LESSON CI.

HAPPINESS.

POLLOK.

1. God gave much peace on earth,—much holy joy,
Oped fountains of perennial spring, whence flowed
Abundant happiness to all who wished

To drink-not perfect bliss; that dwells with us,
Beneath the eyelids of the Eternal One,
And sits at His right hand alone; but such,
As well deserved the name,-abundant joy ;—
Pleasures, on which the memory of saints
Of highest glory, still delights to dwell.
2. It was, we own, subject of much debate,
And worthy men stood on opposing sides,
Whether the cup of mortal life had more
Of sour or sweet. Vain question this, when asked
In general terms, and worthy to be left

Unsolved. If most was sour, the drinker, not
The cup, we blame. Each in himself the means
Possessed to turn the bitter sweet,-the sweet
To bitter. Hence, from out the self-same fount,
One nectar drank; another, draughts of gall.
3. Hence, from the self-same quarter of the sky,
One saw ten thousand angels look and smile;
Another saw as many demons frown.
One discord heard, where harmony inclined
Another's ear. The sweet was in the taste;
The beauty in the eye; and in the ear,
The melody; and in the man,--for God
Necessity of sinning laid on none,—
To form the taste, to purify the eye,

And tune the ear, that all he tasted, saw,

Or heard, might be harmonious, sweet, and fair.

Who would, might groan; who would, might sing for joy.

4. Whether in crowds or solitudes, in streets Or shady groves, dwelt Happiness, it seems

In vain to ask; her nature makes it vain; Though poets much, and hermits talked and sung Of brooks, and crystal founts, and weeping dews, And myrtle bowers, and solitary vales. Delirious babble all! Was Happiness, Was self-approving, God-approving joy, In drops of dew, however pure? in gales, However sweet? in wells, however clear? Or groves, however thick with verdant shades? 5. True, these were of themselves exceeding fair ;How fair at morn and even! worthy the walk Of loftiest mind; and gave, when all within Was right, a feast of overflowing bliss; But were the occasion, not the cause of joy. They waked the native fountains of the soul, Which slept before; and stirred the holy tides Of feeling up; giving the heart to drink

From its own treasures, draughts of perfect sweet. 6. The Christian faith, which better knew the heart Of man,-him thither sent for peace; and thus Declared: "Who finds it, let him find it there; Who finds it not, forever let him seek

In vain;--'tis God's most holy, changeless will."

7. True Happiness had no localities;

No tones provincial; no peculiar garb.

Where duty went, she went; with justice went; And went with meekness, charity, and love. Where'er a tear was dried; a wounded heart Bound up; a bruised spirit with the dew Of sympathy anointed; or a pang Of honest suffering soothed; or injury Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven. 8. Where'er an evil passion was subdued, Or virtue's feeble embers fanned; where'er A sin was heartily abjured, and left; Where'er a pious act was done, or breathed

A pious prayer, or wished a pious wish,-
There was a high and holy place, a spot
Of sacred light, a most religious fane,
Where Happiness, descending, sat and smiled.

LESSON CII.

ANALOGY BETWEEN THE DECAY OF NATURE

AND OF MAN.

ALISON.

1. THERE is an even-tide in the day,-an hour when the sun retires, and the shadows fall, and when nature assumes the appearances of soberness and silence.. It is an hour, from which everywhere the thoughtless fly, as peopled only in their imagination with images of gloom;-it is the hour which, in every age, the wise have loved, as bringing with it sentiments and affections more valuable than all the splendors of the day. 2. Its first impression is to still all the turbulence of thought or passion, which the day may have brought forth. We follow, with our eye, the descending sun,-we listen to the decaying sounds of labor and of toil, and when all the fields are silent around us, we feel a kindred stillness to breathe upon our souls, and to calm them from the agitations of society. In the day we are living with men,-in the even-tide we begin to live with nature.

3. It is an hour, fitted to still, but with gentle hand, the throb of every unruly passion, and the ardor of every impure desire; and, while it vails, for a time, the world that misleads us, it awakens in our hearts those legitimate affections which the heat of day may have dissolved. In the moments when earth is overshadowed, Heaven opens to our eyes the radiance of a sublimer being.

4. Our hearts follow the successive splendors of the scene, and while we forget, for a time, the obscurity of earthly concerns, we feel that there are "yet greater things than these," and that we "have a Father who dwelleth in the heavens, and who yet deigneth to consider the things that are upon earth."

5. There is an "even-tide" in the year,-a season when the sun withdraws his propitious light, when the winds arise, and the leaves fall, and nature around us seems to sink into decay. It is a season which tends to wean us from the passions of the world. A few days ago, and the summer of the year was grateful, and every element was filled with life, and the sun in heaven seemed to glory in his ascendant. He is now enfeebled in his power; the desert no more "blossoms like the rose;" the song of joy is no more heard among the branches; and the earth is strewed with that foliage which once bespoke the magnificence of summer.

6. Whatever may be the passions which society has awakened, we pause amid this apparent desolation of nature. We sit down in the lodge "of the wayfaring man in the wilderness," and we feel that all we witness is the emblem of our own fate.-Such, in a few years, will be our own condition. The blossoms of our spring, the pride of our summer, will also fade into decay; and the pulse that now beats high with virtuous or vicious desire, will gradually sink, and then cease forever.

7. It is the peculiar character of the melancholy which such seasons excite, that it is general. It is not an individual remonstrance. When the winds of autumn sigh around us, their voice speaks not to us only; the lesson they teach, is not that we alone decay, but that such also is the fate of all the generations of man.

8. In such a sentiment there is a kind of sublimity, mingled with its melancholy;--our tears fall, but they fall not for ourselves ;--and, although the train of our thoughts may have begun with the selfishness of our own concerns, we feel that, by the ministry of some mysterious power, they end in awakening our concern for every being that lives. Yet a few years, and all that now bless, or all that now convulse humanity, will have perished. The mightiest pageantry of life will pass,-the loudest notes of triumph or conquest will be silent in the grave;—the wicked, wherever active, "will cease from troubling and the weary," wherever suffering, “will be at rest.”

9. There is an "even-tide" in human life,-a season when the eye becomes dim, and the strength decays,--when the winter of age begins to shed upon the head its prophetic snow. The spring and summer of our days soon pass away, and with them, not only the joys they knew, but many of the friends who bestow them. In the retrospect of our journey, we have seen every day the shades of the evening fall, and every year the clouds of winter gather. But we have also seen, every succeeding day, the morning arise in its brightness, and in every succeeding year the spring return to renovate the winter of nature.

10. It is thereby we may understand the magnificent language of Heaven. It mingles its voice with that of revelation. It summons us, in those hours when the leaves fall, and the winter is gathering, to that evening study which the mercy of Heaven has provided in the book of salvation. And while the shadowy valley opens, which leads to the abode of death, it speaks of that hand which can comfort and can save, which can conduct to those "green pastures, and those still waters," where there is an eternal spring for the children of God.

LESSON CIII.

RE-UNION OF FRIENDS.

1. FRIEND after friend departs;
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts,
That finds not here an end;

Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blessed.

2. Beyond the flight of Time,

Beyond this vale of death,
There surely is some blesséd clime
Where life is not a breath,
Nor life's affections, transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward to expire,

MONTGOMERY