And still the coffins came, With their sorrowful trains and slow; Coffin after coffin still, A sad and sickening show; From grief exempt, I never had dreamt, Of the hearts that daily break, For the blind and the cripple were there, The sorrow I might have soothed, For many a thronging shape was there, Each pleading look, that long ago Woe, woe for me, if the past should be No need of sulphurous lake, But only that crowd of human kind In everlasting retrospect― Will ring my sinful soul! Alas! I have walk'd through life, Nay, helping to trample my fellow-worm, Forgetting that even the sparrow falls I drank the richest draughts; But I never remember'd the wretched ones I dressed as the noble dress, In cloth of silver and gold, With silk and satin, and costly furs, But I never remember'd the naked limbs The wounds I might have heal'd! To play so ill a part: But evil is wrought by want of Thought, She clasped her fervent hands And yet, oh yet, that many a Dame 342. CHARITY, Heathen. [away Bp. Ken. A man once sat with his good wife to eat A hen, of which she was for him the roaster. A beggar cried, "Some food I do entreat!" But drove him off the satiated boaster. He thought not of the old proverbial verse, "The full should call the empty to their table." [curse, Soon through his house came hunger as a To get a single hen he was not able. From direst poverty he left his wife, And homeless roamed abroad without a brother; ers, Your benefactors in the newspapers. In the other world,-donations to keep open Plead his own plaintiff. Robert Southey. 345. CHARITY, Superiority of Virtue distressed to Faith applied But Faith was weak, and turned aside Hope o'er the sufferer bent awhile Shed the faint semblance of a smile, Virtue despaired-but Charity In that dark hour appeared; Rise, sister, rise! Come, dwell with me; Lo! see my temples reared." Lady, there's not a harp in heaven To thee the immortal crown is given, 346. CHARITY, Trifling. The blessings which the poor and weak can scatter Have their own season. 'Tis a little thing Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye 347. CHASTISEMENT, Benefit of. The wound is sharp and deep; And still I sin, I sin. My bruised soul complains Of stripes without, within; O'er me the low cloud hung And still my sin is here. Yon massive mountain-peak The lightning rends at will; My sky was once noon-bright, I said, My God, oh, sure The summer flung its gold And yet my heart was cold. Must I be smitten, Lord? Can nothing save but pain? Thou trustedst me a while; Yet to the dust I cleaved. Then the fierce tempest broke, A Father's hand and name. Dark thoughts of Thee came in,— I did Thee wrong, my God; Against Thy power I strove. I said, My God, at length, This stony heart remove; Deny all other strength, But give me strength to love. Come nearer, nearer still; Let not Thy light depart; Less wayward let me be, More like a trustful child. Less, less, of self each day, Less of the flesh each day, More fit for such a home. Liker and liker thee. Leave nought that is unmeet; Strip me; and so complete My training for the throne. 348. CHASTISEMENT, Observation of Yet Solomon said the wronged shall recure: 349. CHASTISEMENT, Views of Rabia, sick upon her bed, "He who loves his master's choice Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide: 353. CHASTITY, Violation of. And finds too late that men betray, What charms can soothe her melancholy? What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, And hide her shame from ev'ry eye, Oliver Goldsmith. £34. CHEERFULNESS Encouraged. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, If the shower will make the roses bloom, Rapidly, merrily, What though Death at times steps in, For gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair! Charlotte Brontë. 355. CHEERFULNESS, Power of. The stoutest armor of defence is that which is within the bosom, And the weapon that no enemy can parry is M. F. Tupper. An April rain of smiles and tears, The west winds blow, and singing low The windows of my soul I throw No longer forward, nor behind, I plough no more a desert land I break my pilgrim staff, I lay The angel sought so far away The airs of spring may never play Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look Through fringèd lids to heaven, And the pale aster in the brook Shall see its image given; The woods shall wear their robes of praise, And sweet calm days in golden haze Not less shall manly deed and word The graven flowers that wreathe the sword Enough that blessings undeserved That more and more a Providence Making the springs of time and sense That death seems but a covered way, That care and trial seem at last, In purple distance fair; That all the jarring notes of life And so the shadows fall apart, John Greenleaf Whittier. Amy died Dear little Amy! when you talk of her, 2d Child. They planted herWill she come up next year? 1st Child. No, not so soon; But some day God will call her to come up, And then she will. Papa knows everything; He said she would before they planted her. Jean Ingelow. 358. CHILD, Lesson for a. My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you, For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long; [ever And so make life, death, and that vast forOne grand, sweet song! Charles Kingsley. Of God, thou living witness against all men He lives! In all the past seeing him again will I despair; He lives; nor, to the last, In dreams I see him now; And, on his angel brow, Who have been babes, thou everlasting I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!" promise Which no man keeps, thou portrait of our nature, [worship, Which in despair and pride we scorn and Thou household god, whom no iconoclast Hath broken! 360. CHILD, My Lost. Sydney Dobell. I cannot make him dead! Is ever bounding round my study chair; The vision vanishes, he is not there! I walk my parlor floor, And, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair! And then bethink me that he is not there! I thread the crowded street; A satchelled lad I meet, Yes, we all live to God! Father, thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, That, in the spirit land, Meeting at Thy right hand, "Twill be our heaven to find that he is there! John Pierpont. 361. CHILDHOOD, Beauty of. Beautiful, beautiful childhood! with a joy With the same beaming eyes and colored hair; Be noticed not, and the beguiling voice And, as he's running by. Follow him with my eye, Scarcely believing that he is not there! I know his face is hid Under the coffin lid; Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair; Yet my heart whispers that he is not there! I cannot make him dead! So long watched over with parental care, Before the thought comes that he is not When at the cool gray break With my first breathing of the morning air Then comes the sad thought that he is not When at the day's calm close, Before we seek repose, I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer; I am in spirit praying For our boy's spirit, though-he is not there! Of nature in her gentleness will be 362. CHILDHOOD, Crown of The cows are lowing along the lane, Their feet are bare in the dusty road, But none that will press upon manhood's brow On the children's foreheads brown. Little children, young and aged, |