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"God bless thee, Eva-God be bless'd for, Then turned away her languid eye, To drop a tear or two-and die.

thee."

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In tears; the lamp burnt dimly; unawares
The little lamb was faint; the weary dove
Cower'd its young head beneath its drooping
wing;
[fount
The chord was loosen'd on our harp; the
Was troubled, and the rill ran nearly dry;
And in our souls we heard our Father, saying,
"Will ye return the gift?" The Voice was
low-

The answer lower still-"Thy will be done."
And now, where we had often pictured her,
I saw her one of the beatified;
Eva, our blossom, ours for ever now,
Unfolding in the atmosphere of love:
The star that set upon our earthly home
Had risen in glory, and in purer skies
Was shining; and the lamp we sorely miss'd,
Shed its soft radiance in a better home;
Our lamb was pasturing in heavenly meads;
Our dove had settled on the trees of life;
Another chord was ringing with delight,
Another spring of rapture was unseal'd,
In Paradise; our treasure was with God;
The gift in the great Giver's strong right
hand;
[but say,
And none who look'd on her could choose
"Eva, sweet angel, God be bless'd for thee."
E. H. Bickersteth.

198. BABE, Departure of a.

It came upon us by degrees:

We saw its shadow ere it fell, The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Babie Bell, We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, And all our hopes were changed to fears, And all our thoughts ran into tears Like sunshine into rain.

We cried aloud in our belief, "O smite us gently, gently, God! Teach us to bend and kiss the rod,

And perfect grow through grief." Ah, how we loved her, God can tell; Her heart was folded deep in ours. Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell!

At last he came, the messenger,

The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Babie Bell?

She only crossed her little hands, She only looked more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair,

We wove the roses round her brow, White buds, the summer's drifted snow. Wrap her from head to foot in flowers! And thus went dainty Babie Bell Out of this world of ours.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

199. BABE, Salvation for a

Sweet babe!

She glanced into our world to see A sample of our misery;

Sweet babe!

Refused to drink the portion up;
She tasted of life's bitter cup,
But turned her little head aside,
Disgusted with the taste-and died.
Sweet babe!

She listened for a while to hear
Our mortal griefs; then turned her ear
To angel harps and songs, and cried
To join their notcs celestial-sighed and died.
Sweet babe no more, but seraph now;
Before the throne behold her bow;
To heavenly joys her spirit flies,
Blest in the triumph of the skies;
Adores the grace that brought her there,
Without a wish, without a care,
That washed her soul in Calvary's stream,
That shortened life's distressing dream.

Short pain, short grief, dear babe, were
Now joys eternal and divine; [thine;
Yes, thou art fled, and saints a welcome sing:
Thine infant spirit soars on angel-wing;
Our dark affection might have hoped thy
stay,

The voice of God has called his child away.
Like Samuel, early in the temple found,
Sweet rose of Sharon, plant of holy ground,
Oh! more than Samuel blest, to thee is given,
The God he served on earth, to serve in
heaven.
Allan Cunningham.

200, BACKSLIDING, Hopelessness of
Jesu, whither shall I go,

Thee my Saviour if I leave?
Only Thou canst ease my woe,

Only thou canst pardon give.
None beside can save from sin;
None beside can make me clean.
If I foolishly depart

From the ark of Thy dear breast,
Where shall my unsettled heart

Find a ground whereon to rest?
Whither, or to whom shall I
From myself for succor fly?
Shall I back to Egypt go,

To my vomit turn again,
To my flesh corruption sow,

Live anew in pleasures vain?
No, with sin I cannot dwell;
Sin is worse than death and hell.

Shall I my old toil renew,

Catch an honorable name,

Praise which comes from man pursue,

Idolize and pant for fame?

Who on fame bestows his care,
Grasps a shadow, feeds on air.

If my God I cast behind,

God, the Source of perfect bliss,
Vain are all my hopes to find
True, substantial happiness:

Search the whole creation round,
Can it out of God be found?

No, my God! if from the Way,
From the Truth if I remove,
Must I not forever stray,

On in error's mazes rove,
Rove from peace to troublous strife,
Rove to death from endless Life?

Who would go from health to pain,
Turn from grace to wickedness,
Freedom quit, to hug a chain,
Grieve his friend, his foe to please?
Who, his Saviour God to shun,
Would to his destroyer run?

Charles Wesley. 201. BANISHMENT, An Epilogue. On a fair ship, borne swiftly o'er the deep, A man was lying, wrapped in dreamless sleep;

When unawares upon a sunken rock [shock. That vessel struck, and shattered with the

But strange! the plank where lay the sleeper

bore

Him wrapt in deep sleep ever, to the shore: It bore him safely through the foam and [he lay. High up on land, where couched 'mid flowers Sweet tones first woke him from his sleep,

spray,

when round

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With jubilant applause they bore him on, And set him wondering on a royal throne: And some his limbs with royal robes arrayed, And some before him duteous homage paid," And some brought gifts, all rare and costly things,

Nature's and Art's profusest offerings: Around him counsellors and servants prest, All eager to accomplish his behest.

Wish unaccomplished of his soul was none;
The thing that he commanded, it was done.
Much he rejoiced, and he had well-nigh now
Forgotten whence he hither came, and how;

Until at eve, of homage weary grown,
He craved a season to be left alone.
Alone in hall magnificent he sate,
And mused upon the wonder of his fate;
When lo! au aged counsellor, a seer,
Before unnoticed, to the king drew near;
-"And thee would I congratulate, my son,
Who hast thy reign in happy hour begun;
Seen, hast thou the beginning,-yet attend,
While I shall also show to thee the end.

quite,

That this new fortune doth not blind thee [bright; Both sides regard, the darker with the Heed what so many who have ruled before, Failing to heed now rue for evermore. Though sure thy state and strong thy throne appear,

King only art thou for a season here;

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Round this fair spot, though hidden from the By mist and vapor, many islands lie:

[true,

Bare are their coasts, and dreary and forlorn,
And unto them the banished kings are borne;
On each of these an exiled king doth mourn,
For when a new king comes, they bear away
The old, whom now no vassals more obey;
Stripped of his royalties and glories lent,
Unhonored and unwilling he is sent
Unto his dreary island banishment;
While all who girt his throne with service
Now fall away from him, to serve the new.
What I have told thee, lay betimes to heart,
And ere thy rule is ended take thy part,
That thou hereafter on thine isle forlorn
Do not thy vanished kingdom vainly mourn,
When nothing of its pomp to thee remains
On that bare shore save only memory's pains.

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But make thou there provision of delight, Bid there thy servants build up royal towers, 'Till that which now so threatens, may invite; And change its barren sands to leafy bowers Bid fountains there be hewn, and cause to bloom

Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume. So when the world, which speaks thee now so fair,

And flatters so, again shall strip thee bare,
And drive thee naked forth in harshest wise,
Thou joyfully wilt seek thy paradise.
There will not vex thee memories of the past,
While hope will heighten here the joys thou

hast.

This do, while yet the power is in thine hand, While thou hast helps so many at command."

Then raised the Prince his head with courage

new,

And what the sage advised, prepared to do.

He ruled his realm with meekness, and meanwhile

He marvellously decked the chosen isle; Bade there his servants build up royal towers, And change its barren sands to leafy bowers; Bade fountains there be hewn, and caused to bloom

Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume. And when he long enough had kept his throne, [blown : To him sweet odors from that isle were Then knew he that its gardens blooming

were,

And all the yearnings of his soul were there. Grief was it not to him, but joy, when they His crown and sceptre bade him quit one day;

When him his servants rudely did dismiss, 'Twas not the sentence of his ended bliss, But pomp and power he cheerfully forsook, And to his isle a willing journey took, And found diviner pleasure on that shore, Than all his proudest state had known before. Oriental, tr. by R. C. Trench.

202. BAPTISM, Blessing of.

Woe came to man in Eden,

To you comes triumph glad,
Who, at the banks of Jordan,
Are in God's armor clad.

To-day He gives you blessing,
Then see ye prize it well,
And guard it, valiant soldiers,
Against the might of Hell.

To-day the Heavenly Bridegroom
Throws wide for you the door,
And offers you His garlands
Unfading evermore.

For you the guardian angels

In gladness sing above;
GOD, FATHER, SON, and SPIRIT,
Looks down on you in love.
Then go in peace, believers,
Of God and water born,
The Crucified adoring,
Who lifteth up your horn.

And unto GOD the FATHER,

Who made you His to-day,
TO SON and HOLY SPIRIT,
Unending praises pay.

203. BAPTISM, a Token.

In token that thou shalt not fear
Christ crucified to own,
We print the Cross upon thee here
And stamp thee His alone.

In token that thou shalt not blush
To glory in His Name,
We blazon here upon thy front
His glory and His shame.

In token that thou shalt not flinch
Christ's quarrel to maintain,

But 'neath His banner manfully
Firm at thy post remain;

In token that thou too shalt tread
The path He travelled by;
Endure the Cross, despise the shame,
And sit thee down on high;

Thus outwardly and visibly
We seal thee for His own;
And may the brow that wears His Cross
Hereafter share His crown.
Henry Alford.

204. BAPTISM, Vow in.

While in this sacred rite of thine
We yield our spirits now,
Shine o'er the waters, Dove divine

And seal the cheerful vow.
And may we die to earth and sin,
Beneath the mystic flood;

And when we rise, may we begin
To live anew for God!

S. F. Smith.

205. BATTLE, Cause of
Whither leads the path
To ampler fates that leads?
Not down through flowery meads
To reap an aftermath

Of youth's vainglorious weeds,
But up the steep, amid the wrath
And shock of deadly-hostile creeds,

Where the world's best hope and stay
By battle's flashes gropes a desperate way,
And every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds.
Peace hath her not ignoble wreath,
Ere yet the sharp, decisive word
Light the black lips of cannon, and the sword
Dreams in its easeful sheath; [thought,

But some day the live coal behind the
Whether from Baal's stone obscene,
Or from the shrine serene

Of God's pure altar brought,

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He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat:

Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me:

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.
Julia Ward Howe.

207. BATTLE, The Christian's. How goes the fight with thee?

The life-long battle with all evil things? Thine no low strife, and thine no selfish aim; It is the war of giants and of kings.

Does it grow slacker now?

Then tremble; for, be sure, thy hellish foe Slacks not; 'tis thou that slackest in the fight;

Fainter and feebler falls each weary blow. Dread not the din and smoke,

The stifling poison of the fiery air; Courage! It is the battle of thy God; Go, and for Him learn how to do and dare! What though ten thousand fall! And the red field with the dear dead be

strewn ;

Grasp but more bravely thy bright shield and sword;

Fight to the last, although thou fight'st alone.

What though ten thousand faint,

Desert, or yield, or in weak terror flee! Heed not the panic of the multitude; Thine be the Captain's watchword,-Victory!

Look to thine armor well!

Thine the one panoply no blow that fears; Ours is the day of rusted swords and shields,

Of loosened helmets and of broken spears.

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Her angel look that melted every soul,
Her eye that rolled its glance of tenderness,
Her form encircled round with every grace,
Now moulder 'neath corruptions sable stole;
The worm is cradled on her forehead fair,
And wantons 'mid the ringlets of her hair,—
Each tint of faded beauty charms no more;
The fragrance of her life, its living rose,
No more in Heaven's own purest crimson
glows,-

'Tis livid as the stream that laves th' Avernian shore.

A fleeting day

The cheek of beauty glows,
The voice of music flows,
Then melts away;

Fluttering amid the summer's transient ray,
The gaudy fop expands his shining wing;
In bounding step the merry dancers spring,
Like insects sportive, like the rainbow gay:
Soon o'er this smiling scene the wintry storm
Of dark affliction sheds its lurid gloom,
Wafting upon its blast Destruction's form,
Who calls, with voice of thunder, to the
tomb;

Like lightning flashing o'er the sleeper's head, He wakes them from their dream, then hides them with the dead. J. G. Percival. 209. BEAUTY, Excuse for.

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,

I found the fresh rhodora in the woods

Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook; The purple petals fallen in the pool [gay

Made the black waters, with their beauty Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,

And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, Dear, tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing,

Then beauty is its own excuse for being.

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask; I never knew, But in my simple ignorance suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. R. W. Emerson.

210. BEAUTY, Exposure of.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall Beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
Where rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! Where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie
hid?
[back?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot
Or who his spoil of Beauty can forbid?
William Shakespeare.

211. BEAUTY, Frailty of
Brittle beauty, that Nature made so frail,
Whereof the gift is small, and short in season;
Flowering to-day, to-morrow apt to fail;
Fickle treasure, abhorred of reason:
Dangerous to deal with, vain of none avail;
Costly in keeping, past not worth two peason;
Slipper in sliding, as is an eel's tail ;
Hard to obtain, once gotten, not geason:
Jewel of jeopardy, that peril doth assail;
False and untrue, enticed oft to treason;
Enemy to youth, that most may I bewail;
Ah! bitter-sweet, infecting as the poison,
Thou fairest as fruit that with the frost is
taken;

To-day ready ripe, to-morrow all too shaken. Earl of Surrey.

212. BEAUTY, Joy of.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health and quiet
breathing.
John Keats.

213. BEAUTY, Lost.

Beauty is but vain and doubtful good,
A shining glass, that fadeth suddenly,
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass, that's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as good lost is seldom or never found,
As fading gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead, lie withered on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So Beauty blemish'd once, forever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
Wm. Shakespeare.

214. BEAUTY, Moral.
Labor in the path of duty,
Gleamed up like a thing of beauty;
Beauty shone in self-denial,
In the sternest hour of trial;
In a meek obedience
To the will of Providence,
In the lofty sympathies
That, forgetting selfish ease,

Prompted acts that sought the good
Of ev'ry spirit; understood

The wants of ev'ry human heart,
Eager ever to impart

Blessings to the weary soul

That hath felt the bitter world's control.
Here is beauty felt such as ne'er
Met the eye or charmed the ear,
In the soul's high duties, then I felt
That the loftiest beauty ever dwelt.
C. P. Cranch.

215 BEAUTY, Realm of.

For beauty hideth everywhere, that Reason's child may seek her,

And having found the gem of price, may set it in God's crown.

Beauty nestleth in the rosebud, or walketh the firmament with planets; She is heard in the beetle's evening hymn, and shouteth in the matins of the sun; The cheek of the peach is glowing with her smile, her splendor blazeth in the She is the dryad of the woods, the naiad of lightning;

the streams;

Her golden hair hath tapestried the silkworm's silent chamber,

And to her measured harmonies the wild waves beat in time;

With tinkling feet at eventide she danceth in the meadow,

Or, like a Titan, lieth stretched athwart the ridgy Alps;

She is rising in her veil of mist a Venus from the waters,

Men gaze upon the loveliness, and lo! it is beautiful exceedingly:

She, with the might of a Briareus, is dragging down the clouds upon the mountain,

Men look upon the grandeur, and lo, it is excellent in glory.

There is beauty in the rolling clouds, and placid shingle beach,

In feathery snows, and whistling winds, and dun electric skies;

There is beauty in the rounded woods, dank

with heavy foliage,

In laughing fields, and dinted hills, the valley and its lake;

There is beauty in the gullies, beauty on the cliffs, beauty in sun and shade, In rocks and rivers, seas and plains,-the earth is drowned in beauty. M. F. Tupper.

216. BEAUTY, Treasures of

Ye mindeful merchants, that with weary toil Do seek most precious things to make your

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