24 [Senate 



Or, rapt with love at the care of the Creator, reminding him of that 

 which he himself exercised towards the objects of his charge, he 

 bursts out, " the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." His 

 voice, too, comes to us from the palace and the camp ; from the 

 statesman and the warrior ; but in a tone how altered. The inno- 

 cence and faith of the shepherd boy, have not preserved him in more 

 trying scenes. The wailing of the adulterer and the murderer ; the 

 prayer for deliverance from blood and guiltiness ; the remorse, the 

 despair of conscience, are there. And well may he exclaim, as he 

 looks back upon his early days and his later career, " Oh ! had I 

 wings like a dove, then would I fly away and be at rest." 



But some one, smarting under ills that are common to every lot, 

 may say, in description a farmer's life may be poetic and delightful ; 

 but we want to be rich ; we want to be powerful ; we want to look 

 down upon others. That is happiness ; that is the usefulness to 

 which we aspire. I am ambitious, and avaricious and envious. I 

 have no scope here : I can never be happy as a farmer. And in 

 what position can you be happy 1 Where do these feelings produce 

 aught but misery 1 An ambitious, avaricious, envious farmer cannot 

 be happy on his farm, for it is a law of man's nature that no outward 

 situation shall satisfy a disordered mind. And of agricultural pur- 

 suits no more can be said than is alleged of godliness by the apostle, 

 " with contentment, is great gain." 



What, then, is the conclusion of this whole matter? The agricul- 

 tural life is one eminently calculated for human happiness and human 

 virtue. But let no other calling or pursuit of honest industry, be 

 despised or envied. One cannot say unto another, " I have no need 

 of thee;" and to every one there are compensations made that ren- 

 der all, in a great degree, satisfied with their lot. Envy not the 

 wealth of the merchant ; it has been won by anxieties that you never 

 knew, and is held by so frail a tenure as to deprive its possessor of 

 perfect security and perfect peace. While your slumbers have been 

 sound, his have been disturbed by calculating chances, by fearful 

 anticipations, by uncertainty of results. The reward of your labor is 

 sure. He feels that an hour may strip him of his possessions, and 

 turn him and his family on the world in debt and penury. 



Envy not the learning of the student. The hue on his cheek tes- 

 tifies of the vigils by which it has been attained. He has grown pale 

 over the midnight lamp. He has been shut up from the prospect of 



