for “ that ye sow, ye shall also reap.” But a mer¬ 
ciful Providence has ordered that these “ hitter 
fruits” should produce seeds of holiness, and llis 
benevolent hand scatters them in the heart’s waste 
places, where they spring up and hear blossoms of 
immortality. When thick darkness broods over 
us, God parts the clouds and shows us pleasant 
interludes of blue sky smiling from between them, 
like the plumes of angel’s wings, and blessed light 
comes flying to us, bearing Hope and Joy upon its 
flame-tipped pinions. 
The Autumn of Life is the closing poem in this 
Volume of Time—some of those who have read it, 
tell me that it is a plantive requiem “mourning 
over follies past;” others say, that the prophecies 
of heavenly treasure are rich and glorious—golden 
fruits of self-denial await them in Eternity, and 
“stars are set in the crown of their rejoicing.” — 
Happy is that man who thus interprets Time’s 
Message to him. a. i>. n. 
Michigan, March, 1S59. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
VOICES OF NIGHT. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
I am never alone, though no form is around me, 
To carol with merriest tone, 
Though tho earth is now' silenced to dreams and to rest, 
And each weary head on the pillow is pressed, 
Yet the spirit is never alone. 
There are voices of night, that are sweeter than song, 
That awaken sweet thoughts of delight— 
For we hear then the songs of the long-ago, 
And the accents of joy that once gladdened us so— 
For the Memory-bells chime at night. 
And the low plaintive voices of loved ones long dead 
Come to us on the stilly night air, 
Now the silvery laugh of a merry child, 
Now the tones of a brother, so mournfully mild, 
Now the w'ords of a fond mother’f 
He sat and read. A book with silver clasps, 
All gorgeous with illuminating lines 
Of gold and crimson lay upon a frame 
Before him. ’Twas a volume of old time. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
PRESENTIMENT. 
HYMN FOR SABBATH MORNING. 
BY CAnOI.IN’E A. IIOWAKD. 
Liost of light enlighten me, 
Now anew the day is dawning; 
Sun of Grace! the shadows flee— 
Brighten thou my Sabbath morning. 
With thy joyous sunshine blest, 
Ilappy is my day of rest! 
Fount of all our joy and peace, 
To thy living waters lend me; 
Thou from eartli my soul release, 
And with grace and mercy feed me; 
Bless thy word that it may proro 
Rich in fruits that thou dost love. 
Kindle thou the sacrifice 
That upon my lips is lying; 
Clear the shadows from my eyes, 
That, from every error fl}ing, 
No strange fire within me glow 
That thine altar doth not know. 
Let me, with my heart, to-day, 
Holy, holy, holy, singing, 
Rapt awhile from earth away, 
All my soul to thee upspringing, 
Have a foretaste inly given 
How they worship thee in heaven. 
Rest in me and I in thee: 
Build a Paradise within me; 
O, reveal thyself to me. 
Blessed love who died to win mo! 
Fed by that exhaustless urn. 
Pure and bright my lamp shall burn. 
Hence all care, all vanity, 
For the day to God is holy; 
Come, thou glorious Majesty, 
Deign to fill this temple lowly ; 
Naught to-day my soul shall move, 
Simply trusting in thy love ! 
I am dying, I am dying ! Ere the roses come again, 
This murmuring heart, low lying, shall no more com¬ 
plain, 
All its su Spring and sighing, all this weary load of 
pain, 
Shall be hushed within the earth to rest, 
As an infant on its mother’s breast. 
When twilight shades are gathering softly over all, 
I sit beside tho window arid watch the elm trees tall, 
As their pendant brandies gently sweep the garden 
wall, 
AnJ I think how few the days must be 
Ere the leaves are waving over me. 
At night upon my bed, within my silent room, 
I he and watch the ghostly shapes, from out the dark¬ 
ness loom. 
The flaring of tho dim night-lamp makes visible tho 
gloom, 
And slowly, surely runs the sand 
In tho hour-glass upon the stand. 
This morn some early violets were kindly brought tome, 
The first fruits of the Spring, and beautiful to see, 
Fresh with dews of heaven from the upland lea. 
O, mother, when I’m gone, I'd have 
Sweet violets grow upon my grave. 
And you will plant some roses, too, dear mother, will 
you not? 
With these wild flowers above my head to mark the 
quiet sfmt— 
I would not that my resting place should be too soon 
forgot. 
The busy world thinks not of those 
Who’ve left its turmoil for repose. 
The summer flowers will fade, the autumn leaves will 1 
’8 prayer. 
Oh ! they all sweetly sing in the bowers of the heart, 
Though they long have been buried to sight, 
And their music is sweet as the murmuring sen, 
Or the sea-siicll’s song when it w hispers to mo 
In the lone, solemn hours of the night. 
Then sing on, gentle voices, so sweet to the soul, 
For ye tell of a land of delight; 
When the spirit is weary and longeth for rest, 
Then ye call, “ Come away to the Home of the blest,” 
Oh ! sing on, gentle voices, of night. 
Canasorifga, N. Y., 1859. Lyra. 
YOUTH’S DREAMENGS. 
They arc many and brightly colored—intangible, 
yet to our eager spirits, a fore-shadowing of the 
surely “Coming,” and we stand under the flushing 
skies of life’s dawn, looking out from the fair land, 
whose spring-tides keep time with our heart-throbs, 
to the Future, whose warriors we are yet to be — 
in whose days and hours we are to find, or the 
alchemy of our hopes failing, not to find the cul¬ 
mination of our yearnings and the reality of our 
dreams. 
Strong in an enthusiasm that all after years will 
fail to waken —fair with a purity of purpose and 
an unselfish aim, that the world will not give us 
to “possess in peace” —arc the dreams of coming 
life thatour youth knows—dreams that break up 
at first the calmness of childhood’s pleasures, 
startling with their intensity, and half-mystifying 
by the glimpses of awakening power which they 
reveal, yet growing in a little time to be compau- 
a weariness, a heavy burthen. The cares and re¬ 
sponsibilities of the present pressed heavily upon 
us, and thy worth was not felt. Now the diamonds 
of India are poor beside thee, could we but bring 
thee to our embrace once more and make thee a 
double blessing to man. Could we 
“ But invert its frame, 
And all its powers return the same.” 
Precious, hallowed moments. Numerous are thy 
aspects oh, Time—like the spring-time of life, joy 
and sorrow, we urge thee on that maturer years 
may seek out some device by which to enjoy more 
of pleasure with thee. Thy visage varies like an 
April sky—now sunshine, now tears, now sending 
forth the ray of hope, then the pall of sadness 
overshadows thy face, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BYGOUES. — No. II. 
We look on thee from the 
couch of death when the grim monster is beckon¬ 
ing us away—then art thou beautiful, art lovely, 
aye, lovely beyond rubies—nothing is to be com¬ 
pared to thy worth and beauty. Each moment is 
an age more treasured than the gold of Opliir.— 
Systems on systems could not buy thee—nay, could 
we but possess thee all else would we give in ex¬ 
change. On the near approach of anticipated pleas¬ 
ures thou draggest thyself wearily, a moment 
seems an age, 0, father Time, thy pace is slow- 
very slow—thou seemed not to move at all. Thy 
tread is with firmness and solemnity. Dost thou 
delight only in grief—dost thou array thyself in 
beauty only at the portals of eternity—only when 
we are on the threshold stepping in ? We vanisli 
from thy presence and fade away as the dews of 
evening before the rays of the morning sun. The 
past is onlylcft as an evidence of our departure.— 
There is with thee, oh, Time, no sympathy for 
man, he is thy sport and jest. Thy march is ever 
on, even when the last sigh trembles on the lip of 
beauty, and loveliness, and (he last faint glow dies 
on the cheek of innocence and purity. And when 
the mighty who made the earth to tremble rise up, 
thy flight is ever on—on till eternity. There we 
outstrip thee, Time. Eternity, that vast and un¬ 
bounded ocean, is ours, while this vain world is 
thy dwelling for ages yet to come. 
Fluvanna, N. Y., 1859. II. A. Wjiittemore. 
And rustle oh the garden path, and bleak, and dreary 
Mall, • 
And Winter’s robe will veil the earth, as with a snowy 
pall, 
Then Spring once more in bloom shall reign, 
And Wilue will be hear again. 
Dear mothor, tell him that I said I’d wait for him in 
heaven, . 
And, if to ransomed souls above, the privilege be given 
To guard The loved, then Death lias not our true affec¬ 
tion riven. 
Through life we’ll wander side by side, 
A bridegroom and his spirit-bride. 
Dedham, Mass., 1859. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
FOR HE CARETH FOR YOU.” 
Sweeter than the strains of the yEolian harp to 
the heart, bruised and broken with sorrows that 
earthly sympathy cannot measure, nor human 
power remove, is the divine assurance t.tiat one for 
whom no bmden is too heavy, careth for us, and 
upon Ilim it is our privilege to cast all our care.— 
It matters not what that car e may be—whether too 
trifling to enlist the world’s sympathy, or so great 
no human line can fathom its depths — whether a 
present or a prospective woe, from which the spirit 
recoils, the promise is an unlimited one—“ casting 
all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.”— 
The grief that may not be spoken—the sorrow that 
we cannot, if we would, portray — the aoguish, 
whose outward revealing costs us only censure and 
unpitying scorn—here meets a sympathy adequate 
to its feelings; commensurate to all our needs, 
and so unlike finite compassion, that it judges not 
by the seeming, but by the actual amount of suffer¬ 
ing endured. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
TIME’S LITERATURE. 
A LITTLE SUN AND BRIGHT AIR. 
A esterday morning, just as the clock was on the 
■ stroke of nine, the sun looked out from behind a 
parted cloud a moment, and smiled on the muddy 
world. The tarnished lettering of old signs was 
re-gilded, dark window panes glittered like plates 
of mica, the tips of lightning rods showed their sil¬ 
ver, and human faces brightened like so many sun¬ 
dials in a cloudless noon. 
Along the old carpet lay a streak of sunshine, 
beautiful as the golden way to the Celestial Gate, 
and the faded woolen “Morning-glories” looked 
fresh and new, as if “ three-ply ” could feel the 
touch of spring-like budding violets. 
It touched the Art Association’s group of “ Sat¬ 
urday Night,” as it hung against the wall, with a 
glory the artist never meant. The morning sun 
But Jesus was “a Man of Sorrows, and acquainted 
with grief.” 
“ He knows what sore temptations mean, 
For He lias felt the same.” 
He knows the full meaning of that word, care .— 
And yet He invites us to cast it all upon Him, as¬ 
suring us that “ lie careth for vs.” No system of 
reason or philosophy — no religion but the Christ¬ 
ian— ever afforded a support like this. Such a 
disposal of care—so casting it upon another that it 
shall cease to prey upon ourselves, is a privilege 
known only to the humble disciple of Christ. 
And yet how small a proportion of His professed 
people have so learned to use this privilege in all 
its fullness and adaptation to their needs, that they 
carry no load of solicitude and care ! How few hut 
have some burden of anxiety, which they cannot 
trust the Savior to carry for them! Yet how 
sweetly might Christians honor their Divine Help¬ 
er, did they but evince to the world, that it was 
theirs, by daily experience, to know the blessed¬ 
ness of casting all their care upon Him who careth 
for them. Lina Lee. 
Sherburne, N. Y., 1S59. 
A Good Idea. —Mrs. lie Grove, Mrs. Johnson, and 
a large number of other women in New York, have 
formed a club, which is devoted to the discussion 
of all the topics that concern or affect Ihe domestic 
and social relations of life. The organization is 
national. Auxiliaries-are to be formed in all parts 
of the land. The club in New York holds regular 
monthly meetings. The subjects to be discussed 
are those that pertain to domestic cookery, the 
wardrobe, the laundry, household utensils and ma¬ 
chinery, house furnishing, warming and lighting, 
household expenses and economies, domestics, 
family hygiene, the management and education of 
children, the difficulties encountered, and the re¬ 
forms needed, &c. 
and goodness. He, who measures his aims by the 
extent of the seemingly actual and possible, must 
ever grovel and plod. What the world within 
makes feasible, God, in his goodness, gives us 
power to accomplish. 
My brother was the light of the household. Viva¬ 
cious, yet sedate, sprightly yet grave, liberal to 
others, yet fastidious with himself, stunning with 
a grand thought, then toying like a child, it is no 
marvel that his lightest look or word swayed my 
soul, as the stronger ever unwittingly move the 
weaker. As he grew older and assumed that com¬ 
manding tone which an independent thinker always 
feels when measuring himself with the copying 
world, I came to distrust myself, and feel that he 
had absorbed the talent and responsibility, together 
with the family honors. I was assured that he 
would redeem the name from obscurity, and I had 
no ambition, save to amble along within range of 
him from whom I could not be separated. What 
will banish these dark forebodings ; the blossoms 
of my youth have not faded yet.” The tumultuous 
throbbings of, her soul are stilled by these sooth¬ 
ing words, and with anxious care she obliterates 
the warning line that Tune had written for her 
serious perusal. A sigh of relief escapes her now. 
The door of lief heart has shut out an unwelcome 
guest, and she drowns the muffled sound cf retreat¬ 
ing footsteps,’with a gay ditty which Pleasure 
sings, 
“ Wisdom says enjoy To-day, 
Tho’ trouble comes To morrow.” 
The great Life-drama is strikingly illustrated in 
the circling seasons which garland the year. These 
illuminated manuscripts are covered with startling 
truths from the same eloquent Author who pens 
tomb-inscriptions, which hollow-voiced winds 
chant over graves. We love to read the sweet 
poetry of Sprirfg, for it tells us of golden sunshine, 
silvery bird-notes, and balmy zephyrs that fan 
the dew-drops* from the flowers, and rock open 
their velvet leaves for the sun-light to kiss. Life 
is just such a volume—golden prophecies of coming 
bliss shine down to us from the gorgeously stained 
windows of the,future, and the maiden hears the 
far-off chime of marriage bells. Her path is green, 
and the freshness of early morning is upon the 
young and tender herbage. With a light step she 
goes on her way, keeping time to the excellent 
music of the little Hope-bird, which her heart is 
cherishing with fondness. God grant that the 
songster may not droop and die before womanhood 
is reached! But ofteii this Life-poetry weaves 
sadness in its stmin. It tells how the May-frosts 
of Ambition sometimes blight youth’s blossoms, 
and when our Summer is here, the sky becomes 
obscured with a dark pall of clouds; a mighty 
wind sweeps by wailing a requiem o’er the hopes 
it buries. Butsuddeniy the “rainbow of promise” < 
glows in the East, and the clouds roll back as if in ; 
awe of this holy sign from God’s hand. The sad 
consequences of Error are bitter fruits that the 
sorrowing recipient must sooner or later gather, 
To Spoil a Daughter.— 1 . Be always telling her 
how pretty she is. 2. Instil into her mind a proper 
love of flue dress. 3. Accustom her to so much 
pleasure that she is not happy at home. 4. Allow 
her to read nothing but novels. 5. Teach her all 
the accomplishments, but none of the utilities of 
life. 6. Keep her in the darkest ignorance of the 
mysteries of housekeeping. 7. Initiate her into the 
principle that it is vulgar to do anything for her¬ 
self. 8-. To strengthen the latter belief, let her have 
a lady’s maid. 9. And lastly, having given her 
such an education, marry her to a moustached 
bachelor, who is a clerk on a salary of $250 a year. 
Hope for the Vilest. —Never call a man a lost 
man until he is buried in a hopeless grave. No 
man is lost upon whom any influence can be ex¬ 
erted ; no man is lost to whom the offers of the 
gospel may be brought. It is but a few weeks 
since I sat by the side of one of the purest and 
loveliest of females, who once was degraded, but 
who is now at the head of a family, highly respect¬ 
ed and beloved. We are never to be discouraged. 
There is no man or woman so vile but God may 
“ Dear Mother,” said a delicate little girl, “ I 
have broken your china vase!” 
“ Well, you are a naughty, careless, troublesome 
little thing,— go up stairs until I send for you.”_ 
And this was a Christian mother’s answer to the 
tearful little culprit, who had struggled with and 
conquered the temptatiou to tell a falsehood to 
screen a fault. With a disappointed, disheartened 
look, the child obeyed; and iu that moment was 
crushed in her little heart the sweet flower of truth, 
perhaps never to be revived to life! Oh! what 
were a thousand vases iii comparison ! 
“Leading Men.”— It is customary to speak of 
sundry men in the Church of Christ, as “leading 
I men ;” i. e., they go before others, and make and 
second the motions which others vote for. It 
should not be forgotten, however, that a man in a 
Christian Church, who really deserves the name of 
a “leading man,” serves the Church. He moves 
and goes in the right direction; and determines 
others in that direction. As Baxter well remarks, 
“ Church greatness consists in being greatly service¬ 
able. 
The Sunny Side.— Dr. Johnson used to say that 
a habit of looking at the best side of every event 
is far better than a thousand pounds a year.— 
Bishop Hall quaintly Remarks“ For every bad 
there might be a worse, and when one breaks his 
leg let him be thankful it was not his neck !” When 
Fenelon’s library was on fire, “God be praised,” 
lie exclaimed, “ that it is not the dwelling of some 
poor man!” This is the true spirit of submission 
—one of the most beautiful traits that can possess 
Woman should be acquainted that no beauty 
has any charm but the inward one of the mind; 
and that a gracefulness in manner is much more 
engaging than that of person; that modesty and 
meekness are the true and lasting ornaments; 
for she that hath those is qualified as she ought to 
be for the management of a family, for the educa- 
Tue curious student of human nature should be 
very careful whilst observing vice, as it is exhibi¬ 
ted in others, that ho does not himself come too 
near the influence of its deleterious sphere, and 
thus sutler his moral vision to be obscured by the 
murky vapors which envelop it. 
Life runs not smoothly at all seasons, even with 
the happiest; but after a long course, the rocks 
subside, the views widen, and it flows on more 
equally at the end.— Landor. 
It is better to be of the number of those who 
need relief, than of those who want heart to give it. 
