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them, and, in a single word or two, expressed their joy at this perfect reconcilement. The brothers themselves walked away from the church-yard, arm in arm with the minister to the manse. On the following Sabbath, they were seen sitting with their families in the same pew, and it was observed that they read together off the same Bible, when the minister gave out the text, and that they sang together, taking hold of the same psâlm-book. The same psâlm was sung (given out at their own request), of which one verse had been repeated at their father's grave; a larger sum than usual was, on that Sabbath, found in the plate for the poor, for Love and Charity are sisters. And ever after, both during the peace and the troubles of this life, the hearts of the brothers were as one, and in nothing were they divided.

LESSON LXXXVI.

Lines written in a Highland Glen. -J. WILSON.

To whom belongs this valley fair,
That sleeps beneath the filmy air,
Even like a living thing?

Silent as infant at the breast

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Save a still sound that speaks of rest,
That streamlet's murmuring!

The heavens appear to love this vale;
Here clouds with unseen motion sail,
Or mid the silence lie!

By that blue arch, this beauteous earth,
Mid evening's hour of dewy mirth,
Seems bound unto the sky.

O! that this lovely vale were mine
Then, from glad youth to calm decline,

My years would gently glide;

Hope would rejoice in endless dreams,
And Memory's oft-returning gleams
By peace be sanctified.

There would unto my soul be given,
From presence of that gracious heaven,
A piety sublime;

And thoughts would come of mystic mood,
To make, in this deep solitude,
Eternity of Time!

And did I ask to whom belonged
This vale?I feel that I have wronged
Nature's most gracious soul!

She spreads her glories o'er the earth,
And all her children, from their birth,
Are joint heirs of the whole!

Yea! long as Nature's humblest child
Hath kept her temple undefiled
By sinful sacrifice,

Earth's fairest scenes are all his own,
He is a monarch, and his throne
Is built amid the skies.

LESSON LXXXVII.

The Young Herdsman. WORDSWORTH.

FROM early childhood, even, as hath been said, From his sixth year, he had been sent abroad, In summer, to tend herds: such was his task Thenceforward till the latter day of youth. O, then, what soul was his, when, on the tops Of the high mountains, he beheld the sun Rise and bathe the world in light! He looked up

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Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth,

And ocean's liquid mass beneath him lay,

In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched,
And in their silent faces did he read

Unutterable love. Sound needed none,
Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank
The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form,
All melted into him; they swallowed up
His animal being; in them did he live,
And by them did he live; they were his life.
In such access of mind, in such high hour
Of visitation from the living God,

Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired.
No thanks he breathed; he proffered no request;
Rapt into still communion, that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power
That made him; - it was blessedness and love!

A Herdsman, on the lonely mountain tops,
Such intercourse was his; and in this sort
Was his existence oftentimes possessed.
O, then, how beautiful, how bright appeared
The written promise! He had early learned
To reverence the Volume, which displays
The mysteries, the life that cannot die;
But in the mountains did he feel his faith ;
There did he see the writing; all things there
Breathed immortality, revolving life,

And greatness still revolving; - infinite!
There littleness was not; - the least of things

Seemed infinite; and there his spirit shaped
Her prospects; nor did he believe, — he saw.
What wonder if his being thus became
Sublime and comprehensive! low desires,

Low thoughts had there no place; yet was his heart
Lowly; for he was meek in gratitude,

Oft as he called those ecstasies to mind,

And whence they flowed;-and from them he acquired
Wisdom, which works through patience; thence he learned,
In many a calmer hour of sober thought,
To look on nature with an humble heart,
Self-questioned where he did not understand,
And with a reverential eye of love.

LESSON LXXXVIII.

The Shipwreck.-J. WILSON.

HER giant form

O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm, would go,

Mid the deep darkness, white as snow!
But gentler now the small waves glide,
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.

Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!

-Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last.

Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread,

Are hurried o'er the deck;

And fast the miserable ship

Becomes a lifeless wreck.

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,

Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock,

And a hideous crash like thunder.

Her sails are draggled in the brine
That gladdened late the skies,

And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine,
Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues
Gleamed softly from below,

And flung a warm and sunny flush
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down,

To sleep amid colors as bright as their own.
O! many a dream was in the ship
An hour before her death;

And sights of home with sighs disturbed
The sleeper's long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea,
The sailor heard the humming tree,
Alive through all its leaves,
The hum of the spreading sycamore,
That grows before his cottage door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy
To the dangers his father had passed;

And his wife by turns she wept and smiled

As she looked on the father of her child

Returned to her heart at last.

- He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,
And the rush of waters is in his soul.
Astounded the reeling deck he paces,
Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces:-
The whole ship's crew are there.
Wailings around and overhead,
Brave spirits stupefied or dead,
And madness and despair.
Now is the ocean's bosom bare,
Unbroken as the floating air;

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