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, And a "Churchman" down to the river came · But the aged father did not mind; I saw him again on the other side, " or not. Then down to the river a Quaker strayed; "My coat and hat must all be gray— 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, Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms 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 after him, with his MSS., Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness; But he cried, "Dear me! what shall I do? And there on the river far and wide, 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; And now, when the river was rolling on, Of women there seemed an innumerable throng, And concerning the road, they could never agree, And a sound of murmuring, long and loud, But the "brethren" only seemed to speak : I watched them long in my curious dream, No forms or crosses or books had they; HE minister said last night, says he, If your life ain't nothin' to other folks I tell you our minister's prime, he is, When I heard him givin' it right and left, Of course, there could be no mistake, And the minister he went on to say, I don't think much of a man that gives I guess that dose was bitter For a man like Jones to swaller; But I noticed he didn't open his mouth, Hurrah! says I, for the minister- The minister hit 'em every time; And when he spoke of fashion, 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 Now, if he had said a word about My personal mode o' sinnin', Just then the minister says, says he, 46 And now I've come to the fellers Go home," says he, "and find your faults, My wife, she nudged, and Brown he winked, 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 But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone Caught not from sun or star. Some word of life e'en then had met His calm benignant eye : 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 Of thoughts o'ersweeping death. FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS, HAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, Cling reverently?-of anxious looks be- My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine, To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, 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; 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, 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, When others strove to lure his bark astray; The river's winding way Shines through the thirsty lands, New grass is seen, And o'er the meads Of living green. Where pointed brambles grew, And lily there, In union fair, Their sweets disclose. Where the bleak mountain stood All bare and disarrayed, See the wide-branching wood Tall cedars nod, And oaks and pines, The tyrants of the plain 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 Can the bonds that make us here I shall love the angels well, Step by step our feet must go Life's unfailing fountain. He who on our earthly path 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? Mid the crowd that come to meet 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, Ere the veil was rended, 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 I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou I loved to choose and see my path, but now 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 |