PROMISES OF RELIGION TO THE YOUNG. 2. "We have no light that hath not been given; 3. "We shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright, 4. From the stars of heaven and the flowers of earth, From all save that o'er which soul bears sway, 5. "Passing away," sing the breeze and rill, As they sweep on their course by vale and hill: 377 MISS M. J. JEWSBURY. 163. PROMISES OF RELIGION TO THE YOUNG. IN every part of Scripture, it is remarkable with what singular tenderness the season of youth is always mentioned, and what hopes are afforded to the devotion of the young. It was at that age that God appeared unto Moses, when he fed his flock in the desert, and called him to the command of his own people. It was at that age he visited the infant Samuel, while he ministered in the temple of the Lord, "in days when the 1Lè'gend, an inscription; a fable.- Blazon (blå' zm), to display. word of the Lord was precious, and when there was no open vision." It was at that age that his spirit fell upon David, while he was yet the youngest of his father's sons, and when, among the mountains of Bethlehem, he fed his father's sheep. 2. It was at that age, also, "that they brought young children unto Christ, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it he was much displeased, and said to them, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." If these, then, are the effects and promises of youthful piety, rejoice, O young man, in thy youth! Rejoice in those days which are never to return, when religion comes to thee in all its charms, and when the God of nature reveals himself to thy soul like the mild radiance' of the morning sun, when he rises amid the blessings of a grateful world. 3. If already devotion hath taught thee her secret pleasures; if, when nature meets thee in all its magnificence2 or beauty, thy heart humbleth itself in adoration before the hand which made it, and rejoiceth in the contemplation of the wisdom by which it is maintained; if, when revelation unvails her mercies, and the Son of God comes forth to give peace and hope to fallen man, thine eye follows with astonishment the glōries of his path, and pours at last over his cross those pious tears which it is a delight to shed; if thy soul accompanieth him in his triumph over the grave, and entereth on the wings of faith into that heaven "where he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high," and seeth the "society of angels and of the spirits of just men made perfect," and listeneth to the "everlasting song which is sung before the throne;" if such are the meditations in which thy youthful hours are passed, renounce not, for all that life can offer thee in exchange, these solitary joys. 4. The world which is before thee, the world which thine imagination paints in such brightness, has no pleasures to bestow that can compare with these. And all that its boasted wisdoin can produce has nothing so acceptable in the sight of Heaven, as this pure offering of thy soul. In these days, "the Lord him 'Ra'di ance, brightness shooting in rays, luster.- Mag nif'i cence, grandeur of appearance.-' Med i ta' tions, deep thoughts. THE PURE IN HEART SHALL MEET AGAIN. 379 Amid the green self is thy shepherd, and thou dost not want. pastures, and by the still waters" of youth, he now makes "thy soul to repose." 5. But the years draw nigh, when life shall call thee to its trials; the evil days are on the wing, when "thou shalt say thou hast no pleasure in them;" and, as thy steps advance, "the valley of the shadow of death opens," through which thou must pass at last. It is then thou shalt know what it is to "remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." In these days of trial or of awe, "his Spirit shall be with you," and thou shalt fear no ill; and, amid every evil which surrounds you, “he shall restore thy soul. His goodness and mercy shall follow thee all the days of thy life;" and when at last the "silver cord is loosed,' thy spirit shall return to the God who gave it, and thou shalt dwell in the house of the Lord forever." ARCHIBALD ALISON. 164. THE PURE IN HEART SHALL MEET AGAIN. 1 [F yon bright orbs which gem the night, Where, kindred spirits reünite, Whom death hath tōrn asunder here, How sweet it were at once to die, And leave this dreary world afar,- 2. But oh, how dark, how drear, how lone, "Silver cord is loosed," a beautiful figurative expression for death. 3. It can not be; each hope, each fear, That lights the eye, or clouds the brow, Than this bleak world that holds us now. When heaviest weighs life's galling chain,- WILLIAM LEGGETT. SHE 165. DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. HE was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death. Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter-berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. "When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." Those were her words. 2. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird-a poor, slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed- -was stirring nimbly in its cage, and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever! Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrow was dead, indeed, in her; but peace and perfect happiness were born-imaged-in her tranquil' beauty and profound repose. 3. And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes! the old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been the same mild and lovely look. So shall we know the angels, in their majesty, after death. DEATH OF LITTLE NELL. 381 4. The old man held one languid' arm in his, and the small, tight hand folded to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile-the hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now; and, as he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her. 5. She was dead, and past all help, or need of help. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast, the garden she had tended, the eyes she had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour, the paths she had trodden, as it were, but yesterday, could know her no more. 6. "It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, "it is not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is, compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, expressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her back to life, which of us would utter it!" They were all about her ai drawing on. She died soon 7. She had been dead two days. the time, knowing that the end was after daybreak. They had read and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night; but, as the hours crept on, she sank to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings with the old man: they were of no painful scenes, but of those who had helped them and used them kindly; for she often said "God bless you!" with great fervor. 8. Waking, she never wandered in her mind but once, and that was a beautiful music, which, she said, was in the air. God knows. It may have been. Opening her eyes, at last, from a věry quiet sleep, she begged that they would kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man, with a lovely smile upon her face-such, they said, as they had never seen, and never could forget-and clung, with both her arms, about Languid (lång gwid), drooping; without activity or animation |