Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

THE WIFE.

ness indescribable, and to the worldly inconceivable, in
a pious woman's love for one who is joined to her in
Milton's im-
wedlock, and re-joined to her in Christ.
agination, apt and fervid as it was, could never sketch
a scene so enchanting as those which spring from the
sanctified endearments of pious households.

earthly friend-he who is more to thee than all the A word of thine may save, a world beside, should be hindered and not forwarded in seeking this salvation. word may kill. Fly to the throne of grace, and linger there. Plead for a sanctified heart. You cannot act unless you feel. A cold heart cannot yield the fruits True, this purity of affection may also be demanded of our holy religion. Live near the cross, be saved of the husband; but if he fail, let not the wife copy thyself by its power, and then thou mayest hope to his example. Let her not forget that the husband may become a savor of life to thy companion. But perhaps you profess no religion, feel none, and be sanctified by the believing wife. Her purity may As a wife you draw your companion attract him to the all-cleansing fountain. So it was practice none. with Mrs. M. For years she walked alone, with no into fashionable associations, and encourage him to staff to lean upon but the comforting rod of Jesus. neglect and to forget his soul. Alas! what sorrows are But this sustained her amidst trials severe as the fur-you probably treasuring up for yourself, and what woes for your family. Emily-not long since wedded to a man whose turn of mind had become religious, is striving to win him from his serious-or what she calls gloomy habits. She invites to her saloons the gay and the godless, and compels her husband to mingle with them. They reciprocate the favor, and he must wait on her abroad. She is succeeding to her heart's conHer "James is becoming cheerful." She hopes Probably she will; tent. to see him the gayest of the town. and no wonder if he becomes the most profligate and depraved. He is a reformed drunkard, and his sobriety is his safe-guard. Let him lose a sense of his religious obligations, and the chances are not a few that he will plunge into every excess, and ruin both himself and his family for time and eternity. She "loves her husband, and can't bear to see him gloomy." Alas! if she loved him with a pure heart, she could not bear to seduce him from God, and lead him by the soft attractions of woman's overpowering charms down to perdition. Love is sometimes worse than hatred. It kisses and yet betrays.

Her nace heated seven times hotter than it was wont. husband's moods were changeable, and his assaults on her religion were varied many ways. But she never wavered. He cursed and she blessed. He scorned and she was meck and humble. He raved like a madman about "lazy preachers," lying Methodists, and swindling Church members; but she made no answer. She prayed, wept, and prayed on, year after year, and hoped against hope for her poor wicked husband. Revival after revival brought one and another and scores of her neighbors to the foot of the cross, but her husband raved on. Yet she prayed, and prayed, and hoped. All had given up her husband as judicially hardened in sin, but she did not give him up. Another revival came. She besieged the throne of grace in his behalf. On a certain Sabbath he consented to go with her to church. The sermon was over, and mourners were M. stood with his foot called to the altar for prayer. on a bench, his elbow on his knee, and his cheek on his clenched hand, his eyes fixed in a fierce gaze upon the floor. My friend pointed to him and said, "He's a hard case, but something ails him." In a minute a faithful follower of Christ, who had courage enough to suffer for his Master, approached and whispered in his ear. He glared fiercely around, and then raising him-taneous. self up, came forward with a firm step, and cast himself down at the altar. In thirty-six hours he was a When his pious wife saw what God had wrought, her fortitude forsook her. She burst into one flood of joy after another, weeping like an infant; and it seemed as though she who had so patiently sought the blessing now bestowed, would expire under the intense joy of its fruition.

new man.

Have you, reader, such a husband-unbelievinghostile to the religion of Jesus Christ? Do not falter. Show him your faith by your works. Let all your tempers be controlled by grace. Live much in your closet. Let your love for him be sanctified, and let no provocation disturb the meekness of your heart. Remember that your husband looks at you to learn what religion is. He does not go to the Bible, nor to the closet, but he goes to your daily life, and from it he infers that religion is or is not what it claims to be-a sanctifying power to the heart.

Faithfulness and submission on the part of the wife need not be enlarged upon. They spring from love, and where this is ardent and pure, those will be sponAs faith always brings forth fruit, so bridal love always produces a reverential manner towards the husband. We say always; for those occasional fits of affection which some ladies display towards their husbands, interrupted now and then, almost daily, with fits of angry passion and words of rude reproach, deserve not to be called love. The softened feelings which now and then occur in the changing moods of the maniac might as well be called by that sacred name. She, therefore, who is wanting in fidelity and reverence towards her husband, may justly be accounted a stranger to those affections, without which a lady in wedded life is worse than a shrew. She is a monster; and a woman without discretion is to be preferred before her. She may have brought her husband a rich dowry in goods and chattels, and landed estates-she may display all the graces and charms of woman, and may have added to personal attractions a highly gifted and cultivated mind, but she is stripped of that jewelry of the heart, without which her companion is more to be

O look to thyself, lest by some misdeed of thine-pitied than the galley slave, or the prisoner on the some act or word, dishonoring to Jesus, thy dearest scaffold.

2

348

THE LITERARY STANDARD.

'Original.'

THE LITERARY STANDARD. WHAT a beautiful writer is Doctor Coates! His themes, too, are of a most interesting and novel stamp. "The lightning of the sea" is a tableau vivant of surpassing beauty; and in reading it we contemplate many wonders of nature which our eyes have never beheld. And these tremendous and uncommon appearances, fitted to appall the sense, his science, "smoothing the raven down of darkness till it smile," makes plain and natural to our startled apprehensions. It is some few months since we read this theme. It may be found in one of the current periodicals, not now recollected which. There is also in a series, perhaps in the same book, "The wonders of the land and sea." And the latter seems to be the element in which the writer especially rejoices himself—and his readers. He writes, as we have said, with taste, tact, science, gusto; yet have we never seen a single line penned in admiration.

But few things are of more equivocal authority than popular favoritism-the favoritism of the hour. Yet to the neglected there is redress, and time shall test the genuine and the false encomium. Our observation holds more strongly in regard to authorship than in any other walk before the public. We must explain; for we do not intend to assert that there is any grudging or withholding of praise to its object, when once recognized; for then the tendency is in the other extreme, and it is almost matter of course that the commendation shall outswell the merit. But there seems to be a backwardness in discovering or a slowness in acknowledging a writer's merit in the outset. At the same time that the favorite, who has already taken rank, is be praised out of all measure, lauded, adulated, and lionized, a far superior writer, perhaps, shall not yet have elicited a single commendation.

But how happens this? The few, or perhaps an individual of "weight and state," expresses a pointed admiration for a new writer, perhaps his friend, whom he wishes to serve; may be his heart betrays his taste, or he makes too great allowance for his youth, or for circumstances—may be his own proper enthusiasm passes for more than it is worth-at any rate it creates a sympathy which is contagious-and that acclamation tells for the author, which is in reality but of themselves. Others being cool, and perhaps equally incapable of enthusiasm as incompetent of a judgment, are yet ambitious of literary opinion, they, too, take up the word, and with proffered accordance, bestow unmeasured and unexamined praise. All this fills the public ear for the time. Like the idolater of old, they first "make" their idol, and then "fall down and worship it." But it is not a discriminating service, neither shall it abide; for the light of truth shall sweep it away. Truth, though impugned, can never be impaired! And thus it falls, and time decides; for it is only in the commencement, in the early season of authorship, that a fine writer shall be liable to be misprized or unprized. And this happens out of the remissness of some proper authority to commence and sound the note which should pres

ently be echoed and re-echoed with hearty good will, subject only to the dissentient envy of a rival, or the miscalculating, fractious negative of some anti-partizan book. The author, once started, shall live, if he deserve to live. Having commenced his recognized career, he shall then go on and run his course with the true taste which mere arbitrary opinion shall in vain attempt to gainsay. For hath not the thing a standard? Yes, surely it hath. And just as much as any one author hath, in popular commendation, exceeded the fair ratio of his own merit, even so much must he discount at some after day-the day of settlement when the subject falls into proper hands—when public opinion shall have balanced itself, and a fair appreciation shall be the ligitimate result. Only at the running down we shall see that tendency to take too great discount for that which had once been current above par; but this, too, shall settle itself. Justice shall be exacted, and on the other hand justice shall be rendered. What, say you, created the excess? It was not a genuine result, for no excess is so. It was but the echoing in of all indiscriminately, either with or without the right of suffrage. The thousands possessing no literary freehold yet gave spurious votes, and were counted—they raised the shout and swelled the acclamation, which was indeed a thing “full of noise and sound, importing nothing."

And so it was, and so shall be; for however much critics or cavilers may disagree, there is a truth in the thing contested, a reality in genius which can and ultimately must find its degree in the appreciation of its fellows. C. M. B.

DRAW NIGH TO GOD. How may the soul approach God? She comes with hallowed affections, with ardent aspirations for entire conformity to God. God is everywhere. It needs but the holy heart to feel and to enjoy his presence. God is everywhere. It was a lesson of my childhood; but I found not God, until I found holiness; until I exercised faith in the blood of cleansing. Now I know it is only the pure in heart that see God. The purer the heart, the nearer its approach to God. My soul cries out unceasingly for purity; for greater and greater degrees of purity; so shall I come nigher and nigher to God. From all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, do thou cleanse me, O my Father. My heart, is it not thine? O do thou take possession of my mind also; of all its powers and faculties, and sanctify them wholly to thyself. Take my memory, my imagination, my reasoning powers, and reign supreme over all. Bring thou every thought into captivity; into subjection to thyself. Enlarge my capacities, so that I may more and more understand, and be enabled to perform all thy will concerning me. Thou art the Author of mind, the mind of minds; immense is thy eternal mind. O receive my mind, depressed and darkened in its fallen state; O receive it, and restore it to thyself a pure mind, and let it evermore expand itself in thee.

ACROSTIC.

Original.
ACROSTIC.

WHENCE, ye minstrelsy of heaven,
In pure robes of glory dress'd,
Tell me whence your joys arise,
High-serene-supremely blest.
On the plains of heavenly bliss-
Utmost bound of human thought-
Time and distance are unknown,

Hope and fear alike forgot.
O'er those wide extended plains
Loud resound your joyous lays:
Innocency tunes your strings,
Nature's God your theme of praise,-
Ever basking in delight,
Sorrow is a thing unknown,
Seeds of sadness and distress

Not on heavenly fields are sown.
O, since ye are thus so blest,
May a sinful mortal dare
Ask the source of your delight,
Never marred by anxious care?

Say, ye glorious, happy throng,
Has aught earthly power to give
An immortal spirit bliss
Like to that in which ye live?
Lies within an earthly shell

Some pure element of joy
Ever springing in the heart,
Endless-true-without alloy ?

"Turn from earth," I hear ye say;
"HOLINESS OF HEART ALONE
Ever can a peace afford,

[blocks in formation]

With conscience undefil'd,

And thoughts attuned to truth. Perhaps her father's arm

Hath clasp'd her to his heart, Shielding her steps from harm: O, would you bid it part!

Perchance a mother's love,

Which pass'd from earth too soon, "Tis hers again to prove

Hath life a dearer boon?

Her brothers, they who trod

The nursery floor she pressed, And now are with their God,

May come to gild her rest.

Then do not seek to break

That sleeper's calm repose; Too soon, alas! she'll wake,

To feel life's saddening woes.

Call sleep a blissful thing,

A respite sweet from pain, A moment's dream may bring What ne'er can come again.

Hush, then, and lightly tread!

In such a world as this, Break not one golden thread Which links the soul to bliss.

1740 04440

MARY'S TEARS.

WHEN the repentant Mary came,

And knelt at Jesus' feet,

Weigh'd down by sorrow, sin, and shame,

And pour'd the precious sweet

The tears of penitence bedew'd

The humble mourner's eye;

Her contrite grief her Maker view'd,
And register'd on high.

She at her Savior's footstool bent,
And humbly knelt to pray;
God saw her heart-forgiveness sent-
And wip'd her sins away.

Ye who by sin have been misled

From the bright way to heaven,
And would again its pathway tread,
And wish to be forgiven-

Do not upon the sacred shrine,
Your glittering off'rings heap,
As if your gems were things divine-
But like the suppliant weep.

O! may the storms of sorrow raise

Your wandering thoughts to heaven; May you, like Mary, kneel and praise, Like Mary-be forgiven.

349

350

Original.

AMANDA'S LAST HOUR.

AMANDA'S LAST HOUR.

BY MRS. HARLAN.

"Twas winter. Gloomy clouds shrouded the scene,
And chilling snows came on the stormy blast,
And bright streams were congealed, and every flower
And spire of grass had faded; and the songs
Of birds echoed not in the leafless wood.
The door was shut-a bright fire lit the hearth,
And there were circled round the fair and gay,
Whom I had often met in happier days.

But young Amanda, whose enchanting smile
Had cheered so late that melancholy place,
Was changed; for she was wasted by disease,
And her once roseate cheeks were deadly pale.
Sometimes her eyes rested on vacancy;
But oft she turned them to her sleeping child,
While gushed affection's warmest, fondest tears.
Her moans were low and saddening, like the tones
Of an Æolian harp in ruin laid,

When every passing breeze severs a chord,
And its low music in sad murmurs tells

That soon the last worn trembling chord will break,
And its soft melody for ever cease.

A kind physician, by her lowly couch
Of suffering, bent with deepest interest,
Still pressing the warm cordial to her lips,
As if unwilling to resign a form

So fair and loved to death's relentless power.

I was beside her when a fearful change
Came o'er her features. A triumphant smile
Played on her cheek, and a strange brightening glow
That seemed to be the first faint dawn of heaven,
Gave a calm lustre to her closing eyes,
A moment ere they darkened into death.

The blast of death blew colder-life's worn chord
Resisted it no longer, but gave way,
And the last sigh passed from her dying lip.
Her parting shade, released from the pale clay,
Fled to her native heaven, to mingle there
With bright celestial forms, where ceaseless joy
Beams from God's throne o'er the wide realms of bliss,
And pain, and death, and sorrow, are no more.

I looked, and she was silent; yet the smile
Still sat triumphant on her bloodless lip,
And a cold tear hung on the silken lash

Of that bright eye, now closed to weep no more.
There was a calmness on her marble brow,
Serene as summer's sea, when not a breeze
Moves even lightly o'er its quiet breast.

The clouds passed off from the wide horizon,
The evening sun looked feebly from the west,
And disappeared behind the snow-topt hills-
The hour closed, Amanda was no more.

Long has it been since her last hour, and long
Has she slept shrouded in the gloomy vault;
The summer rose has faded o'er her breast,
The withered grass droops on her lowly grave,
And autumn's leaves are scattered widely there,
Sad emblem of the faded bloom beneath.

Original.

THE FLOWER.

A FACT.

To India's sultry clime a man went forth, Bearing upon his lips the eternal words:

[ocr errors]

Peace upon earth, good will to all mankind," And burning in his heart the love of ChristThe love of precious souls. The Gospel of The Son of God, dispensed by his own servant, With influence sweet, drew Asia's tawny sons To listen and believe.

Won by the accents
Of the good man, a Hindoo worshiper
(On whom the Spirit of the Lord had breathed,
And bade "the dry bones live") approached and thus
Address'd the messenger of heaven: "Father,

I have a flower, a precious flower, and long
Has been my search to find or strive to find
One worthy of so rare a gift. Alas!
My labor has been fruitless-earth's cold sons
With careless eye look'd on my offering-
The scorching gaze of beauty, and the blast

Of Time's rude winds have withered my poor flower.
Tell me, O man of God, if in your land
There dwells one worthy of this precious gift-
One who would cherish it with fondest love,
Restore its wonted freshness, and upon

Its blighted leaves effuse the dew of life."

The missionary's heart beat high with hope—
He read the import of the heathen's story
In his expressive face, which told of woe,
Affections blighted, manhood's hopes put out.
He points the Hindoo to the Lamb of God,
Tells him of Jesus and his matchless love,
So vast, that though possessed of earth and heaven,
For us he condescends to shed his blood.
The Hindoo's soul, melted with love divine,
Pours forth with streaming eyes his thanks to God,
And thus exclaims-

[blocks in formation]

NOTICES.-EDITOR'S TABLE.

NOTICES.

ELEMENTS OF CHEMISTRY, including the most recent Discoveries and Applications of the Science to Medicine, and Pharmacy, and the Arts. By Robert Kane, M. D., M. R. I. A., Professor, &c. An American Edition, arranged for the Use of the Universities, Colleges, &c., in the United States. By John Draper, M. D., Professor of Chemistry in the University of New York. Pp. 701. Harper & Brothers.-"Nothing new," is no proverb in chemistry. This science is yet in its non-age-perhaps in its infancy. On this theme new books are necessary as a new one on geography was called for after Columbus had revealed a new world. Kane's Elements are in excellent repute among European scholars; and the best masters of the science in America proclaim its worth with a strong and full verdict. The work is sufficiently commended, and without our warrant will be deemed worth its price by all who study chemistry, either for speculation, amusement, or for practical aims and uses.

A DISCOURSE IN REPLY TO "TRACTS FOR THE PEOPLE, NO. IV." By Rev. John E. Edwards, of the North Carolina Conference.-"Tract for the Times, No. IV," is an anonymous pamphlet, in which the writer attempts to prove that Methodism is no Church, but a society, without sacraments, ministers, or divine warrant, in its origin, progress and design.

Mr. Edwards replies to this charge with sufficient skill and success. It is not, however, certain to our mind, that such anonymous assaults on Methodism require any answer, except in peculiar circumstances, as where the poison is really and manifestly diffusing itself, and averting the regards of those who are friendly to the Church. This was probably the case in Newbern where the discourse was delivered.

MEMOIR OF MRS. MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN: being Recollections of a Daughter by her Mother. New York: Robert Carter. 1842.-This is one of the most valuable sketches of female religious character extant. The infancy, youth, and maturity of Mrs. Duncan's life were equally attractive. She was truly an example of what nature and grace can do to render the person, manners, and tempers of a human being lovely and admired. We cannot attempt, in a brief notice, a delineation of the charms of her character, but must direct the reader to obtain the book, and by its perusal be led, as she will, to crave and seek the mental and moral graces which adorned this meek disciple of Jesus. The following lines, composed by her at the age of twelve, show singular aptness in a child for versification.

"How sweet are those delightful dreams,

That charm in youth's first days of bloom!
And sweet those radiant sunshine gleams,
That wander through surrounding gloom.

And bright are fancy's fairy bowers,

And sweet the flowers that round she flings;
When in gay youth's romantic hours

She shows all fair and lovely things.

But ah! there is a land above,

Whose pleasures never fade away;
A holy land of bliss and love,

Where night is lost in endless day.
And in the blaze of that blest day,

All earthly bowers we deemed so bright,
Must fade, as when the sun's first ray
Dispels the darkness of the night.
Why should my soul so fondly cling
To joys that bless my pilgrimage?
The joys of heaven I ought to sing,
Its raptures all my love engage.
Why should my spirit fear to die?
What though the river may be deep!
When past, I never more shall sigh;
My eyes shall then forget to weep.
O! for faith's bright and eagle eye,
To pierce beyond this vale of tears,

To regions blest above the sky,

To worlds unknown by lapse of years. Then should the toys that tempt me now, From my enraptured bosom fly; In faith and grace my soul should grow Till death be lost in victory."

351

The following is selected from amongst others as proof of her skill in poetry at a mature age.

"THE ISLES OF THE GENTILES.
Calm on the bosom of the deep

A thousand beauteous islets lie;
While glassy seas that round them sleep,
Reflect the glories of the sky.

How radiant mid the watery waste
Their groves of emerald verdure smile,
Like Eden-spots, in ocean placed,

The weary pilgrim to beguile.
Graceful through forest vistas bright,

The fair Mimosa's shadows spread;
And 'gainst those skies of amber light,
The palm-tree lifts its towering head.
Alas! that in those happy vales,

Meet homes for pure and heaven-born love,
Unholy discord still prevails,

And weeping peace forsakes the grove.
Alas! that on those lovely shores,

Where earth and sky in beauty shine,
And Heaven profusely sheds its stores,
Man should in heathen bondage pine.

O haste! ye messengers of God,
With hearts of zeal and tongues of flame,-
Go! spread the welcome sound abroad,
That all may bless Messiah's name.'
That where the smoke of offerings base,
From idol fanes obscure the day,
May rise the incense of a race

Whose souls are taught by Heaven to pray.
When shall the solemn Sabbath-bell
Chime through those plains at morning prime,
And choral hymns of praises swell
Through those deep woods in notes sublime?
Soft mingling with the wave's low moan,
The sound shall float o'er ocean's breast,
To tell the wave-tossed wanderer lone,
'The ark of mercy here doth rest.'"

EDITOR'S TABLE.

OHIO ANNUAL CONFERENCE.-The recent session of this body in Hamilton was of unusual interest, for two or three reasons. It was peculiarly harmonious. Scarcely a word was spoken during the eight days of its sittings which did not savor of brotherly love. A gentleman who had seen much of life and of verbal discussion, remarked to us that it was the most harmonious body of men he had ever seen. This concord did not grow out of circumstances. There was more perplexing business than usual. Discussion was free and frequent, and sometimes animated; but it was always in the spirit of that wisdom which is pure and then peaceable. The harmony was that spoken of by the apostle-"the unity of the Spirit." The preachers were imbued with the influences of the Holy Spirit. That was it which maintained amongst them such strict and unvarying concord.

Another interesting fact in connection with this conference, was the reported increase of the last year. More than fifteen thousand had been added to the Church. There was an increase of more than ten thousand. This is beyond precedent. And what rendered this increase the more grateful is, that a large proportion of those added were regenerated persons. The testimony of the ministers plainly indicated that there

[ocr errors]
« ForrigeFortsett »