a moment paused to think
That both would lead to the river's brink.

And a sound of murmuring, long and loud,
Came ever up from the moving crowd;
"You're in the old way, and I'm in the new;
That is the false, and this is the true "-
Or, "I'm in the old way, and you're in the new;
That is the false, and this is the true."

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But the "brethren" only seemed to speak :
Modest the sisters walked and meek,
And if ever one of them chanced to say
What troubles she met with on the way,
How she longed to pass to the other side,
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide,
A voice arose from the brethren then,
"Let no one speak but the 'holy men.'
For have ye not heard the words of Paul,
Oh, let the women keep silence all?'"'

I watched them long in my curious dream,
Till they stood by the borders of the stream;
Then, just as I thought, the two ways met;
But all the brethren were talking yet,
And would talk on till the heaving tide
Carried them over side by side—
Side by side, for the way was one;
The toilsome journey of life was done;
And all who in Christ the Saviour died,
Came out alike on the other side.

No forms or crosses or books had they;
No gowns of silk or suits of gray;
No creeds to guide them, or MSS.;
For all had put on Christ's righteousness.
MRS. CLEVELAND.
JOHN JANKIN'S SERMON.

HE minister said last night, says he,
"Don't be afraid of givin'

If your life ain't nothin' to other folks
Why, what's the use of livin'?"
And that's what I say to my wife, says I,
"There's Brown, that mis'rable sinner,
He'd sooner a beggar would starve, than give
A cent towards buyin' a dinner."

I tell you our minister's prime, he is,
But I couldn't quite determine,

When I heard him givin' it right and left,
Just who was hit by the sermon.

Of course, there could be no mistake,
When he talked of long winded prayin',
For Peters and Johnson they sat and scowled
At every word he was sayin'.

And the minister he went on to say,
"There's various kinds of cheatin',
And religion's as good for every day
As it is to bring to meetin'.

I don't think much of a man that gives
The loud 'amens' at my preachin',
And spends his time the followin' week
In cheatin' and overreachin'."

I guess that dose was bitter

For a man like Jones to swaller;

But I noticed he didn't open his mouth,
Not once, after that, to holler.

Hurrah! says I, for the minister-
Of course, I said it quiet-
Give us some more of this open talk;
It's very refreshin' diet.

The minister hit 'em every time;

And when he spoke of fashion,
And a-riggin' out in bows and things,
As woman's rulin' passion,

And a-comin' to church to see the styles,

I couldn't help a winkin'

And a-nudgin' my wife, and, says I, "That's you," And I guess it sot her thinkin'.

Says I to myself, that sermon's pat;

But man is a queer creation;

And I'm much afraid that most o' the folks
Wouldn't take the application.

Now, if he had said a word about

My personal mode o' sinnin',
I'd have gone to work to right myself,
And not set there a-grinnin'.

Just then the minister says, says he,

46

And now I've come to the fellers
Who've lost this shower by usin' their friends
As a sort o' moral umbrellers.

Go home," says he, "and find your faults,
Instead of huntin' your brother's;
Go home," he says, "and wear the coats
You've tried to fit on others."

My wife, she nudged, and Brown he winked,
And there was lots of smilin'

And lots o' lookin' at our pew;

It sot my blood a-bilin'.

Says I to myself, our minister

Is gettin' a little bitter;

I'll tell him when meetin's out that I
Ain't at all that kind of a critter.

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But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone
With something lovelier far-
A radiance all the spirit's own,

Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e'en then had met

His calm benignant eye :
Some ancient promise, breathing yet
Of immortality!

Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow

Of queenchless faith survives:

While every feature said-"I know

That my Redeemer lives!"

And silent stood his children by
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death.
Silent—yet did not each young breast
With love and reverence melt?
Oh! blest be those fair girls, and blest
That home where God is felt!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS,
TO A FAMILY BIBLE.

HAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,

Cling reverently?-of anxious looks be-
guiled,

My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine,
Each day were bent-her accents gravely mild,
Breathed out thy love: whilst I, a dreamy child,
Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away,

To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest: yet would the solemn Word
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my weakened spirit, there to be
A seed not lost :-for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.

THE PHANTOM ISLES.

In the East River, above New York, there are many small islands, the freqnent resort of summer pleasure-parties. One of the dangers haunting these scenes of amusement is that high tides often cover the islands. The incidents recorded in the following lines took place under the circumstances mentioned, and the entire change in the heart and life of the bereaved father makes the simple story as instructive as it is interesting and touching.

'HE Phantom Isles are fading from the sea;
The groups that thronged them leave their

sinking shores;

And shout and laugh, and jocund song and

glee

Ring through the mist, to beat of punctual oars, Through the gray mist that comes up with the tide, And covers all the ocean far and wide.

Of the gay revellers one child alone

Was wanting at the roll's right merry call ; From boat to boat they sought him; he was gone, And fear and trembling filled the hearts of all, For the damp mist was falling fast the while, And the sea, rising, swallowing up each isle. The trembling father guides the searching band, While every sinew, hope and fear can strain, Is strerched to bring the quivering boat to land,

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And find the lost one-but is stretched in vain : No land they find, but one sweet call they hear, 'Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!" That voice they follow, certain they have found, But vainly sweep the waters o'er and o'er ; The whispering waves have ceased their rippling sound: Their silence telling they have lost their shore: Yet still the sweet young voice cries loud and clear, "Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!" Onward they rush, like those who in the night Follow the phantom flame, but never find; Now certain that the voice has led them right, Yet the next moment hearing it behind; But wrapt in gurgling, smothered sounds of fear, Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!" The night is spent in vain-no further cry Cheers them with hope, or wilders them with fear, With breaking morning, as the mists sweep by, They can see nothing but wide waters drear; Yet ever in the childless father's ear

Rings the sad cry, "Steer this way,

father dear!"

And on through life, across its changeful tide,
Where many a doubtful course before him lay,
That sweet young voice did help him to decide,

When others strove to lure his bark astray;
Calling from heaven, in accents soft and clear,
"Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
Until there at length-drawn upward to the land
Where is no more sorrow, no more sea :
Cheering him brightly from its crystal strand
Into the haven where his soul would be ;
These the last whispers in his dying ear,
"Steer this way, father! this way, father dear!"
JOHN MONSELL

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The river's winding way

Shines through the thirsty lands,

New grass is seen,

And o'er the meads
Its carpet spreads

Of living green.

Where pointed brambles grew,
Intwined with horrid thorn,
Gay flowers, forever new,
The painted fields adorn-
The blushing rose

And lily there,

In union fair,

Their sweets disclose.

Where the bleak mountain stood

All bare and disarrayed,

See the wide-branching wood
Diffuse its grateful shade :

Tall cedars nod,

And oaks and pines,
And elms and vines
Confess the God.

The tyrants of the plain
Their savage chase give o'er-
No more they rend the slain,
And thirst for blood no more;
But infant hands
Fierce tigers stroke,
And lions yoke

In flowery bands.

O, when, Almighty Lord'

Shall these glad scenes arise,

To verify Thy word,

And bless our wondering eyes?

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

ACROSS THE RIVER.

Saying, "I will go with thee,

That thou be not lonely, To yon hills of mystery;

I have waited only

Until now to climb with thee
Yonder hills of mystery."

Can the bonds that make us here
Know ourselves immortal,
Drop away, the foliage sear,
At life's inner portal?
What is holiest below
Must forever live and grow.

I shall love the angels well,
After I have found them,
In the mansions where they dwell,
With the glory round them ;
But at first, without surprise,
Let me look for human eyes.

Step by step our feet must go
Up the holy mountain;
Drop by drop within us flow

Life's unfailing fountain.
Angels sing with crowns that burn;
Shall we have a song to learn?

He who on our earthly path
Bids us help each other-
Who His Well-beloved hath
Made our Elder Brother-
Will but clasp the chain of love
Closer, when we meet above.

Therefore dread I not to go

O'er the silent river;

Death, thy hastening oar I know:

Bear me, thou life-giver, Through the waters, to the shore Where mine own have gone before.

LUCY LARCOM

W

HEN for me the silent oar

Parts the silent river,

And I stand upon the shore

Of the strange forever,

Shall I miss the loved and known?
Shall I vainly seek mine own?

Mid the crowd that come to meet
Spirits sin-forgiven-

Listening to their echoing feet

Down the streets of heaven

Shall I know a footstep near

That I listen, wait for, here?

Then will one approach the brink,
With a hand extended?-
One whose thoughts I loved to think

Ere the veil was rended,
Saying, "Welcome! we have died,
And again are side by side."

A PRAYER.

EAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on;

The night is dark, and I am far away from home,

Lead thou me on;

Keep thou my feet-I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead thou me on.

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will; remember not past years

So long thy power has blessed me, sure it still

Will lead me on

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