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Oh! never hold malice;" it cannot be good,
For 'tis nobler to strike in the rush of hot blood
Than to bitterly cherish the name of the foe,
Wait to sharpen a weapon and measure the blow.
The wild dog in hunger—the wolf in its spring-
The shark of the waters—the asp with its sting-
Are less to be fear'd than the vengeance
When it lieth in secret to wound when it can.

of man,

Oh! never

“ hold malice ;” dislike if you will,
Yet remember Humanity linketh us still ;
We are all of us human, and all of us erring,
And Mercy within us should ever be stirring.

to look up to the Father above,
With petitions for pardon, or pleading for love;
Shall we dare, while we pant for revenge on another,
To ask from a God, yet deny to a brother?

ELIZA Cook.

Shall we

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" WE ARE SEVEN."

A SIMPLE child, dear brother Jem,

That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,

What can it know of death ?

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I met a little cottage girl,

Of eight years old, she said ;
Her hair was thick with many a curl,

That clustered round her head;

She had a rustic woodland air,

And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were blue, and she was fair :

Her beauty made me glad :

“ Sisters and brothers, little maid,

How many may you be ?" “How many ? seven in all,” she said,

And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell.”

She answered, “ Seven are we; Two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea ;

“Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my

brother; And in the churchyard cottage

Dwell near them with my mother.”

You say that two at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea ;
Yet you are seven-I pray you, tell,

Sweet maid, how this can be.”

Then did the little maid reply,

“ Seven boys and girls are we, Two of us in the churchyard lie,

Beneath the churchyard tree."

You run about, my little maid,

All sprightly and alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,

Then ye are only five."

“ Their graves are green, they may be seen,”

The little maid replied ; Twelve steps or more, from mother's door,

There they lie side by side ;

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"My stockings there I often knit,

My 'kerchief there I hem,
And there upon the ground I sit-

I sit and sing to them.

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“ The first that died was little Jane,

In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her from her pain,

And then she went away :

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“So in the church-yard she was laid ;

And all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we play'd,

My brother John and I.

“ And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,

And he lies by her side.”

“How many are you, then,” said I,

“ If those two are in heaven ? The little maid still did reply,

Oh, master, we are seven.

“ But two are dead, their spirits fled,

And now at rest in heaven ;
'Twas throwing words away, for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, “ Nay, we are seven.”

W. WORDSWORTH.

THE DIGNITY OF LABOUR.

THERE is dignity in toil—in toil of the band as well as toil of the head-in toil to provide for the bodily wants of an individual life, as well as in toil to promote some enterprize of world-wide fame. All labour that tends to supply man's wants, to increase man's happiness, to elevate man's nature-in a word, all labour that is honest, is honourable too.

What a concurrent testimony is given by the entire universe to the dignity of toil! Things inanimate and

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things irrational combine with men and angels to proclaim the law of Him who made them all. The restless atmosphere, the rolling rivers, and the heaving ocean, Nature's vast laboratory never at rest; countless agen

cies in the heavens above and in the earth beneath, and ! in the waters under the earth; the unwearied sun

coming forth from bis chamber, and rejoicing as a strong

man to run a race; the changeful moon, whose never * slumbering influence, the never-resting tides obey ; the

planets, never pausing in the mighty sweep of their majestic march; the sparkling stars, never ceasing to show forth the handiwork of Him who bade them shine ; the busy swarms of insect life; the ant providing her

meat in the summer, and gathering her food in the harvest; the birds exuberant in their flight, pouring

forth the melody of their song; the beasts of the forest rejoicing in the gladness of activity; primeval man amid the bowers of Eden ; paradise untainted by sin, yet honoured by toil; fallen man, with labour still per

mitted him, an alleviation of his woe, and an earnest ! of his recovery ; redeemed man, divinely instructed,

assisted, encouraged, honoured in his toil; the innumerable company of angels, never resting in their service, never wearied in their worship; the glorious Creator of the universe, who never slumbereth or sleepeth: all, all, bear testimony to the dignity of labour !

The dignity of labour ! Consider its achievements ! Dismayed by no difficulty, shrinking from no exertion, exhausted by no struggle, ever eager for renewed efforts, in its persevering promotion of human happiness,

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